Koratala Siva’s Acharya is the first film where Megastar Chiranjeevi and son Ram Charan have acted together in substantial roles, and for that reason alone, it had set up mega expectations among the audience. Watching the film, however, it is puzzling how the director managed to achieve this casting coup with such a tedious storyline. The film begins with a legend that unfolds 800 years ago and moves to the present, but the ideas within it are so outdated, I expected a dinosaur or two to lumber into the jungle where Chiranjeevi senior and junior are playing at being Naxals.
Acharya revolves around the temple town of Dharmasthali where there is no dharma any more because of Bad Man Basava (Sonu Sood) and Bad Man’s Boss Rathod (Jisshu Sengupta), and the adivasi hamlet of Padhagattam where a number of fair-skinned, prosperous looking junior actors sport ‘tribal’ tattoos to look the part. The lives of the people in both places are intertwined with the temple, but while the adivasi people sincerely live by ‘dharma’ and apparently make ayurvedic concoctions all day (seriously, every shot of an adivasi person is them making herbal medicines), a large section of the populace in Dharmasthali leads a sinful life. Forget the fact that Koratala Siva hasn’t bothered with trying to represent the adivasi people with some respect for their culture and way of life (they’re easily and conveniently clubbed with the Hindu practices of the Dharmasthali people), there is barely any thought that has gone into examining what ‘dharma’ means.
For instance, when Acharya (Chiranjeevi) lands in Dharmasthali, he wrinkles his nose at how everything has gone downhill. Among these scenes is one where he notices a sex worker negotiating with a client. Later, however, Acharya is perfectly content swinging his leg in a vulgar ‘item’ song (with Regina Cassandra) at a wedding. While the first instance is deemed to be ‘adharmic’, the second, with the camera focused on every curve in the woman’s body, is supposed to be ‘entertainment’ for a family audience.
Chiranjeevi’s Acharya is a Naxal who comes to Dharmasthali for a reason but there’s hardly any suspense or intrigue built into the storytelling. We know he’s a Naxal because he walks around with a red cloth, says ‘Lal Salam’ in greeting, and shoots security forces. He’s one of the main characters but the writing is so superficial that Acharya makes no impact whatsoever despite Chiranjeevi’s towering screen presence and acting capabilities. While Bad Man Basava does not obey the laws of the land, Acharya does not obey the laws of Physics. He flings people into the air, makes magical knots by swirling around ropes, and generally behaves like gravity does not exist. In one such sequence, an adivasi woman who is facing the threat of gangrape is made to sit under a tree by Acharya and sing a devotional song as he beats up the goons. These are the kind of scenes that Koratala Siva imagines will reduce his audience to an emotional gloop and connect with the film. Unfortunately, the laws of sense and sensibility do not permit it.
The film set and design look artificial to the point that you often get the feeling that you are watching a stage play. Ram Charan plays Siddha (no, there isn’t anyone named Homeopathy in the film), a young man who was brought up by the Ayurvedic adivasi people. Siddha likes to talk about dharma all day, and he falls in love with Pooja Hegde’s Nilambari who is a musician and the head priest’s daughter. Pooja looks like a ramp model in fashionable blouses but if we can suspend disbelief for Chiranjeevi’s stunts, why not for her appearance that looks nothing like the part she’s playing? If there’s anything plastic in the natural haven where this story is set, it has to be the love between Siddha and Nilambari. Yet, we’re supposed to buy this as another ‘emotional’ chord in the film.
The scenes with Chiranjeevi and Ram Charan should have set the screen on fire, but they barely spark. It’s not because the actors don’t try; they aren’t given any material to work with. The ‘Bhale Bhale Banjara’ song with the two of them dancing, however, makes for a fun watch.
The poor visual effects add to this mega mess. Did we really need that borderline hilarious digital modification of Chiranjeevi’s face to make him look younger in the flashback? The scene is supposed to be tragic but I confess, I laughed. There’s also a pair of obviously fake cheetahs that appear in the jungle, never mind that cheetahs went extinct in India in the 1940s (but I suppose the laws of environmental science don’t apply to this film either).
By the time the film crawls to the final sequence, you are at the end of your tether, and questions like why a Naxal with communist beliefs is using red kumkum from a temple to mark his allegiance to the ideology have fled your brain. The only question that can encapsulate the experience is, ‘Why was this film made?’.
Watch: Trailer of Acharya
Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the series/film. TNM Editorial is independent of any business relationship the organisation may have with producers or any other members of its cast or crew.