Source : INDIA TODAY NEWS
Does ambition count for something, even when a film doesn’t quite come together? In 2026, when few filmmakers are willing to attempt a fantasy adventure rooted in the Puranas and Itihasas, that ambition deserves some credit. On paper, the story has the ingredients of an exciting adventure. Even if the execution is uneven, such an attempt earns a little grace. But grace can only take a film so far.
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When ambition outpaces execution this badly, when a genuinely compelling story is failed by its own direction and screenplay, and when that failure stretches across a punishing three-hour runtime, bleeding well past the closing credits into the sheer regret of wasted potential, the grace marks run out. That’s the feeling that trails you out of the theatre after Nagabandham: a film so bloated, so confident in its own inevitable sequel, that by the time it flashes its pan-India “Part 2” tease, you realise you’ve stopped caring whether it ever shows up.
Here’s the teaser:
Nagabandham hinges on two sacred objects, an ancient manuscript and the Brahmakamalam flower guarded in Srirangapatnam’s Ranganathaswamy temple, both keys to a mythical gateway hiding treasure enough to reshape India’s fate. Standing at one side is Abdali (Rishabh Sawhney), a man who has waited centuries and won’t hesitate to kill for either relic. Standing on the other is Rudra (Virat Karrna), whose purpose is to keep them both out of his reach. Between them is Parvathi (Nabha Natesh), whose true motivations remain deliberately uncertain for much of the film.
There’s a moment about twenty minutes into Nagabandham where you think, okay, maybe this is going to be good. As the doors of the Ranganathaswamy Temple open, Murali Sharma lends the priest a quiet authority, and the procession carries a palpable sense of devotion. For a brief moment, the film convinces you that its epic ambitions might just be within reach. Then it spends the next two and a half hours proving that feeling wrong, one overlong action sequence after another, one emotionally disconnected scene after another, until you’re sitting through a three-hour-nine-minute runtime wondering less about the fate of the ancient treasures and more about whether you’ll make it to the end without your legs falling asleep.
The biggest problem is not the story, visual effects, the mythology or even the lengthy runtime. It is the screenplay and direction. The film constantly introduces characters, backstories, historical timelines and subplots, but rarely develops any of them with enough care to make audiences emotionally invested. Rather than allowing relationships to grow naturally, it rushes through exposition before jumping into yet another action sequence.
The dialogue writing carries this same problem to its worst extreme. At one point, a character declares, in loose translation, “We are Hindus, you are people who live in the desert. If you try to attack our Dharma, then we will behead you, ayyame sanathanaha.” The agenda behind a line like that is not exactly hidden, and we won’t get into the politics of it here. But even setting that aside, as a piece of cinema, the moment carries no emotional weight whatsoever, which is its own kind of infuriating. That lack of emotional investment affects almost every major moment.
A devastating tragedy during Rudra’s sister’s wedding should have been the emotional turning point of the story. On paper, it is horrific. Yet the scene barely has an impact because the film never gives its characters enough depth beforehand. The audience is expected to care simply because the screenplay insists the moment is important.
The same issue continues throughout the narrative. Character motivations often feel underwritten, while several dramatic turns appear to happen because the plot demands them rather than because they emerge organically. Many characters, such as Anasuya Bharadwaj’s character, undergoes a shift that never feels properly earned, and several supporting villains arrive and disappear without contributing much beyond extending the runtime.
Director Abhishek Nama clearly understands scale. Many sequences demonstrate considerable technical confidence, particularly when handling elaborate sets and visual spectacle. Where the film falters is in translating those visuals into compelling drama. Emotional scenes arrive abruptly, while transitions into flashbacks and major revelations lack rhythm and build-up. Time and again, moments that should have landed as epic set pieces lose their impact because they are not staged with the dramatic weight they demand. The result is a film that frequently looks impressive without ever becoming emotionally involving.
The film also leans heavily on violence, much of which feels unnecessary. Several action sequences are staged in a style that strongly recalls director Boyapati Sreenu, favouring loud, exaggerated spectacle over genuine tension.
Virat Karrna certainly looks convincing in both his roles. His physical transformation deserves appreciation, particularly as the seventeenth-century Naga Sadhu, where his appearance naturally fits the character. But cinema is more than a striking look. Unlike a photoshoot, where appearance alone can do the job, a film demands emotional depth and screen presence. As Rudra, his performance remains largely one-dimensional, and despite the enormous stakes surrounding his character, it is difficult to form any meaningful emotional connection with him.
Nabha Natesh fares better, benefiting from a role that allows her more variation than many of her recent films. Rishabh Sawhney delivers one of the stronger performances as both Ali and Ahmad Shah Abdali, bringing conviction and menace whenever he appears. Jagapathi Babu remains dependable, while Murali Sharma and Mahesh Manjrekar lend authority to their relatively brief appearances as temple priests. Soniya Singh performs sincerely as Rudra’s sister, although the screenplay gives her limited room to leave a lasting impression. Aniketh Koyya is underutilised, while Daksha Nagarkar and Aishwarya Menon appear in roles that ultimately add very little to the story.
Technically, Nagabandham is a mixed bag. There are stretches where Soundar Rajan S’s cinematography genuinely impresses, capturing the scale of the mythology with rich framing, dramatic lighting and some striking compositions. Ashok Kumar’s production design also delivers a few genuinely grand sets that add to the film’s visual ambition. But just when you begin to admire what the film has achieved, it undercuts itself. Several other sets look oddly artificial, resembling the spooky haunted houses or themed cabins you would find in amusement parks rather than locations from an ancient mythological world. The visual effects follow a similar pattern; some sequences are impressive enough to sell the illusion, especially given this isn’t a top-tier budget production, while a few others look distinctly AI-generated and unfinished, pulling you straight out of the experience.
Junaid Kumar’s music is similarly inconsistent. The background score lands during a handful of action scenes, but the songs leave little impression and do very little to strengthen the emotional moments. In a film that depends so heavily on mythology and spectacle, a more memorable soundtrack could have carried scenes that the screenplay simply does not.
The editing proves to be one of the film’s weakest departments. Scenes frequently linger long after making their point, while action sequences become repetitive through sheer length rather than choreography. Despite employing an experienced action team, the film mistakes volume for excitement. The repeated use of snake imagery throughout the narrative further contributes to a sense of visual repetition instead of reinforcing the mythology in meaningful ways.
Here’s the trailer:
Perhaps the most disappointing thing about Nagabandham is that its shortcomings never come from a lack of imagination. At its core lies a genuinely intriguing fantasy adventure rooted in mythology, backed by visible ambition, impressive production design and moments of technical excellence. Indian cinema needs more filmmakers willing to attempt stories of this scale and draw from its own cultural history. But ambition alone cannot sustain a film.
Without a disciplined screenplay, assured direction, memorable characters and emotional stakes that are earned rather than simply declared, even the grandest spectacle begins to feel hollow. Nagabandham reaches for something exciting, and that effort deserves acknowledgement, but almost every creative decision surrounding that ambition falls short.
– Ends
SOURCE :- TIMES OF INDIA
