Brahmāstra Part One: Shiva

The sheer audacity required to spend eight years crafting a single film in a country where the "masala" formula is king cannot be overstated. Ayan Mukerji didn't just want to make a movie; he wanted to build a cathedral of light and lore. Brahmāstra Part One: Shiva arrived in 2022 not just as a film, but as a litmus test for whether Indian cinema could move past the "superhero" tropes of the West and find its own divine rhythm. I watched this while wearing only one sock because I couldn't find the other one in the dark, and strangely, that sense of being slightly off-balance perfectly mirrored the experience of watching this ambitious, neon-soaked fever dream.

The Neon Glow of Ancient Myths

From the jump, Brahmāstra feels like it’s vibrating. The premise is a heavy lift: an ancient secret society called the Brahmānsh protects a suite of "Astras" (divine weapons) themed after elements and animals. Our hero, Shiva, played with a wide-eyed, puppy-ish earnestness by Ranbir Kapoor (who previously worked with Ayan Mukerji on the much more grounded Wake Up Sid), is a DJ who discovers he is immune to fire.

The visual language here is where the film earns its keep. Eschewing the gritty realism that has plagued post-Snyder superhero cinema, Mukerji leans into a vibrant, psychedelic palette. The fire looks like liquid gold; the "Vanarastra" glows with a frantic, electric blue. It’s a testament to the VFX team at Prime Focus (the same folks who did the heavy lifting on Dune) that the CGI feels integrated into the spiritual DNA of the story rather than just a shiny coat of paint. The opening sequence featuring a massive cameo from Shah Rukh Khan—playing a scientist named Mohan Bhargav in a lovely nod to his character in Swades—is arguably the best action set-piece in modern Indian history. SRK’s ten minutes are better than most actors' entire careers, showcasing a fluidity of movement and a "cool factor" that the rest of the film occasionally struggles to maintain.

Love in the Time of VFX

Where the film stumbles—and it’s a loud, clattering stumble—is in the writing. The central romance between Shiva and Isha (Alia Bhatt) feels like it was written by someone who has only ever read about love in greeting cards. Alia Bhatt is one of the finest actors of her generation—just look at her work in Gangubai Kathiawadi—but here she is largely relegated to shouting "Shiva!" in varying pitches of distress.

The dialogue often feels like it was translated from a superhero comic by someone who has never actually spoken to a human woman. Characters explain things to each other that they clearly already know, a symptom of "franchise-building fatigue" where the need to set up the next two movies overrides the need for the current one to make emotional sense. There’s a repetitive loop to their interactions that almost made me wish I’d found that second sock just so I had something else to focus on.

A World-Building Gamble

Despite the clunky script, the action choreography keeps the momentum from flatlining. The mid-film truck chase featuring Nagarjuna Akkineni as an artist wielding the "Nandi Astra" (the power of a thousand bulls) is a masterclass in escalating tension. Nagarjuna brings a seasoned, rugged gravity that balances out the younger leads’ frenetic energy. Then there’s Mouni Roy as the villainous Junoon. She leans into the campiness of her role with such commitment that she becomes the most magnetic thing on screen, stalking through forests with a goth-chic malevolence that feels like a breath of fresh air.

Behind the scenes, the production was a marathon of delays and ballooning budgets, but you can see every cent of that $22 million on screen. In an era where the MCU is starting to feel a bit "factory-made," there is something deeply charming about Brahmāstra’s rough edges. It’s a film made with a fanboy’s heart and a titan’s budget. It’s trying to do for Hindu mythology what Thor did for the Norse gods, but with more songs and significantly more emotional earnestness.

The finale brings in Amitabh Bachchan as the Guru, and while his presence adds instant gravitas, the climax becomes a bit of a "CGI soup" where it’s hard to tell who is hitting whom with which glowing orb. Yet, even when the screen is a chaotic mess of red and blue light, the ambition remains infectious. Brahmāstra is an imperfect opening salvo, but it’s a necessary one. It proves that Indian cinema can handle the technical demands of a global franchise while keeping its cultural soul intact. I left the experience wishing for a tighter script but feeling genuinely excited for "Part Two: Dev." It’s a spectacle that demands a big screen, a loud sound system, and perhaps two matching socks.