'Lokah' rewrites superhero script with vampire rebel from Kerala folklore

In India, however, the superhero never quite broke free from its mythological scaffolding. Our costumed crusaders were usually gods in disguise, or mythic figures re-skinned for comics and television. Unlike their Western counterparts, who shed overt religiosity to stand as secular saviours, Indian superheroes remained bound to epics and divine genealogies.

This explains why, despite our rich narrative traditions, they never achieved the same global appeal.

From Captain Marvel to Wonder Woman to Jessica Jones, female superheroes in the West have carved out arcs that are both aspirational and subversive, fighting not just villains but also patriarchy and audience expectations.

Kerala's folkloric rebel

This is precisely where Lokah: Chapter One – Chandra directed by Dominic Arun, enters the scene. Rather than borrowing from Sanskritic gods, it reclaims Kerala’s own folkloric rebel, Kalliyankattu Neeli, the vampire woman demonised in ballads yet remembered as a figure of resistance.

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In Lokah, Neeli is not the same figure from traditional myths; she is given a new backstory, enduring across centuries while remaining in the body of her early twenties since being impaled by Kadamattathu Kathanar. Though she appears youthful, she carries the burden of immense age, surfacing in different eras, from ninth-century Travancore to British India, from war-torn Europe to contemporary Bengaluru as Chandra, a superheroine shaped and guided by Moothon, her mentor figure. His presence, revealed only through a single word uttered in the film, becomes both her anchor and the film’s greatest suspense.

Her arrival collides with the lives of three carefree Malayalis—Sunny, a resigned IT worker, Venu, a medical college dropout, and Nigel, an easy-going drifter—whose ordinary existence is suddenly shredded by the pull of a cosmic story.

The genius of Lokah lies in the way it locates its superheroine not in the heavens or in genetic experiments but in folklore. Neeli has always occupied a liminal space in Kerala’s cultural imagination: feared as a vampire, yet admired as a woman wronged who turns her rage into strength.

Not a flawless saviour

By reimagining her as Chandra, a contemporary superheroine navigating both modern cities and ancient curses, the film bridges myth and modernity.

This is what separates Lokah from past Indian attempts at superhero stories. Where television’s Shaktimaan relied heavily on sermonising moralism, and where many comic-book heroes were thinly veiled avatars of gods, Lokah strips away divinity and focuses on a heroine forged from trauma, vengeance, and resilience.

Chandra is not written as a flawless saviour. Her supernatural powers like immortality, strength, and a vampiric heritage are counterbalanced by her loneliness and centuries of trauma. She embodies the Jungian archetype of the shadow, dangerous yet necessary, feared yet indispensable.

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Stylistically, Lokah borrows elements from global superhero cinema, slow motion entry, high-octane action, and CGI set-pieces but infuses them with a strong regional ethos. The camera does not linger on glossy skylines but on urban middle class, colonies, hangout spaces, and neon-lit Bengaluru roads where Malayali migrants hustle.

The contrast between the ordinariness of these spaces and the grandeur of Chandra’s battles is what makes the visuals resonate.

Loka's feminist core

One of the most striking aspects of Lokah is its feminist core. By choosing Kalliyankattu Neeli, a figure long demonised in folklore as its foundation, the film performs a cultural reclamation. It gives agency to a woman once seen only as a monster, reframing her as a heroine with a cause.

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In doing so, the film also aligns itself with Kerala’s broader history of female icons. From the legend of Nangeli, who resisted caste oppression, to the everyday struggles of women in Kerala’s public sphere, the state has produced powerful narratives of women’s resistance. Chandra belongs to this lineage.

She is not just a superheroine but a metaphor for suppressed rage transformed into justice.

Kalyani Priyadarshan’s effort to embody this extraordinary role is remarkable; she shoulders the film almost single-handedly. Another highlight lies in the much-talked-about cameos and the tantalising character teasers that build anticipation for the next chapter which literally created a huge uproar in theatres.

Burden of world-building

As an origin story, Lokah excels at world-building. The pre-interval stretch, the introductions, and the gradual unveiling of Chandra’s powers are riveting. The film situates itself as the first chapter in a larger saga, laying seeds for future conflicts and characters.

At the same time, the script sometimes strains under the weight of its own setup. The creation of villains and their world lacks the depth and menace that a character like Chandra—or Neeli—demands. The sheer effort to introduce new characters and establish an entire universe occasionally slows the pace, making the film feel less like a standalone story and more like an extended prologue to future sequels.

Yet, this is a familiar challenge across superhero franchises worldwide, from DC to Marvel, where the burden of world-building often overshadows narrative sharpness.

This leap also places Malayalam cinema within India’s broader superhero experiments. Minnal Murali had already shown how a localised, rural hero could click with audiences. In contrast, more recent outings like HanuMan in Telugu or Krrish in Hindi struggled to leave a lasting impact. Lokah stands apart because it dares to anchor its heroine not in science fiction gimmicks or divine blessings, but in the darker, layered recesses of folklore.

Epic and intimate

The ending of Lokah makes clear that this is only the beginning. Unfinished subplots, post-credit teases, and glimpses of other characters suggest a sprawling universe in the making.

In the mythology of superheroes, every culture contributes its anxieties and aspirations. The United States projected the immigrant dream in Superman, urban trauma in Batman, adolescent angst in Spider-Man. With Lokah, Malayalam cinema projects its folklore, its feminist yearnings, and its migrant struggles onto the superhero canvas. The result is both epic and intimate.

A film that dares to combine urban banter with gothic vampirism, Bengaluru nightlife with cosmic battles, and centuries-old curses with the everyday struggles of youth.

It is very much the director’s film, crafted to keep you on the edge of your seat. The visual treatment is striking, especially for a sophomore effort arriving eight years after his debut. The way he handles transitions is particularly impressive: shots shift as seamlessly as sprinkled salt dissolving into a starry sky, or from the glare of operation theatre lights to the glint of ice cubes in a liquor glass.

These intercuts between eras, especially around the interval block, reveal a filmmaker with a rare visual confidence and ambition.

With Lokah, Malayalam cinema enters the superhero age with a heroine who promises to stay in the imagination long after the credits roll.