‘Bhairavam’ movie review: Bellamkonda Sreenivas starrer is a loud, disjointed rural drama

There are no hard and fast rules for remaking a successful film in another language. Yet, a director would do well to remember why a story is being retold for a new audience, even while not aiming to better the original. Bhairavam, the Telugu remake of Soori’s Tamil film Garudan, aimlessly rehashes a hit formula, making little effort to decode the merits of the original.

In a vain attempt to lend socio-political relevance to a story about the looting of temple wealth, Bhairavam begins with a disclaimer on the need to safeguard our temples and dharma from falling into the wrong hands, even throwing in a passing reference to the Mughal era. The rural drama, at its core, is a straightforward tale of a crooked politician exploiting the rift among three friends for personal gain.

Director Vijay Kanakamedala fills the narrative with mythological references. Varadha (Nara Rohith) and Gajapathi (Manoj Manchu) are likened to Ram and Laxman, while Seenu, the orphan they grow up with and patronise, is portrayed as Hanuman, guarding them against all odds. Nagaratnamma (Jayasudha), the lone trustee of the Varahi temple and the godwoman figure to the trio, fears an impending Kurukshetra-like situation that could leave the village in ruins.

When a politician sets his eyes on the temple wealth, he deploys various pawns to get past the trio, manipulating their insecurities and wreaking havoc on their lives beyond repair. The story unfolds through glimpses of growing tension among the friends and their families, as the men struggle to maintain their bond, offering viewers a blend of action, drama, romance, and occasional thrills.

While the premise is nothing out of the ordinary, the original Garudan used the story as a springboard to depict the everyday realities of village life, local traditions, and the intricate power dynamics within the community. As is often the case with Telugu remakes, Bhairavam offers little room for nuance, glossing over the details and focusing solely on the broad strokes—the highs and lows in the journeys of the three main characters (and it doesn’t do a good job of that either).

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The film, on paper, may have all the familiar ingredients one expects from a commercial caper, but lacks a vision that could bind its elements into a coherent product. Vague, verbose scenes proceed mechanically, and there’s no effort to establish the traits of the key characters or set the stage for a confrontation. It’s hard to understand why this story is being told.

The friendship among Varadha, Gajapathi, and Seenu is too stagey to be convincing. The stereotypical flashback and the clichéd ‘joint family’ song intended to emphasise their bond fall flat. The women are either saintly figures or glorified vamps who drive wedges between the men—and dance alongside them occasionally (the songs are the unstated loo breaks again).

The key element to making the film work was the unlikely rise of an underdog protagonist across critical circumstances. The director appears torn between projecting him as a typical macho hero and a subservient friend, so much so that his transformation, especially when he’s in a trance amidst the temple festivities (suggesting he’s God’s favourite child), doesn’t have any impact at all.

Back in the early 2000s, an unrelated but hilarious comedy track would at least distract the viewer from the weak storytelling. Vennela Kishore’s presence as Sundarachari, a constable uttering chaste Telugu, provides no such relief. Ultimately, what ails films like Bhairavam is the absence of any flair in the execution, as if a director is dispassionately assembling different pieces of a product.

None of the three leading men does enough to make a viewer care for their characters. Bellamkonda Sreenivas, who, for a change, chooses a decent part, squanders a credible opportunity to establish himself as a performer. Manoj Manchu, like in his earlier films, shows little control over his expressions and dialogue delivery. Nara Rohith appears as stiff as a rock, though he exhibits a hint of restraint that makes his performance somewhat tolerable.

Aditi Shankar, relegated to the typical song-and-dance routine, seems miscast as a village belle, except in a few scenes where her spunky presence injects some life into the proceedings. Divya Pillai’s character feels overly melodramatic. Aanandi’s arc is poorly established; she speaks of family togetherness in one scene, only to be filled with bitterness in the next.

Ajay and Sharath Lohitaswa, playing the usual vile men with no good intentions, don’t have much to do. Jayasudha’s casting as a matriarch fits, but the role lacks depth. Sandeep Raj’s turn as an actor misses the bus, while Sampath Raj is strictly okay. Sricharan Pakala’s rare attempt to score music for a commercial potboiler bears no fruit. The action scenes lack intensity and believability, feeling like obligatory pieces inserted into the puzzle.

It’s hard to tell what could motivate a viewer to watch Bhairavam. The story is as old as the hills, the leading stars aren’t crowd-pullers or charismatic enough to deliver any paisa vasool moments, the songs are barely foot-tapping, and the film lacks a storyteller capable of helping audiences look past its flaws. Garudan wasn’t a classic, but it was at least surefooted. Bhairavam is just noise.