Director: Dominic Arun
Cast: Kalyani Priyadarshan, Naslen, Sandy, Arun Kurian, Chandu Salimkumar
Production: Wayfarer Films (Dulquer Salmaan)
Stars: 4
When a state known for its social realism and grounded cinema decides to dabble in capes, claws, and cosmic chaos — it does so with surprising elegance. Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, directed by Dominic Arun, is a visually stunning, thematically rich, and mythologically inventive take on the superhero genre that doesn’t just echo Marvel or DC — it forges its own mythos rooted deeply in Kerala’s folklore, feminism, and fiery rebellion.
This is not just Malayalam cinema trying its hand at fantasy — this is Malayalam cinema reimagining what fantasy can be.
We open not in a sanitized studio lot but amidst the chaos of a burning city. Soldiers move like spectres in the smoke. And from the blaze, emerges Chandra (Kalyani Priyadarshan) — quiet, furious, and otherworldly. She’s no ordinary woman; and as we soon discover, no ordinary saviour. By the time we see her take down a tactical unit with vampiric agility and supernatural strength, it’s clear: this heroine is rewriting the rules.
The narrative jumps to present-day Bengaluru, where Chandra moves into a quiet neighbourhood. She takes up a night job at a café, avoiding the sun like it’s her mortal enemy (because, well, it is). Across the street, two jobless best friends — Sunny (Naslen) and Venu (Chandu Salimkumar) — get nosy, intrigued by the mysterious woman next door. But what begins as curiosity soon spirals into discovery, danger, and a collision of ancient secrets and present threats.
This might be the career-defining role Kalyani Priyadarshan has been working towards. She ditches the chirpy, sunshine-girl image and taps into something darker, more haunted. Her Chandra is all restraint and power — she doesn’t need to over-explain her pain; she lets her silences speak. In action sequences, she is agile, lethal, and utterly magnetic.
Naslen continues his upward trajectory with a role that lets him play the comic-relief and the emotional anchor. His chemistry with Chandra feels organic, and his friendship with Venu and Naijil (Arun Kurian) delivers some of the film’s warmest, funniest moments.
Sandy as the antagonist, Inspector Nachiyappa, is spine-chilling — a cop so consumed by toxic masculinity and power that he becomes the perfect foil to Chandra’s restrained wrath. His arc might remind you of a Joker-style origin — only grittier, more believable, and dangerously close to home.
Director Dominic Arun pulls off a near-impossible feat — crafting a superhero origin story that doesn’t rely on loud exposition or divine deus ex machinas. Instead, he carefully layers the story, peeling back the mythology behind Chandra's identity with quiet confidence.
Chandra isn’t just any vampire-esque creature — she is Kalliyankattu Neeli, a powerful yakshi reimagined not as a spirit of vengeance but as a protector of the oppressed. The feminist recontextualisation of folklore is chef’s kiss. Arun doesn't just give us a superhero; he gives us a symbol — one forged from rage, repression, and reclamation.
The film flirts with larger cinematic universe ambitions — and yes, there's a Dulquer Salmaan cameo — but it never lets those ambitions drown its storytelling. That said, the second half does stumble. Subplots involving organ trafficking and a shoehorned romance slightly dilute the focus. And some characters are simply forgotten in the clutter of franchise setup.
Cinematographer Nimish Ravi transforms Bengaluru into a vibrant, volatile landscape. Every frame is deliberate — from a moonlit rooftop kiss to a blood-soaked alleyway fight, the visual storytelling sings. The colour palette leans into cyberpunk tones — glowing reds, inky blacks, and electric blues — creating a world that feels both mythic and modern.
The action choreography by Yannick Ben deserves a special mention. It’s stylized but never ridiculous. And it’s tailored perfectly to Kalyani’s strengths. No flashy stunts for the sake of it — each move carries narrative weight.
Jakes Bejoy’s background score elevates the mood without overpowering it. His compositions blend the eerie with the epic, giving Chandra’s journey an operatic resonance.
At its core, Lokah is more than a superhero film. It’s about female rage, caste hierarchies, forgotten deities, and stolen histories. Chandra isn’t part of some divine upper caste order. She rises from the margins — a tribal woman-turned-myth who reclaims her narrative from centuries of misrepresentation.
There’s also a subtle commentary on male entitlement, with the villain being a textbook example of what happens when unchecked power meets unchecked ego. And in contrast, Sunny’s character is a reminder that masculinity need not always stand in opposition to feminine power.
Yes, the second half tries to juggle too many balls — from a past-life romance subplot to setting up a cinematic universe. And yes, the pacing dips momentarily. But these are forgivable when the ambition is this grand and the execution this sincere.
“Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra” is a game-changer. It’s Malayalam cinema’s boldest foray into genre storytelling, and it largely succeeds because it understands that myth, feminism, and fantasy don’t need to be at odds — they can co-exist, and even enhance each other.
This isn’t just Kerala doing superheroes better than Bollywood — this is Kerala showing Bollywood what storytelling can look like when myth meets meaning.
Whether you’re a superhero fan, a folklore geek, or just someone who wants to see cinema stretch its wings — Lokah Chapter 1 is absolutely worth the watch.