Boyapati Sreenu and Nandamuri Balakrishna come together once again for Akhanda 2: Thaandavam, a reunion that naturally brings sky-high expectations. Their previous outings thrived on a familiar rhythm — Boyapati’s thunderous staging and Balakrishna’s unshakeable screen presence. This time, however, that celebrated chemistry finds itself trapped inside a screenplay that exaggerates scale but shrinks in substance, turning what should have been an engaging sequel into an overstuffed spectacle that runs out of breath far too soon.
Cast: Nandamuri Balakrishna, Samyuktha, Harshaali Malhotra, Aadhi Pinisetty, Saswata Chatterjee
Director: Boyapati Srinu
The film opens by revisiting a moment from the original Akhanda, where the Aghora promises little Janani that he will return whenever she is in danger. That thread is meant to act as the emotional backbone of the story, but the film barely allows that sentiment to breathe before launching into a geopolitical revenge drama. A Chinese General, furious after losing his son in the Galwan clash, allies with a strategist who believes an entire nation can collapse if its faith is shaken. Together, with the help of an ambitious Indian minister, they unleash a bio-virus into the Ganga during the Maha Kumbh Mela. It is a premise with inherent dramatic weight, but the narrative treats it merely as a stepping stone to the next mass elevation, never pausing to explore the human stakes or national panic that such a plot naturally demands.
As the virus spreads, the Prime Minister looks for a solution, which leads the story back to Janani (Harshaali Malhotra) — now a teenage DRDO scientist. Her overnight creation of a vaccine is one of many moments where the film abandons realism in favour of speed, urgency, and convenience. When she heads to Ladakh to begin mass production, the Chinese forces attack, and Boyapati builds Akhanda’s entrance with the grandeur he is known for. Balakrishna emerges in an avatar far more divine than before — part Aghora, part Shiva, part unstoppable superhero. He strides into battle with a calm that hints at omnipotence, and Boyapati treats every frame like a deity arriving to correct the cosmic imbalance.
But it is here that the film’s fundamental problem becomes hard to ignore. Every thread, idea, and character exists only to justify Akhanda’s god-like supremacy. Logic becomes a casualty almost immediately. The Indian Army and intelligence agencies are largely invisible, major ministers storm into the PMO with personal goons, a Prime Minister refuses to visit a village because a local mafia kidnapped officials, and a civilian version of Balakrishna is summoned to rescue them in under an hour. These sequences feel less like narrative developments and more like contrived setups for action blocks — spectacular at times, but emotionally hollow.
The villains too never rise above caricature. For a story that sets up international conflict and national instability, the antagonists lack menace or conviction. They spend most of their time giving orders from enclosed rooms, never becoming worthy foils to a protagonist who is practically invincible. Even the climactic attempt to blow up the Kailasa Mountain carries an unintentional absurdity, particularly when the film ignores basic geopolitical and military realities. Boyapati’s ambition to mount a divine-versus-nation-destroyers showdown is clear, but the writing never supports the scale he strives for.
Balakrishna, however, remains the film’s strongest presence. Whether delivering fiery monologues on Sanatana Dharma or unleashing chaos upon his enemies, he carries an unmistakable aura that lights up the screen. His appearances may be fewer than usual for a mass entertainer, but each one is crafted to draw whistles and applause. The problem is that the film around him does not give his performance the emotional or narrative support it deserves.
The supporting cast is unevenly utilised. Samyuktha appears almost entirely for glamour in the ‘Jajikaya’ song. Harshaali Malhotra, though sincere, struggles with repetitive expressions and mismatched dubbing. Aadhi Pinisetty, brought in as a seemingly significant character, ends up with material too thin to leave impact. The trio of Sangay Tsheltrim, Saswata Chatterjee, and Kabir Singh play villains with the same loudness in performance and dubbing that the film showers on its action sequences.
Technically too, the film wobbles. Thaman’s music, usually a lifeline in mass cinema, stands out this time in its failure to elevate the drama. The background score shifts from loud to overbearing, and the much-publicised ‘Jajikaya’ song makes little impression. The cinematography delivers some visually appealing frames, especially during mythological moments featuring Lord Shiva, Hanuman, and Narasimha, but these moments feel borrowed rather than organically earned. They arrive suddenly, linger briefly, and exit without deepening any emotional connection.
By the time Akhanda 2: Thaandavam reaches its finale, what remains is a film overflowing with ambition but underwritten at every turn. It wants to be devotional, patriotic, mythological, and mass-heavy all at once. In trying to achieve everything, it spreads itself thin and ends up offering very little that feels cohesive, original, or emotionally gripping. What survives are a handful of high-voltage moments tailored specifically for Balakrishna’s dedicated fan base — moments that do deliver, even when the rest of the film does not.
In the end, Boyapati’s latest collaboration with Balakrishna becomes a noisy, chaotic swirl of familiar tropes, divine imagery, and patriotic fervour. There are flashes of the old magic, but they flicker within a narrative that never finds clarity or balance. Akhanda 2: Thaandavam may still please die-hard fans looking for elevation-filled moments, but for anyone seeking a solid story or meaningful engagement, the film falls well short of its towering ambitions.