Some stories deserve to be told on the big screen, not just because they make for compelling cinema, but because they remind us of chapters of history that are often overlooked. Ranabaali, directed by Rahul Sankrityan, attempts to do just that. Set against the backdrop of the Great Madras Famine of 1876-78, the period drama tells the story of a warrior who rises against British oppression as starvation devastates his community.
Starring Vijay Deverakonda as Ranabaali and Rashmika Mandanna as his wife, Jayamma, the film has plenty going for it. The historical setting offers a solid premise, the production design brings 19th-century Rayalaseema to life, and Vijay throws himself into a role that demands both physical intensity and a commanding screen presence.
Yet, for all its ambition, Ranabaali never quite becomes the powerful story of resistance it aspires to be. What begins as an attempt to explore colonial exploitation and the suffering of ordinary people gradually turns into a familiar tale of a larger-than-life hero taking on an evil empire. The film has the scale and the intent, but its storytelling lacks the depth needed to make either count.
The film introduces Singanamala Bobbili Ranabaali, a warrior whose connection to the village deity Bhadra Mallanna gives him an almost divine presence. Their peaceful existence comes under threat when British colonial rule tightens its grip on the region. The Great Madras Famine, fuelled by drought, crop failures and colonial economic policies, leaves thousands struggling to survive.
Arnold Vosloo plays Sir Theodore Hector, a British commissioner determined to continue exporting food grains to serve the interests of the Crown, even as people under his administration starve. As the suffering grows, Ranabaali takes up arms against the British and emerges as the leader of a rebellion.
Despite its premise, the film rarely looks beyond the familiar framework of an oppressed population waiting for a saviour. Ranabaali’s rise becomes the central plot point, while the people whose suffering sets the story in motion remain largely in the background.
The film's biggest weakness becomes apparent in the second half, when violence begins to dominate almost every major development. Sankrityan does not shy away from showing the horrors of famine and colonial oppression. Starving villagers die in distressing circumstances, while atrocities against women and children are depicted in graphic detail. The intention is clear: the audience must understand the cruelty of the regime and the anger that eventually drives people to revolt.
But there is only so much that repeated scenes of brutality can achieve. After a point, the violence becomes numbing rather than moving. Instead of drawing viewers deeper into the tragedy, it creates a distance between them and the people suffering on screen. The film seems to believe that the more horrific an incident is, the greater its emotional impact will be. That is not always the case.
The action sequences suffer from a similar problem. Ranabaali’s clashes with the British are staged on a grand scale, but they rarely deliver the catharsis one expects from a rebellion story. The same conflicts play out repeatedly, with little development in either the characters or the stakes.
Vijay Deverakonda is the biggest asset of Ranabaali. He brings the physicality and intensity required of a warrior who refuses to bow to an oppressive regime. His performance is most engaging in the first half, when the character is still a husband, a member of his community and a man with a life beyond the battlefield.
As the film progresses, however, Ranabaali becomes increasingly one-dimensional. Anger, righteousness and determination dominate his character, leaving little room for vulnerability or self-doubt. Vijay has the screen presence to carry a film of this scale, but the writing gives him few opportunities to explore the person beneath the warrior.
Rashmika Mandanna brings a welcome sense of warmth to the film as Jayamma. The scenes in which she and Ranabaali share ordinary moments of domestic life are among the film’s most enjoyable sequences.
Vosloo’s Sir Theodore Hector, meanwhile, never quite develops into the formidable antagonist the film needs. His cruelty is obvious, but the character is often reduced to a caricature of a colonial official.
Ajay-Atul's music and background score are another weak link in the film. A story of this scale calls for music that can deepen the sense of loss, intensify the rebellion and bring emotional weight to the characters' journeys. Instead, the score often feels disconnected from the drama.