Kanguva review: Suriya leads this grand spectacle with heart amidst primal chaos
Kanguva
Set against a primitive landscape, Kanguva tells the story of a warrior-leader who balances his people’s survival instincts with his own vision of compassion and integrity.
A characteristic in all of director Siva's movies that I strongly dislike is the lack of subtlety in emotions and reactions. Everything is loud—and sometimes even louder than Boyapati Srinu's films. But if you can look past this trait, Kanguva might just be one of the most cinematic spectacles you’ve experienced in theatres in a long time.
For audiences to connect with a character and their struggles, the actors portraying them must commit wholeheartedly. No matter how trivial a scene may appear, if actors fully dedicate themselves, even the toughest audience will eventually buy into it. Take, for example, Christian Bale in American Psycho—he convinces you that Patrick Bateman would actually drive an axe through the face of a colleague who enjoys slightly finer things. You don’t question the logic; you marvel at the madness. That's the power of an actor fully committing to their role, embodying their character's beliefs and emotions without judgment.
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Similarly, Suriya’s performance in Kanguva compensates for the weaknesses in Siva’s storytelling, compelling us to invest in the narrative. Siva’s vision is ambitious, telling a story set in a primitive civilization—a time often assumed to be void of nuanced emotions and complex moral understandings. Yet, he presents our ancestors in a new light. While most characters in Kanguva are driven by primal emotions like fear, greed, and vengeance, Suriya’s Kanguva preaches the virtues of compassion and forgiveness.
Kanguva is a leader who aims to elevate those around him. He advises the children of his land not to let negative emotions drive out the gods (innocence) within them. He trains women in self-defence, encouraging them to protect themselves rather than relying on him for rescue. He even sacrifices his kingdom to save the life of a child who moments earlier attacked him. To Kanguva, protecting the child’s mind from the poison of hatred is more important than his duty to the throne.
When Kanguva welcomes that child into the community, he doesn’t force a change in the boy’s identity. The boy continues to dress differently from the people of Perumachi, one of the five fictional islands in the film, yet he is allowed to blend in, practice, and coexist without losing his individuality.
Siva could have added depth to the grand sequences instead of moving quickly from one spectacle to the next. In one scene, 100 widows of Perumachi, whose husbands were brutally slaughtered, gather to exact justice on a traitor. This could have been an iconic scene—100 women grieving together, participating in a powerful ritual of justice. But Siva rushes through it, and late editor Nishadh Yusuf’s cuts fail to enhance the epicness of the moment. Similarly, the rituals of mourning within Udhiran’s clan have sweeping visuals but don’t allow us to absorb their emotional depth. A sense of haste prevents us from fully experiencing the intended impact.
Suriya’s performance makes up for these narrative shortcomings, holding our attention from start to finish. The battle sequences, especially those set in the forest and at sea, are immersive and make the entire viewing experience worthwhile.
Kanguva isn’t perfect, but at a time when most large-scale movies leave us with a throbbing headache, this film reminds us of the pure thrill of watching larger-than-life spectacles in a packed theatre.