When a gripping novel meets an uneven adaptation, the result can feel painfully underwhelming. Vilaayath Budha, based on GR Indugopan’s eponymous work and co-written for the screen by the author and Rajesh Pinnadan, had every reason to be both intense and powerful. Instead, the film becomes a languid and directionless experience, lacking urgency, emotional weight, and narrative cohesion. It is particularly disappointing when we remember how brilliantly Jothish Shankar adapted Indugopan’s Nalanchu Cheruppakkar earlier this year into Ponman, proving how cinematic his writing can be when handled with imagination and clarity.
Director: Jayan Nambiar
Cast: Prithviraj Sukumaran, Shammi Thilakan, Priyamvada Krishnan, Anu Mohan, Rajashree
The adaptation of Vilaayath Budha was initially conceived as the late filmmaker Sachy’s dream project after Ayyappanum Koshiyum. With his passing, his assistant Jayan Nambiar stepped in for his directorial debut. That decision is sincere, but sadly, the craft falters. Where Ayyappanum Koshiyum turned male ego into riveting cinema, Vilaayath Budha feels like an overly long lecture that forgets its topic halfway through.
The story has powerful emotional and philosophical potential. "Thoovella" Bhaskaran (Shammi Thilakan), once a respected teacher and Panchayat President of Marayur, loses his dignity in a humiliating accident when he falls into a septic tank on an ageing former sex worker Chempakam’s (Rajashree) property. Mocked, forgotten, and renamed "Theettam" Bhaskaran, he gradually believes that only in death can he reclaim his honour. He fixates on a rare sandalwood tree in his yard, hoping its fragrant wood will redeem him during his funeral rites.
Enter Double Mohanan (Prithviraj Sukumaran), his former student and now a notorious smuggler, who sees the same tree as a symbol of profit, vengeance, and even spiritual glory. His desire is also deeply tied to Chaithanya (Priyamvada Krishnan), Chempakam’s daughter, whom he hopes to immortalise through his ambitious dreams. This clash between dignity, greed, and survival could have become a compelling battle of egos.
Unfortunately, Jayan Nambiar’s direction feels misplaced and unimaginative throughout. The film spends more than ninety minutes merely setting up the conflict and still fails to build any emotional tension. The screenplay is stretched thin, over-explaining minor emotional shades while avoiding deeper introspection.
Just when the conflict appears at the interval, the narrative wanders into a disjointed series of scenes, many of which are unintentionally amusing or dramatically pointless. The jeep scene in which Mohanan and Chaithanya topple off a hill and then casually continue the ride perfectly sums up the film’s amateurish staging.
Almost all the core plot points from the novel have been retained, but the added portions feel hollow and dramatically ineffective. The film cannot decide whether it wants to be a power-packed drama, a philosophical fable, or an action entertainer. The result is a confused, curiously empty film that lacks both narrative drive and emotional resonance.
Technically, the film appears adept on the surface. The visuals and production design capture the Marayur landscape effectively, although a particular VFX-heavy stretch in the second half looks tacky and amateurish. Jakes Bejoy’s score is serviceable but cannot salvage the fractured screenplay.
While performances offer occasional relief, they are far from enough. Shammi Thilakan is the film’s emotional anchor as Bhaskaran, bringing quiet vulnerability and raw pain to the role. At times, his performance even echoes shades of his legendary father Thilakan, making Bhaskaran’s journey the only truly compelling thread in the film. Without his presence, the film would have collapsed even further.
Prithviraj Sukumaran, as Double Mohanan, is often competent but inconsistent. The writing portrays him more as a swaggering smuggler reminiscent of Pushpa than a conflicted man. One can only imagine how Sachy might have shaped Mohanan into a more layered and emotionally complex character.
Chaithanya’s character is arguably the weakest link. Poorly written and exaggerated, her scenes suffer from awkward dialogue, erratic emotional shifts and a shallow arc. The writing tries to make her look strong and fiery, even suggesting she has agency, but instead keeps her circling Mohanan’s macho image, reducing her to a decorative character. Priyamvada Krishnan’s noticeably hammy performance only makes it more obvious.
By the time the film stumbles into its unintentionally funny final act, Vilaayath Budha loses all sense of clarity. Without philosophical weight, emotional catharsis, or dramatic highs, it becomes a tired and hollow adaptation that wanders for nearly three hours without ever finding its voice. More than anything, it reminds us of the late filmmaker who might have shaped it into what it truly deserved to be.