N.T. Rama Rao Jr. (aka NTR) reunites with director Koratala Siva for the first time since 2016’s Janatha Garage in Devara: Part 1, his first film after the Man of Masses and Ram Charan took the world by storm with S.S. Rajamouli in the Oscar-winning RRR. It’s also his first solo lead performance since Trivikram Srinivas’ Aravinda Sametha Veera Raghava, which made the anticipation amongst fans incredibly palpable to see their hero (as many people on my social media accounts have stated) on the big screen again. It makes sense that people would want to see him lead a piece of pure mass entertainment that not only celebrates the actor’s enduring legacy within Telugu cinema but showcases a different side of him for his newfound fanbase who fell in love with the actor in the wake of RRR’s global success.
I’ll refrain from comparing it to Rajamouli’s masterpiece in this review, which many American critics are unfortunately doing because they have only seen this film as a point of reference for all Indian cinema. But there’s one problem: RRR is inimitable, and no subsequent or prior Indian movie can be compared to it. It’s easy to understand why some are doing this. Not only is Jr NTR leading the film, but Sabu Cyril and A. Sreekar Prasad, frequent collaborators of Rajamouli, are the film’s production designer and editor, respectively. But Devara is not at all Rajamouli-coded in its aesthetic and presentation of its central myth. People who got into Indian cinema through Rajamouli should seek out more films from diverse cineasts (Karan Johar, Lokesh Kanagaraj, and Yash Chopra should be good points of reference to start from) instead of comparing everything to RRR, which, quite honestly, showcases a tenth of the mind-melting, maximalist artistry of Indian cinema.
That said, the shot of Tarak jumping out of the ocean while riding a shark did remind me of the pre-interval animal attack in RRR, though with none of the extravagant verve Rajamouli is known for. Critic Pramit Chatterjee said it best: it’s Aquaman: The Way of Water, and looks unreal on the big screen. In that regard, Siva knows when to aim for pure entertainment and focus on the titular character’s dramatic storyline, which is far more tragic than its mass trailer advertises it as. This makes his Part 1 largely enjoyable to watch, even if glaring drawbacks prevent it from being the glorious return to the big screen that NTR fans desperately crave.
With Telugu cinema being closely rooted in mythmaking, a framing device is introduced in its first ten minutes by way of Prakash Raj, playing Singappa, narrating the story of Devara (NTR) to two police officers, who wonder what occurred in the sea as one of the two discovers a horde of skeletons inside the water. Raj also did the same in Prashanth Neel’s K.G.F. Chapter 2, acting as the narrator of the story audiences will observe. However, Singappa has ‘lived’ the central conflict between Devara and Bhaira (Saif Ali Khan), unlike the external side protagonists he played in Neel’s film.
The central conflict between Devara and Bhaira occupies the film’s pre-intermission half, while the second part focuses on Devara’s son, Varadha (also played by NTR; no de-aging required, unlike Thalapathy Vijay’s garish use of AI in The Greatest of All Time), attempting to ‘reclaim’ Devara’s mythic status. Unfortunately, this part isn’t as strong as its impeccably crafted first half, which throws everything at the screen in more glorious ways than one. NTR’s introduction scene is quite the doozy, jumping in and out of the water like a dolphin and stealthily leading an operation where Devara and Bhaira steal crates from a cargo tanker (with an army of underwater men who can breathe for extended periods). Anirudh Ravichander’s pulsating score gives the necessary tension while the two smugglers attempt to evade a swarm of police officers constantly on their toes.
The two characters are at odds with each other but respect themselves fundamentally to do what is right for their village. Every year, they host an ancestral weapons ceremony that determines which leader from a different part of the village wields them to lead their operation. In a bravura fight sequence occurring within its first thirty minutes, Devara fights off against Bhaira while the two have locked their fists inside a scarf. It eventually catches fire, but their relentless, voracious energy keeps them at it until dawn. This is perhaps the tenth coolest thing you’ll see in a movie filled with never-before-seen images and fight sequences that constantly impress us with its staging, choreography, and visual poetry.
One shot, in particular, occurring during its pre-intermission sequence, as Devara foils an assassination plot, has moved me so profoundly that I’ll probably think about it for the rest of my life. I’ve seen lots of Indian films from different industries, but I wouldn’t consider myself the foremost expert on the matter. However, my interpretation (and appreciation) of Indian cinema has always been driven by its love of potent images: how the actor graces the camera (and, in many cases, how a star’s introduction is staged, which usually makes or breaks the movie), how the camera is positioned during an action sequence, and, more importantly, how it communicates with the myths it tries to develop The first half of Devara: Part 1 is pure mythmaking, creating a force as powerful as the unforgiving sea, solidified through a powerful shot of a bloodstain filling the dark blue sky’s crescent moon.
The central conflict is quite compelling, too, even if Siva treats an age-old pacifist vs. warmonger narrative. After a bus explosion brought upon by the weapons Devara and Bhaira smuggled, killing children from their village, the titular character has a change of heart. It forbids anyone to smuggle weapons on their island as long as he is alive. There’s a great montage where we see Devara hunt down anyone who dares attempt to leave the sea in search of weapons, anchored by Anirudh’s music (which is not as good as Jawan or Vikram but remains pretty solid work nonetheless). From that point of anger, Bhaira plans to assassinate Devara at a wedding, leading into the film’s most impressive action setpiece, set on a beach that fills its sea with red blood.
Unfortunately, this momentum and tension from seeing all the corpses Devara pummeled through can’t be sustained by its second half, which shifts gears to Vara, a complete polar opposite to Devara…but not really. Whenever an intermission sequence ends on such a high, it usually builds upon what it introduced in its first half for a rousing climax. However, Siva completely switches gears here and seemingly makes an entirely different film. Sure, Bhaira is still here, but he takes a surprising backseat, even if he is still hunting for Devara. He was set up as the movie’s central and menacing antagonist, only for him to not do much by the time the intermission ends.
There are admittedly a few entertaining aspects to the film’s post-intermission part, such as a scene where Vara subdues strong fighters to obtain the weapons at the ceremony with sand in their eyes. It’s a different, more improvisational fighting style than the brutish Devara, whose fists have a Soi Cheang gravity-defying quality to them. However, it sadly lacks emotional investment. We were primed to continue Devara’s story, only for Siva to make a complete 180 and unsatisfyingly begin to draw a narrative that seemed unwarranted when the intermission left us on such a high.
It’s great that NTR contrasts both characters well and gives another iconic performance to remember. The contrast is initially compelling –the pacifist Devara is not the bumbling, insecure Vara. Even if he possesses the same strengths and skills as his father, his vulnerabilities make him weak in his community. NTR knows how to grace the camera like any great Tollywood actor does. However, he’s sadly joined by a supporting cast of undercooked or unfulfilled characters, which unfortunately dilutes the engagement in the central character and the film itself. Khan, in particular, gets the most significant downgrade from the first and second half, once a riveting, calculating antagonist, now background fodder entirely ignored by its climax.
But this is the glaring flaw of most Part Ones: tons of exposition, unresolved character (and plot) arcs, and haphazard cliffhanger endings that make the stories feel incomplete. Running at almost three hours, Devara could’ve fulfilled a bit more of what its first half promised while setting the stage for its second chapter. Credit where credit is due, Prakash Raj’s exposition dumps are easily digestible and don’t feel as dull as when Mani Ratnam bludgeoned us with constant non-stop table-setting in Ponniyin Selvan: Part I. They feel like tangible dialogues and are sparsely used. Siva focuses mainly on the dual performance from NTR to guide us into the world he wants to create in two movies, which is a far better tactic than constant set-up.
There’s genuine visual care from Siva to compellingly introduce and develop his world, even though he ends the movie on the biggest of all whimpers, which almost sinks (no pun intended) the entire thing and leaves much to be desired. It’s a somewhat baffling way to convince audiences to check out Part 2, though it’s intriguing enough for me to be there on the first day. Without spoiling anything, it could only be described as an unexpected narrative twist that could drastically change its primary story for better or worse.
And since Siva fills his screen with so many death-defying action setpieces and stunning musical numbers, it’s hard not to want to see how this entire fable will wrap up, even if Devara: Part 1 may not be as vital as some of NTR’s previous leading efforts (such as S.S. Rajamouli’s Yamadonga, in which he also played two characters). However, it remains a movie to watch on the biggest possible screen with a rowdy crowd who yell “JAI NTR!” on every possible occasion whenever he does something unbelievable on screen. He’s the Man of Masses for a reason, and more audiences (around the world) may be inclined to say so after viewing this one.
SCORE: ★★★1/2
