Mumbai: Long before the code of machines, there breathed a timeless rhythm — a song of righteousness written by a sage in the heart of India. Nitesh Tiwari’s ambitious two-part adaptation, Ramayana, is a cinematic leap of faith, seeking to bridge the infinite horizon of modern technology with the quiet, unyielding weight of human devotion.
It feels ironic that a classic story meant to teach the destruction of ego is being delivered via a medium that demands we bow down to the vanity of technological scale.
A Story of Subtraction, Told Through Multiplication
The Ramayana is fundamentally a story of subtraction: a prince who willingly gives up a throne, walks barefoot into the wilderness, and defeats a scholar king whose fatal flaw was his obsession with his own grandeur. By filtering this narrative through a modern global cinematic lens, the DNEG-backed version reverses those values, replacing spiritual subtraction with digital multiplication.
Giving the Devil His Due
In a cosmic battle engineered by VFX wizards, Tiwari makes a bold pivot: he chooses to give the devil his due. He sets the tone with Ravana’s cosmic domination — the takedown of Indra’s Airavat in a colossal battle that sucks us into his imagination of Valmiki’s epic.
Coming after Adipurush, the film humanises Ravana (Yash) by tracing his devotion to Shiva, his birth from mother Kaikesi’s (Shobana) vengeful ambition, and his traumatic rise from slave status, giving him a deeply textured arc. Tiwari, along with co-screenwriter Sridhar Raghavan, almost situates him as a socialist who eats what his subjects digest.
Serving as the show-stealer, Yash makes a menacing Hindi debut. Beautifully dubbed by Sharad Kelkar, he plays Ravan with electrifying intensity that dominates the first part.
What Gets Rushed
The idea is to establish Ravana’s staggering power so that when the narrative shifts, the audience understands how impossible Rama’s upcoming battle truly is. But it also means Rama’s defining moments — his youth under sage Vishwamitra, lifting Shiva’s bow, silently accepting a 14-year exile — feel hurried, showing a character who is already morally complete.
By exhaustively mapping out Lanka, Tiwari creates dense, operatic momentum. So when the film shifts to the domestic drama of Ayodhya in King Dashrath’s (Arun Govil) household, it suffers from tonal whiplash, making the emotional core feel rushed, safe and light.
Even the Kevat episode — which creates a spiritual connection beyond class and caste — is bypassed, perhaps to accommodate one more action-oriented detail or because of its changing socio-political context. In giving the devil his due, the divine gets diluted.
The Music and the Missing Interiority
The writers do delve into the question of Rama’s misery. Lyricist Dr Kumar Vishwas and screenwriters Shreyas Jain and Tiwari try to translate the Sanskrit text into contemporary Hindi without diluting it into Hindustani. But because the structure gives Rama little space to express grief, betrayal or confusion, his acceptance of exile feels mechanical.
It is here that music should express inner turmoil. Having grown up on Ravindra Jain’s music that brought Tulsidas into living rooms, the audio landscape created by A.R. Rahman and Vishwas feels oddly detached — a polished technical exercise rather than an emotional anchor. Hans Zimmer’s presence is felt beneath the seat during the colossal battle sequences, but Ramayana is not about shaking the soul; it is about stirring it.
Where the Craft Falls Short
DNEG built its reputation rendering deep space, complex physics and Western speculative worlds. Here, the opening battle between Gods and Asuras is awe-inspiring, and the combat between Jatayu (powerfully voiced by Anupam Kher) and Ravana blends action with emotion.
However, the demons from Ravana’s camp needed more character — they were more like Orcs from Tolkien’s universe with ash splashed on their foreheads. The culturally nuanced landscapes of Ayodhya and Lanka demanded more layering. Instead of transporting us into a distinct mythic era of raw materials and textures, the costume design feels like a Ramayana-inspired wedding collection.
The Performances
Shobana shows how a performer can add a layer of natya in a digitised landscape. Vivek Oberoi takes it to the melodrama of yore. Ravi Dubey plays Lakshman with a self-conscious awareness that he is second fiddle. Yash carries the intensity, though the shades associated with the great scholar are reduced to one scene.
Ranbir Kapoor gets it almost right. A master at digging into his characters’ mental crevices, he portrays Ram as someone whose evolution is defined by what he gives up, not what he conquers, with immense grace and quiet authority. He doesn’t have the virgin yet know-all smile of Arun Govil in Ramanand Sagar’s version, but his physical vocabulary — particularly his sense of purpose with the bow and arrow — is absolutely amazing.
Sai Pallavi infuses Sita with divinity and a refreshing sense of agency. Far from a coy princess, this Sita is a fierce, barefoot, two-sword-wielding, earthy warrior princess who stands her ground even when dynastic choices are made for her. But by taking desire out of the equation, the makers have stripped the Rama-Sita love story of raw human impulses.
The Verdict
You can sense the push and pull between the director and the producer, trying to fit the spiritual, philosophical, deeply internal text into a Hollywood-type blockbuster template. It is strange that a story that makes you tear up every year at the modest neighbourhood Ramlila doesn’t hold you enough in front of the IMAX screen.
It holds your gaze but doesn’t go any further.
Interestingly, Vishwas was present at the press screening and, out of honesty or modesty or both, said his contribution may be a tedha medha laddoo — an uneven sweet — but an offering to God. His self-awareness about his work fits the film, too.
Ramayana: Part 1 is currently running in theatres.
