“L2: Empuraan,” unleashed on March 27, 2025, was billed as Mohanlal’s triumphant return, a sequel to “Lucifer” meant to hoist Malayalam cinema into the stratosphere. Instead, it’s a grotesque propaganda vehicle, steered off a cliff by director Prithviraj Sukumaran and writer Murali Gopy, with Mohanlal as Khureshi Ab’raam/Stephen Nedumpally reduced to a pawn in their sanctimonious game. What could have been a cinematic triumph is instead a shameless assault on Hindu sentiments, the BJP, and Prime Minister Narendra Modi, delivered with the finesse of a drunk uncle ranting at a wedding. Much like Rajinikanth’s trash film “Kaala” which blatantly peddled anti-Hindu and anti-BJP propaganda, “Empuraan” swan-dives into the same cesspool, dragging Mohanlal’s legacy down with it in a spectacle of political posturing and betrayal. If the entire review has to be summarized in a single line – Empuraan is worth nothing except for the meaning you get when you misread the name in Tamil. For a detailed analysis read further.
Kaala:Rajini::Empuraan:Mohanlal
In Kaala, the anti-Hindu streak is blatant and unapologetic. Ranjith casts Rajinikanth as a Dharavi slum leader, a dark-clad “Ravana” figure pitted against Nana Patekar’s white-clad, Ram-worshipping villain, Hari Abhyankar, the leader of Navbharat Nationalist Party (a BJP stand-in). The film flips the Ramayana on its head, glorifying Ravana as a Dravidian hero while mocking Rama as a symbol of oppressive Hindu hegemony. Hindu rituals, like Ganesh Chaturthi, are sneered at, and the antagonist’s devotion to Krishna and Rama is framed as a jibe at Hindus. The messaging is clear: Hindu traditions are tools of the elite to crush the downtrodden, with Dalit and Muslim characters lionized as victims of this savarna savagery. It’s a sledgehammer approach—crude, in-your-face, and dripping with Ranjith’s disdain for anything saffron.
Empuraan, by contrast, takes a slicker, more insidious tack. The fictional Akhanda Shakti Morcha (ASM), a Hindutva party, is a thinly veiled BJP proxy. It’s the BJP and RSS in all but name, cast as barbaric vandals tearing apart Kerala’s “secular” soul. Prithviraj and writer Murali Gopy don’t just stop at political critique—they caricature Hindu karsevaks as violent thugs, while their foes, including Mohanlal’s shadowy protagonist, emerge as morally superior. The film’s symbolism, like burning crosses and collapsing “L”s, subtly mocks Hindu iconography, but it’s less about rewriting epics and more about painting Hindu nationalism as a modern-day plague. The reference to the 2002 Gujarat Riots where the Hindus are shown as merciless villains while Muslims are shown as the poor hapless souls, you know what this trash film is all about. Where Kaala screams its Hinduphobia, Empuraan smirks through a polished lens, cloaking its contempt in a veneer of sophistication.
Anti-BJP Stance And Secular Sanctimony
Both films frame the BJP as a villain, but their battlegrounds differ. Kaala ties its anti-BJP stance to Tamil pride, pitting the Navbharat Nationalist Party (a BJP stand-in) against Rajinikanth’s black-clad, tricolour-defying hero. The party’s lion symbol (a nod to Gujarat and Modi) and saffron imagery are ridiculed as alien impositions on Tamil soil. It’s a regionalist middle finger to BJP’s national ambitions, amplified by Ranjith’s blue-flag-waving Ambedkarite defiance. The film thrives on this us-versus-them clash, reveling in its rejection of Hindutva’s electoral dominance outside Dharavi.
Empuraan takes a broader, more sanctimonious swipe. The ASM’s infiltration of Kerala is less about regional chauvinism and more about a moral crusade against BJP’s communal politics. Prithviraj’s narrative oozes Kerala’s self-righteous secularism, casting the BJP as a predatory outsider disrupting a utopian social fabric.
The real threat to Kerala is from the Islamists who have made Malappuram a hot bed of radicalization threatening the unity and sovereignty of India. Love Jihad is a dreaded reality affecting both Hindu and Christian families in the state. Radical Islamists have carved out Pakistan-like enclaves for themselves. However, this ‘peaceful community’ is never shown in bad light but the film goes out of the way to slander vocal Hindus.
Propagandist Prithviraj
All this propaganda is thanks to Prithviraj, the self-styled auteur whose fingerprints are all over this debacle. His direction reeks of a smug, elitist disdain, turning a potentially gripping tale into a soapbox for his thinly veiled political biases. He’s not just a filmmaker here—he’s a pontificating crusader, using “Empuraan” to flex his woke credentials while thumbing his nose at Hindus. The ASM’s every sneer and saffron symbol screams anti-Modi venom, a cheap ploy that’s less subtle than a brick through a window. It rails against division while wallowing in its own stereotypes, reducing Kerala to a melodramatic cesspit for clout. Prithviraj’s posturing as a progressive darling is laughable—he’s less a visionary than a sanctimonious hack, peddling divisive tripe under the guise of art.
The visuals—jungle fights, Mohanlal’s grand entry—are undeniably slick, a testament to technical prowess that briefly distracts from the rot. But it’s lipstick on a pig. Prithviraj’s heavy-handed messaging turns every frame into a lecture, alienating ardent Mohanlal fans. His political grandstanding doesn’t elevate the film; it guts it, leaving a hollow shell that’s neither entertaining nor insightful.
Mohanlal Stoops Low To Become A Rajinikanth
Mohanlal’s fans are left reeling. After a string of flops, this was his lifeline, but Prithviraj’s insufferable agenda has turned it into a millstone. The superstar’s charisma shines through, yet he’s shackled to a narrative that betrays his roots, a man who was admired by people across the ideological/political spectrum has turned himself into a propaganda pawn now complicit in trashing Hindus.
A Propaganda That Should Be Trashed
In the end, “L2: Empuraan” is a dazzling disaster—a propaganda-soaked mess that sacrifices art for ideology. Mohanlal’s star power can’t save it, and Prithviraj’s insipid political posturing only deepens the wound. Both Kaala and Empuraan wield anti-Hindu, anti-Modi, and anti-BJP propaganda. Like Kaala, it’s a film that spits on Hindu identity, demonizes nationalism, and grovels to anti-Modi dogma, all while its director preens like a self-righteous martyr. It is a shame that Rajinikanth and Mohanlal, titans of their industries, lend their stardom to these agendas.
A legacy tarnished, a fanbase betrayed, by becoming the pawns of pompous frauds.
Vallavaraayan is a political writer.
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