Mahavatar Narsimha Review: A Divine Roar for Indian Animation
Ashley Suvarna (Instagram | Twitter)
Around two days before watching Mahavatar Narsimha, I got my hands on a copy of Ne Zha 2, an animated masterpiece that took the world by storm. So I was fresh off the hype train, and maybe a little concerned that I might end up constantly comparing this movie to the Chinese film and ruin my experience. After all, Indian animated films have had some stellar stories, though they always lagged several leagues behind the biggies like Pixar and DreamWorks in terms of production quality.
So when I say that during Mahavatar Narsimha’s entire two-hour ten-minute runtime, not for a single moment did I even think of Ne Zha 2, or any other comparable film for that matter, you can probably imagine how thoroughly the movie had my attention.
The story of Mahavatar Narsimha is a classic, one almost every Indian has grown up reading about. But for those who didn’t, it’s basically a tale of good vs evil where an almighty demon king who hates the god Vishnu, finds out that his own son has become an ardent devotee of Vishnu and tries every trick in the book to make an example out of him. The story is often taught as an example of divine intervention and the power of faith.
Right off the bat, Mahavatar Narsimha introduces us to the two demon brothers, Hiranyaksha and Hiranyakashipu, sons of the great sage Kashyap and masters of the arcane arts. No lengthy ‘once upon a time’ infodumps, no fluff, the entire plotline focuses solely on the fate of these two brothers and doesn’t make the mistake of wandering into the vastness of Indian mythology for absolutely no reason.
The two demons set out to conquer the world with their immense strength, but Hiranyaksha crosses a line when he, with his brother’s blessings, kidnaps the goddess of the earth and holds her hostage within the depths of the cosmic ocean. Which is when Vishnu, the preserver of the universe, takes on the avatar of Varaha, a colossal boar who dredges the goddess out of the ocean while also making short work of Hiranyaksha.
Stung by the loss of his brother, Hiranyakashipu, once merely dismissive to Vishnu, begins to truly hate him. Through penance, he achieves the boon of near-immortality and becomes master of the three realms, creating a kingdom where the worship of Vishnu is punishable by death. Not knowing that his own little child, Prahlad, would some day become his antithesis and eventual doom. The tussle between Prahlad’s unwavering devotion and his father’s ego forms the meat of the story.
But let’s talk about the elephant in the room – the animation. I’ve heard the production team took almost five years to finish Mahavatar Narsimha, and let me tell you, they weren’t sleeping on the job at all. The visual quality is a significant jump from what we’ve generally come to expect from Indian animation. Was it perfect? Nah, not even close. I noticed plenty of issues, particularly in terms of facial animation and the way the characters moved clunkily in certain scenes. Not to mention some pretty subpar cloth and hair physics here and there.
But Mahavatar Narsimha’s makers offset all of that with some of the best VFX and action choreography I’ve seen in Indian animation. And the lighting… The team that did the lighting for this movie deserves a medal. And a hike. And a paid vacay to the Swiss Alps.
In fact, some of the set pieces like Prahlad’s chamber and the grand hall are so beautifully lit that you might just decide to overlook any flaws that may appear. Mahavatar Narsimha‘s animation may not have Pixar’s glossy smoothness, but that’s not what this film aims for. Instead, it draws inspiration from temple art and Puranic illustrations. Palaces are ornate, forests feel alive, and the last 20 or so minutes is a spectacle — fury, divinity, and raw power captured in every frame. Although I’d say I’m not a fan of how they make all the demons look like orcs from Warcraft.
Composer Sam C. S. delivers a soundtrack that perfectly balances devotion and drama in Mahavatar Narsimha. Prahlad’s bhajans are tender, while Narasimha’s entrance gets a snazzier version of a typical south Indian massy entry theme, thundering with percussion and chants that vibrate through the
theater. The music doesn’t just accompany the visuals; it elevates them, making even familiar scenes feel monumental.
The voice cast of Mahavatar Narsimha strikes the right tone: dignified, devotional, and dramatic without slipping into caricature. Hiranyakashipu’s arrogance chills, Prahlad’s sincerity inspires, and Vishnu’s voice commands reverence. I do appreciate the fact that the makers did not turn Hiranyakashipu into a straight up, Mogambo-style villain. He commits atrocities and is driven by hate, sure, but he’s also an illustrious leader, a supportive brother, an otherwise level-headed king, and most of all, a doting father who is as heartbroken by young Prahlad’s beliefs as he is furious.
This layered representation of both the devas and the asuras is a recurring theme in Indian mythology. Neither side is inherently good or evil, both demons and gods being ultimately defined by their actions rather than birth. Hiranyakashipu’s transition from a man who just wants his son to love him more than his enemy to a king who feels the pain of having to sacrifice his child, to an indifferent creature who just wants to get rid of the boy, the movie explores his entire emotional spectrum without making him feel too sympathetic as a character.
But I think the biggest takeaway from Mahavatar Narsimha is Prahlad. Not him per se, but his nature. See, in every Indian myth and scripture, a demon’s rise to power and eventual downfall is a planned event, a predestined outcome written by the masters of the cosmos. Even Prahlad growing upto be a soft-spoken, kindhearted devotee of Vishnu was no coincidence, but a result of destiny and divine intervention. It is also true that the god-sage Narad was the one who took advantage of Hiranyakashipu’s absence and advised the pregnant demon queen to chant the name of Vishnu under the guise that it would benefit her unborn child.
But to say that Prahlad’s undying affection for Vishnu was merely the result of third party influence would be an insult to his own devotion. The boy had many chances and a whole plethora of reasons to change his mind. He could easily have followed his father’s ways and inherited a legacy that granted him dominion over the gods, and yet, he willingly chose to remain Vishnu’s servant and admirer, even at the peril of his own life, even though he believed that as someone of the demon clan, his soul would not be worthy of heaven anyway.
This is not the god-fearing devotion that organized religion often uses to control its followers, or the selfish devotion where people become worshippers mainly because of the benefits it offers, either in life, or after death. This was sheer, unconditional love, one that is neither defined by neither logic nor emotion, neither deed nor consequence, transcending every single limit of spirituality ever set by both men and gods. And yet, the whole Mahavatar Narsimha experience leaves you with a larger question – is devotion just us following some kind of preset software coding, or is it something determined by our own free will?
Perhaps a wiser man might have the answer to that. All I as a viewer can say is, the big leaguers like Ne Zha 2 may be absolute blockbusters, but Mahavatar Narsimha has its own charm and profoundness that mustn’t be sullied by putting it on a comparison chart. It is not a perfect movie, the pacing occasionally drags, and some crowd scenes could have used more polish. But these are minor quibbles in a film that otherwise soars. Mahavatar Narsimha is devotional, thrilling, and deeply moving — a cinematic experience which proves that although Indian animation still has a long way to go, it might have finally come of age.
Mahavatar Narsimha is still playing in select theaters.
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