Dominic Arun’s Lokah: Chapter 1 – Chandra isn’t just another attempt at creating a “cinematic universe”; it’s a bold, intoxicating step into a folklore-rooted, neon-washed world where mythology collides with urban loneliness. And at the center of it all stands kalyani Priyadarshan’s brooding diva, Chandra — a goddess to some, a slayer to others, and very much the reluctant superhero this city deserves.
The film wastes no time in telling us Chandra is extraordinary. A random thug in a Bengaluru parking lot realizes it the hard way when his macho swagger meets its end under her fists, while her hapless neighbour Sunny (Naslen) is left stammering in awe at her powers. To the world around her, Chandra is just another Malayali migrant in a dingy Bengaluru apartment. To us, she is a force of nature — an enigma wrapped in folklore, framed in neon red streaks that follow her like destiny.
World-building is Lokah’s greatest triumph. Unlike many forced cinematic universes, here it feels organic. Bengaluru, with its melting pot of cultures and undercurrents of alienation, becomes the perfect canvas. A Malayali superhero, a tamil cop, a Kannadiga crime syndicate — their cultural intersections make the city feel alive. The loneliness of the migrant experience, especially Chandra’s, finds expression not just in dialogue but in visuals, music, and silences. kalyani is especially compelling in these quieter beats, balancing ferocity with fragility.
Chandra herself is not just another cape-wearing saviour. She can fly, move with ninja-like instincts, and rescue the vulnerable, but what sets her apart is the film’s refusal to spell out her entire past. Instead, it doles out just enough — a rich tapestry inspired by Kerala’s folklore of kings, yakshis, chaathans, and goddesses. The interval block is a masterclass in connecting myth with modernity, embedding her origins within the film’s ethos without ever breaking its immersive spell.
Around Chandra's orbit, characters who, though underwritten, make their mark. Her neighbours, Sunny and venu (Chandu Salimkumar) are comic relief and accidental sidekicks, their chaotic bachelor pad littered with booze bottles, smoke, a drunk squatter, and their cat Jango, who silently steals every scene. Their bumbling lives collide hilariously with Chandra’s mission, adding texture to the narrative. Even the antagonist, though uneven in performance, provides a thematic counterweight — his casual sexism and power games are everything Chandra is destined to dismantle.
By the second act, Lokah ambitiously sets up its larger universe with new characters and cameos. While this occasionally slows momentum, the film never loses grip, thanks to its stylized action and inventive music. Stunt choreographer Yannick Ben strikes a fine balance between visceral physicality and sleek animation, ensuring Chandra remains mysterious yet magnetic. Jakes Bejoy’s score wraps around the narrative like an unseen force, nudging us to believe in the unbelievable.
In the end, Lokah: Chapter 1 – Chandra is a rare beast — a superhero film that isn’t about capes or costumes but about identity, folklore, and belonging. It’s as stylish as it is soulful, and in kalyani Priyadarshan, it finds a lead who can hold myth and modernity in the same gaze.
Verdict: Lokah is not just world-building; it’s world-breathing — and Chandra, with her streak of red, is a heroine worth following into the next chapter.
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