Ramayana Part 1 Review — Ten Heads, Half a Heart

Approximately thirty minutes into the film, the title card appears, signaling that the narrative has already conveyed its core values. It does not focus on the prince of Ayodhya, the exile, the vow, or the forest. Instead, it begins in Lanka, establishing Raavan's childhood, his wounds, and his grudges, before acknowledging the protagonist on the poster. This is a bold decision, yet it reveals a film more committed to promoting a character than conveying a message.

The Rebellion That Isn't

Much will be discussed about how "Ramayana: Part 1" attempts to humanize Raavan. However, the true extent of this daring endeavor should be scrutinized. A brooding, wronged anti-hero with a tragic background is not revolutionary in 2026; it is the standard formula for modern blockbusters. When Raavan is portrayed by the country's leading mass hero, giving him the opening act is more of a commercial certainty than a creative risk.

The greater issue is the film's failure to pursue its concept fully. If Raavan is a product of rejection and exclusion, the film should provide a meaningful critique of that order, but it does not. Raavan is given pain, but not a perspective sharp enough to challenge viewers. This results in sympathy without discomfort, presenting a villain to admire rather than understand. Genuine moral complexity would have demanded more from the film; this version demands nothing.

Yash Carries the Film, and That Is a Problem

This is not Yash's fault. Yash emerges as the undeniable center of gravity. Every scene featuring him crackles with intensity and purpose. His Raavan carries rage, intelligence, wounded pride, and ambition in equal measure. More importantly, he possesses something that is surprisingly rare in this film: presence. When he appears, the narrative feels alive. When he leaves, the film frequently struggles to maintain the same level of engagement.

However, when a single performance must support an entire epic, it highlights the film's lack of other supporting elements. A compelling antagonist requires a worthy opponent. Here, he battles mere shadows.

A Prince with No Pulse

Ranbir Kapoor's Rama is composed and dignified, yet almost entirely passive. While restraint is a valid interpretation of Rama, the story's steadfast, duty-bound center, it requires an inner passion to oppose, which the film fails to depict. Rama's devotion to dharma is stated, but we seldom see its cost. The themes that have sustained this character for millennia—sacrifice, obligation, the isolation of always doing right—are treated as mere background rather than active conflicts. The consequence is significant. A mythological epic can survive weak visual effects. It can survive pacing issues. What it cannot survive is audience indifference toward its central hero.

Sai Pallavi fares somewhat better, bringing warmth to every scene, but the writing offers Sita little more than gracefulness. The central relationship of the epic, the bond over which the war is fought, feels inadequately developed. It is hard to believe these characters would traverse worlds for each other.

Dialogue That Plays Like Parody

The writing nearly veers into unintended comedy. Characters do not converse; they declaim, delivering stiff, overwrought lines reminiscent of a school pageant. Every exchange is either a proclamation or a moral lesson, rarely resembling natural dialogue.

This is particularly evident in the scenes between Rama and Sita. Intended as the film's emotional core, their conversations are so flat and ceremonial that they may provoke laughter instead of emotion. Despite Ranbir and Sai Pallavi's capabilities, no performance can salvage such uninspired lines. What should convey devotion instead becomes a caricature.

The Render Farm Is the Real Hero

The film promises grandeur, and it delivers: gods, giants, talking creatures, kingdoms extending to the horizon. However, grandeur does not equate to wonder. Often, the VFX appears costly without feeling vibrant. Environments seem constructed rather than inhabited, and many sequences resemble a studio showcase rather than a necessary storytelling method.

Tiwari aspires for a mythological epic akin to Nolan's "The Odyssey," borrowing openly from Hollywood fantasy, identifiable scene by scene. Its creature-filled worlds bear the unmistakable influence of Cameron's "Avatar," while its expansive kingdoms and battle scenes draw heavily "The Lord of the Rings." Homage is acceptable; here, it often feels like a mood board lacking a cohesive vision. The overuse of slow motion deserves criticism. Used sparingly, it highlights moments; used excessively, it becomes punctuation abuse, diminishing its impact. The final hour is notably more polished, as if resources were reserved for the climax, but by then, action has largely supplanted drama.

Where It Actually Works

To be fair, there are moments where the film achieves its goals. The Jatayu sequence is genuinely moving, succeeding through its intimacy: a solitary creature, a singular act of bravery, with stakes that resonate deeply. It is the film's most powerful scene because it abandons grandeur. The underwater Vishwaroopam of Vishnu is another visual triumph, a rare image that justifies its magnificence.

The asura onslaught following Surpanakha's humiliation is another impressive sequence. The demons' fury manifests as a swirling, tornado-like storm, a whirlwind of rage sweeping the landscape. Here, the effects enhance the emotion rather than overshadowing it: the vengeance is palpable, and the storm embodies visible anger. It is one of the few instances where the film's scale and storytelling align.

The score is also noteworthy. A.R. Rahman and Hans Zimmer excel, yet their music compensates for what the film should convey independently. Scene after scene, the background score, rather than the writing or performances, dictates when to feel awe, sorrow, or fear. This is a testament to the composers and a critique of the surrounding elements.

For all its grandeur, Ramayana: Part 1 rarely captures the spiritual and emotional resonance that has kept this story alive for centuries. Yet despite these criticisms, the film remains undeniably watchable. Its ambition deserves recognition. Few filmmakers would even attempt a project of this scale, and fewer still would take the narrative risk of centering Raavan so aggressively. Not every gamble pays off, but at least the film swings for the fences.

The Ramayana endures due to its characters, not its battles. Part 2 must remember this. Currently, the most human aspect of the film is the character with ten heads, which should concern its creators more than it appears to.

Verdict: 3/5 (Lanka roars, the storms rage, but Ayodhya never finds its voice)