Bhairavam Review

If done well, remaking last year's Tamil hit Garudan may have been the ideal strategy to revive the careers of three struggling actors: Bellamkonda Srinivas, the once-promising 2015 debutant who never quite broke through; Nara Rohith, still searching for his place in the industry under the shadow of his illustrious family; and Manchu Manoj, the black sheep of the infamous Manchu clan, making a return to the big screen after nearly a decade. Bhairavam, the official Telugu remake of Garudan, is the trio's chance for redemption. Each actor gets to portray an emotionally complex character inside a story that touches on the grand themes of brotherhood, betrayal, and reckoning. But the resulting film, directed by Vinay Kanakamedala (Ugram, Naandhi), is a soulless rendering of its source material and a frustrating reminder that thrice the mediocrity is still just mediocrity.

Before piling all the blame on the acting abilities of its leads, though, I must concede that there are structural problems with the film's screenplay. The lead characters, Gajapathi (Manchu Manoj) and Varada (Nara Rohith), are lifelong friends whose bond is shattered when one betrays the other, poisoned by his wife's manipulative words. Caught in the middle is Seenu (Bellamkonda Srinivas), a young man they once rescued from orphanhood and welcomed into their homes. His loyalty is put to the test as tensions escalate.

The film explicitly alludes to the Mahabharata as inspiration for the friendship-turned-rivalry between Gajapathi and Varada, echoing the emotional complexity of the Kurukshetra battlefield, where brother must fight brother. The object of their conflict - the story's "Draupadi", so to speak - is a valuable parcel of land belonging to the village temple, which has been entrusted to Gajapathi and has attracted the interest of a corrupt local minister (Sharath Lohithaswa) and his brother-in-law (Ajay).

The film's crucial betrayal scene which is meant to be shocking falls flat at best and bewilders us with its many unanswered questions. The groundwork that should have been laid for this scene amounts to a few paltry lines of dialogue. There isn't even a single good scene focusing on the interiority of the betrayer, and his performance, far from capturing the emotional turmoil, is an inauthentic, blubbering mess.

It is not hard to trace the reasons for such a glaring hole in the screenplay: it is because an authentic treatment of the story called for more scenes between the betrayer and his wife. But with the film's focus on the men - several fight scenes for each hero, its multiple mediocre songs, and the underdeveloped romance track between Seenu and Vennala plays by the very poorly dubbed and styled Aditi Shanker - there is absolutely no time to spare for actual storytelling, 2 hours and 35 minutes of runtime notwithstanding.

Even though the sets are grand - the temple is beautifully shot, and the brick factory looms impressively - they can't compensate for the lifeless expressions of the performers. Each actor delivers a one-note performance, never quite managing to inhabit the flesh and spirit of their character. Nara Rohith, as the older, supposedly wiser brother, misses the mark by a mile, coming off as merely placid. Manchu Manoj veers between emotional extremes, either vibrating with fury or looking like a schoolboy caught outside the principal's office. Bellamkonda Srinivas has a waif-like, forgettable presence on screen. His big acting moment arrives when Seenu, his character, has an "episode" - he becomes possessed by the Devi and serves as a vessel for divine justice. These moments are clearly meant to echo the intensity of Allu Arjun's Pushpa Raj at the jaatara, or the feral possession scenes in Kantara, but Seenu's overly choreographed, self-conscious dance sequence feels more stylized than spine-tingling.

The film's best performances come from unexpected places. Despite being underwritten, Divya Pillai gives a scene-stealing performance as Varada's wife. Ajay is effortlessly funny and menacing as the film's minor villain. You look forward to his scenes, if only to see what off-brand clothes he is wearing ("balengcigaaa", one reads).

Between the incomplete screenplay and the tonally uneven performances, Bhairavam fails to be the redeeming film that its leads are looking for. By pandering to commercial tropes of song, dance, and romance - even when they feel forced - and skimping on story in favor of brand-building moments, the film doesn't redeem its actors from their "nepobaby" labels; it only reinforces why their success has been limited.