The film begins with the standard disclaimer: “All scenes and characters depicted are fictional.” Yet what followed felt like a deliberate, pointed portrayal — not of fiction, but of ideological venom. The first fifteen minutes of the movie depict a village being burned down in 2002, clearly hinting at real-life communal violence. A disturbing scene shows a young Muslim boy calling for his father during an ambush, only to be brutally beaten to death by a Hindu man. This is followed by a group of Muslims seeking refuge in a Hindu household, where they are attacked once again culminating in a horrifying moment where a Hindu man rapes a pregnant Muslim woman.
These scenes were not only excessive but were filmed with a narrative that clearly paints an entire Hindu Community in a vicious and villainous light. It was deeply troubling to see such depictions presented with such intensity and bias, especially by a celebrated actor-director duo like Prithviraj and Mohanlal. This isn’t just fiction, this is a narrative choice, and a deeply polarizing one.
The film continues to propagate this agenda with the storyline revolving around a prominent political party merging with a pro-Hindu party. This, according to the director, is shown as an event that distorts Kerala’s culture and politics, a dangerous and divisive message, hinting at real-life political Propagandas against the BJP.
One of the most bizarre and baseless moments in the film is when a villain affiliated with the pro-Hindu party resembling Honorable Prime Minister Narendra Modi states that “Kerala, with its G00 km coastline, can be used to smuggle drugs and psychotropic substances.” Where Prithviraj sourced this outrageous claim remains a mystery. Adding to this absurdity is a shocking reference to a bomb being dropped on a dam an unmistakable nod to the Mullaperiyar Dam, laced with unnecessary fear-mongering and sensationalism.
The political undertone of the film turns darker in the climax. The pro-Hindu leader clearly resembling the image of Hon’ble Prime Minister Narendra Modi Ji is killed. His allies are gunned down, while the ones standing victorious alongside Prithviraj and Mohanlal are portrayed as foreigners. The implication is chilling a subtle suggestion that the Prime Minister of India could be eliminated with the help of foreign forces.
From a cinematic perspective, the film is a disaster. Technically weak, poorly edited, and unnecessarily stretched, Empuraan struggles even as a work of fiction. The camera work is subpar, with random angle choices that make no visual or narrative sense. The much-hyped “OTT-quality shot” that the director bragged about during an interview is nowhere to be seen unless he meant the third-rate visuals that populated most of the film.
Though titled Empuraan, the movie narrates the story of Zayed Masood, played by Prithviraj, with Mohanlal’s character seemingly irrelevant and underutilized. For a Lalettan fan, this felt like a betrayal. The film wasn’t about him. It was about pushing a political ideology and settling ideological scores, not telling a story.
This is not the first time Prithviraj has pushed an anti-Hindu agenda. His previous film Jana Gana Mana carried similar undertones. And now, Empuraan joins a growing list of Malayalam films that seem to follow a disturbing trend Kuruthi, Kappela, The Great Indian Kitchen, and now this all produced or associated with a particular nexus involving Prithviraj, Suraj Venjaramoodu, Roshan Mathew, and producer Listin Stephen. Each film, in its own way, subtly or overtly vilifies Hindu traditions, beliefs, and institutions.
What could’ve been a grand cinematic journey turned into a politically motivated hit job. Empuraan isn’t just a bad film, it’s an attack on faith, on political plurality, and on the very soul of balanced storytelling.
