Sangarsha Ghadana Movie Review: A thoughtful, dark and funny take on violence

From the very first scene of Sangarsha Ghadana - The Art of Warfare, director Krishand does not want you to be at ease. He plunges you headfirst into a whirlpool of fire, fury and philosophy. A burning vehicle crackling against the night sky, with a man standing still before it, solemn and silent. This sets the tone for a film that is at once brutal and contemplative, garish and delicate. Inspired by Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, the film brings its ideas to life in a new way. Krishand crafts a gangster narrative that spirals around meditations on violence, strategy, justice, and retribution. But instead of getting lost in pretended seriousness, Sangarsha Ghadana wraps its heavy themes in wit, colour, and a distinct dark humour that has become Krishand’s signature.

Director: Krishand
Cast: Sanup Padaveedan, Vishnu Agasthya, Zhinz Shan, Rahul Rajagopal, Mrudula Murali, Manoj Kana

At the heart of the story is Kodamazha Suni (Sanup Padaveedan), a once-feared gang leader, who is now semi-retired and is running a travel business. When an orchestrated attack on his former aides leads to their deaths, Suni is drawn back into the world he tried to leave behind. But this is not a story of a gangster’s glorious return. If anything, it is a reflection on decay, regret, and the futility of vengeance. What begins as a standard gangland set-up gradually mutates into something far more layered and philosophical. The film is structured non-linearly, allowing the plot to unravel much like a war map, with every reveal timed like a tactical manoeuvre. The details of the Kodamazha gang’s past are uncovered gradually, mostly through interrogations that serve as quiet set-pieces in themselves.

Sethumadhavan (a superb Zhinz Shan), one of Suni’s loyal comrades, is grilled by CI Induchoodan (played to perfection by Manoj Kana). Their exchange is full of delightfully misplaced proverbs, resulting in moments that are both absurd and sharply observed. Manoj, a National Award-winning filmmaker, is a revelation as an actor here. His portrayal of Induchoodan is at once steely and playful, switching between comical detours and cutting sarcasm with effortless ease. Induchoodan’s interrogation style is as unconventional as the film itself. In one instance, he asks Sethumadhavan whether Kireedam was based on his life, only to introduce himself as "Induchoodan", another popular character of Mohanlal. These scenes work so well because they keep the tension alive while also revealing how violence can be oddly absurd.

The film’s visuals are perhaps its most striking achievement. Prayag Mukundan’s cinematography uses red and blue hues almost like emotional cues. There are frames where characters are lit simultaneously in red and blue, opposing colours that mirror the Taoist principles of yin and yang, a balance of forces that defines the film’s core philosophy. The lighting does more than just set the mood. It tells a story of conflict within and without. In one scene, even an egg dish, vaguely resembling the yin-yang symbol, is framed with this visual thoughtfulness, showing Krishand’s remarkable attention to detail. Krishand’s fascination with food as a motif in Sangarsha Ghadana is another delight. Suni, aware of the precariousness of his situation, revisits his favourite dishes like someone ticking off an emotional bucket list. Whether it’s puttu and mutton at a street-side thattukada, a glass of pepper soda, or a masala dosa at a favourite joint, food becomes a way to reclaim identity and humanity amid chaosIt is a tender undercurrent in an otherwise weighty tale with dollops of dark humour.

Sanup Padaveedan gives a quietly magnetic performance as Suni. He is stoic and restrained, anchoring the film’s philosophical weight through subtle gestures and a commanding stillness. His portrayal is less about fiery monologues and more about internal tremors. Vishnu Agasthya is equally effective as Kunjananthan. While his motivations are slowly revealed, his intensity is palpable from the start. His scenes, especially the one where he silently contemplates his next move while trying to swat a mosquito, are emblematic of Krishand’s ability to find stillness within tension. Rahul Rajagopal, as Rafi, brings a performance that is endearing, hilarious, and at times, loathsome. His dynamic with Suni is both touching and absurd, especially in the flashback where he is only reassured of their bond after hearing a volley of profanities from Suni. 

Among the standout cameo supporting characters is Axle Padmanabhan, a former rival to Suni. In a pivotal scene, he speaks with unnerving clarity about the pointlessness of revenge. “No matter who wins, both sides will lose,” he says, essentially becoming the film’s moral compass. His conversation becomes the soul of the narrative, elevating Sangarsha Ghadana from a genre film to a contemplation of consequence and meaning. The film is also peppered with moments of thoughtfulness that undercut the violence and grit, but never in a way that feels tonally inconsistent. In one scene, CI Sudha (Mrudula Murali) chats with her subordinate about toddler troubles right after receiving updates on a brutal crime, reminding us of the mundane realities that coexist with moments of crisis. Mrudula plays Sudha with ease and dignity, steering away from the usual tropes assigned to female cops in Malayalam cinema. She is firm but not frigid, humorous without being a caricature, and always rooted in the story. 

Sangarsha Ghadana also dives into geopolitics and history through inserted text frames with corresponding visuals. While some of them work, drawing parallels between organised crime and global conflict, others feel a bit indulgent. Yet Krishand’s ambition is admirable. He is not just making a gangster film but reflecting on how all violence is interconnected, shaped by circumstance, context, and power. In the hands of another filmmaker, the use of Sun Tzu might have felt gimmicky or overly clever. Even here, the voiceovers occasionally border on indulgence. But for the most part, Krishand integrates the text smoothly, using it as a lens through which the characters see their world. Rajesh Naroth’s score breathes life into the film’s emotions. It swells with tension, eases into calm, and carries the mood with quiet power. With gentle nods to traditional Chinese music, the soundscape feels both ancient and alive, echoing the film’s deeper themes.  

In the end, Sangarsha Ghadana is not just a story of crime or vengeance. With a cheekiness in every corner of the film, it is a reflection on what is left behind when violence becomes routine, when enemies start to feel human, and when even the most calculated battles leave only ruins. Like all of Krishand’s films, it dares to be different in its ambition, humour, and layered ideas, despite some indulgences. That quiet defiance feels like its own kind of triumph.