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The past decade of mainstream Indian cinema has been dominated by hyper-nationalistic, hyper-masculine anti-heroes: swaggering gangsters, saffron-clad vigilantes, and so-called 'alpha males' who thrive on violence, often against minorities and women. Unlike the Robin Hood-esque righteous angry young men of the 1970s, created by the screenwriting duo of Salim Khan and Javed Akhtar, this new breed of angry not-so-young men reflects Indian society’s recent shift towards far-right, patriarchal, and conservative values. In many ways, Dominic Arun’s new film 'Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra' rejects this popular trend, offering instead a refreshing alternative in a cultural landscape saturated with jingoism, xenophobia, and casual misogyny.
Lokah Chapter 1 feels like a breath of fresh air because it is. Dominic Arun and Santhy Balachandran have drawn from the Aithihyamala, a centuries-old collection of Malayalam folklore, to create something entirely new: Malayalam cinema’s first female superhero film. From the dystopian opening scene that seamlessly transitions into dynamic graphic-novel-esque sequence to the sleek, neon-lit underbelly of a hyperreal Bengaluru where the film takes place, Lokah Chapter 1 looks and feels like it could go toe to toe with the best of Marvel or DC.
Where Indian cinema in recent years has doubled down on spectacular but ultimately hollow set pieces, often drenched in hyper-nationalist or hypermasculine bluster (KGF, Pushpa, Animal, and the larger Bollywood action-verse), Lokah Chapter 1 is careful to build a universe before demanding awe from its audience.
The film’s first half is all about world-building. We get bits and pieces of exposition through dialogue, the broad brushstrokes of major character arcs, and the subtle layering of the ordinary with the extraordinary through seemingly throwaway scenes like Chandra (Kalyani Priyadarshan in a star-making turn) covering up her windows; hesitating to enter an apartment until she is explicitly invited in; and receiving suspicious deliveries in biomedical transport coolers.
This attention to detail ensures that the eventual fantasy flourishes feel truly earned and all the more wondrous. All of this buildup pays off with the second-half revelation that Chandra is actually Kalliyankattu Neeli, a centuries-old vampire or yakshi. All the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. Here, the writers deliver on that marvellous promise of cinema: suspension of disbelief that comes naturally. As a viewer, you want to believe in this world — you want to root for young Neeli to avenge her parents and exact revenge on their oppressors, and you want the older Chandra to put the male antagonists in their place.
The cast and crew of Lokah Chapter 1 also manage to deliver something else: a rare pan-India blockbuster that squarely positions patriarchy as its antagonist. Of course, there are allusions to big bad villains lurking in the shadows throughout the film, but there is no doubt about who is the antagonist of this story: Ungal Sandy’s corrupt cop character, Nachiyappa Gowda. He colludes with organ traffickers, polices women for their liberated lifestyles, and rejects marriage proposals because he believes all city girls are "sl*ts".
It’s a welcome departure from mainstream movies that tend to espouse such traits as virtues. But Lokah Chapter 1 doesn’t stop there. Dominic Arun manages to slip in social commentary and critiques of our current zeitgeist throughout the film. A subplot revolves around organ trafficking in the city; a jilted stalker threatens a woman with acid and suffers Chandra’s righteous wrath in one of the earliest action scenes of the film; and the media labels a fugitive Chandra a "terrorist" under the "UAPA" when she goes on the lam after her safe house is compromised and Sunny (Naslen Gafoor) is shot in the gut by Nachiyappa. These are surprises that give the film more ideological weight and urgency than its mainstream superhero packaging might otherwise suggest.
This is perhaps the film’s most significant achievement. Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra stands out for its ideological implications. In a cinematic culture where aggressive, hypermasculine anti-heroes are celebrated and female characters are so often relegated to love interests, sidekicks, perfect victims, or cautionary tales, the film manages to subvert such clichés while still paying homage to genre tropes. At the same time, it also lays the groundwork for future films set in the Lokah-verse where supernatural beings like Tovino Thomas’ Chathan (a goblin-like being from Malabar folklore), Dulquer Salmaan’s Odiyan (a shape-shifting male spirit), and Mammootty’s mysterious Moothon or ‘The Elder’ walk among us.
Lokah Chapter 1 is both an entertainment milestone and a cultural intervention. It’s proof that Indian superhero films need not mimic Western models or repackage violent, hypermasculine fantasies in capes and cowls. Instead, they can grow from the seeds of India’s rich regional folklores and mythologies, traditions, and the lived realities of women who rarely find themselves at the center of such stories.
By rejecting the problematic blueprint of current pan-India blockbusters and instead offering a female protagonist who is both human and superhuman, the team behind Lokah have opened the door to a cinematic universe that feels genuinely new and thoroughly relevant. It is a universe worth celebrating — and absolutely worth watching closely as it unfolds.
Watch the official trailer for Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra below:
Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra is currently playing in theatres across India. Learn more about screenings near you here.
