OPINION: Watched 'Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra' & It Didn't Live Up To The Hype - It Surpassed

Dulquer Salman: The Risk Taker Behind the Curtain

One of the first names that deserves applause is Dulquer Salman. It takes a star of his stature to look at an idea that screams career suicide on paper and say, “Yes, let us do this.”

A vampire superhero film with mythical roots, led by Kalyani Priyadarshan, directed by Dominic Arun, and written with reckless abandon by him and Santhy Balachandran? A conventional studio exec might have thrown the pitch into a shredder.

But Dulquer, through Wayfarer Films, has built a reputation for betting on stories others shy away from. His belief in Lokah clearly gave the director and writing team a safety net to play big. And they do not just play, they leap. The result is a story told with such conviction that you stop questioning whether it is believable and start treating it as folklore handed down through generations.

Enter Chandra: The Vampire You Did Not See Coming

Kalyani Priyadarshan as Chandra, also called Neeli, is the heart of Lokah. Yes, she is a vampire. Yes, she is also a superhero. But more than anything, she is a layered character born of myth and shaped by centuries of struggle.

The film cleverly frames her backstory as a bedtime tale told to a sick girl. That narrative device grounds the fantasy. Suddenly, you are not just watching a caped crusader, you are listening to a grandmother’s story that has been polished by time and belief.

This choice is what makes Lokah transcend gimmickry. The vampire angle is not a flashy Hollywood style bloodsucker saga. It is rooted in the same way Indian folktales of spirits, deities, and demons are. And because it is presented as lore, your suspension of disbelief does not feel like work, it feels like instinct.

Myth, Fantasy, and Bedtime Horrors

Dominic Arun knows exactly how to straddle the line between fantasy and folklore. By giving Chandra’s story a mythical arc, he taps into cultural memory. We have all heard bedtime stories with terrifying yet fascinating characters who lived half in reality, half in imagination. That is the spell Arun casts here.

The brilliance lies in how he updates this myth into the modern day. Neeli’s immortality is not just a supernatural quirk, it is a burden that forces her to constantly negotiate between doing good and surviving the worst of humanity. This duality is the film’s soul.

You are not just watching a vampire glide through slick action sequences, you are watching a woman wrestle with morality across centuries.

Feminism Without the Megaphone

Here is where Arun deserves more kudos. He sprinkles in themes of feminism without ever turning them into a sermon. Chandra is not a strong female lead because the script tells us she is. She is a woman navigating centuries of patriarchal nonsense while wielding fangs and powers most men would envy.

What makes this powerful is its subtlety. Everyday sexism, the quiet dismissals, the casual condescension, these are woven in without shouting slogans.

Chandra’s story becomes less about empowerment speeches and more about survival, resilience, and sheer grit. And that, ironically, makes it more empowering than any grand speech could.

Spectacle Without the Noise

Fantasy superhero tales often crumble under the weight of overcooked VFX. Not Lokah. The visual effects here are used with the restraint of a surgeon, not the excess of a firecracker vendor. The action is not cartoonish. It is hand to hand combat infused with just enough supernatural flair to keep you hooked.

Cinematography plays a massive role in this balancing act. The visuals are gorgeous but grounded, fantastical but never hollow.

This is not about throwing everything on screen, it is about crafting a believable universe where the unbelievable feels natural. The result is action sequences that feel visceral, not virtual.

Cameos and Crossovers: The Marvel ification of Malayalam Cinema

And then come the cameos. The audience erupts the second Tovino Thomas appears, like kids spotting Santa Claus in the mall. A blink and you will miss it Shoubin Shahir cameo has you wondering what his role will blossom into. And the mysterious Elder, whose voice sounds suspiciously like Mammootty’s, teases the bigger picture.

By the time the two post credit scenes roll in, you realize what is happening. Lokah is setting up its own interconnected cinematic universe. Think Avengers, but built on Malayalam cinema’s myth making, folklore, and daring storytelling DNA. The possibilities are endless and thrilling.

Flaws, Nitpicks, and the Long Game

If there is one place where Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra stumbles, it is in the pacing. The first thirty minutes feel like they take the scenic route, slowly circling around the core of the story instead of diving right in. Add to that the two and a half hour runtime, and there are stretches that might test the patience of viewers who prefer sharper, quicker narratives.

Yet calling this a flaw feels unfair. It is more like a faint smudge on an otherwise gleaming work of art. The story’s immersive quality and bold vision make such complaints feel minor.

Because what Lokah ultimately accomplishes is much bigger than runtime concerns. It marks a shift in how Indian cinema can dream.

Malayalam filmmakers are proving, once again, that they can attempt what Bollywood and other industries shy away from, building large scale, myth rooted fantasy universes that do not sacrifice intelligence or artistry. And that is the kind of ambition that deserves celebration, not nitpicking.