Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra plants its flag with the declaration, “Some legends have an element of truth,” and from that moment, it invites us into a world Malayalam cinema has rarely dared to enter. This is a film of ambition and spectacle, rooted in familiar Kerala folklore yet dressed in the colours of neon and flame. Instead of easing us into the story, it throws us into a city under siege. Buildings burn like monuments of collapse, their flames less accidental and more deliberate destruction.
Director: Arun Dominic
Cast: Kalyani Priyadarshan, Naslen, Chandu Salimkumar, Arun Kurian, Sandy
Out of this chaos crouches Chandra (Kalyani Priyadarshan), her gaze burning with unyielding determination. Behind her, the inferno roars, turning her into a figure of both warrior and avenger. Around her, soldiers in tactical combat gear move like shadows, rifles raised, but she carves through them with almost supernatural power. By the time she secures her objective and receives a summons from the higher being Moothon through an intermediary, we already know she is not like the rest of us.
From this fiery opening, the story relocates to Bengaluru, where Chandra takes up night shifts at a café, her dark, gothic air drawing glances from across the street. In the apartment opposite live Sunny (Naslen) and Venu (Chandu Salimkumar), often joined by their friend Nigel (Arun Kurian). What begins as casual curiosity turns into quiet obsession: Sunny is captivated, yet he also senses that something about her does not quite belong. The film drops subtle clues that Chandra, though she looks no older than her late twenties, may have walked the earth for centuries. This is where director Arun Dominic’s craft in world-building shines, offering fragments instead of exposition and inviting us to piece together her mystery.
At the centre is Kalyani, giving one of her strongest performances to date. She plays Chandra with a measured intensity, and the composure fits naturally, suggesting the weight of long-lived experience. Her silences hint at an inner history, and when the film shifts into combat, she unleashes a fierce precision, moving through sharply designed sequences with conviction. The action is mounted with unusual polish for Malayalam cinema, the visual effects serving the story rather than overwhelming it, and Kalyani’s presence makes each strike feel inevitable.
On a visual level, Lokah stands among the most striking works Malayalam cinema has produced in recent years. Cinematographer Nimish Ravi transforms Bengaluru into something that could have stepped straight out of a cyberpunk vision, drenched in searing reds, electric blues, and molten orange. One image in particular lingers: Chandra suspended against a luminous full moon, the city sprawling beneath her, a signboard marked ‘Selene’s’ winking at the mythology of the moon goddess. The production design by Banglan also never falters, each composition expanding the film’s universe beyond the borders of the screen.
Lokah’s most arresting passage comes with the unveiling of Chandra’s real identity, staged like a dark fairytale. In this sequence, familiar folklore is invoked but twisted in a way that feels daring and unexpected. The reveal carries a sense of wonder, lifted by Jakes Bejoy’s incredible score, which swells into something grand and mythical, even if his score feels more conventional in many other stretches. It is a turning point that leaves you grinning at the sheer boldness of the imagination behind it.
