Sekhar Kammula’s Kuberaa is an ambitious swing in a new direction — a socially driven crime drama that jettisons the director’s usual softness for something far more cynical and systemic. While the film boldly explores the intersections of class, capitalism, and conscience, its narrative struggles with tonal inconsistencies and a bloated runtime.
At its core, Kuberaa is a tale of three men from disparate social strata. Dhanush’s Deva, a beggar with a photographic memory and a gentle spirit, finds himself caught in a web spun by the calculating Neeraj Mitra (Jim Sarbh), a billionaire tycoon who equates visibility with power. Caught between them is Nagarjuna’s Deepak, an honest CBI officer forced to compromise his integrity after being falsely imprisoned. Their lives intersect in a financial conspiracy that unfolds like a socio-political thriller.
Dhanush is in excellent form, portraying Deva with restraint, empathy, and a quiet resilience. His performance grounds the film, especially in its more metaphoric or emotionally heavy-handed moments. Nagarjuna brings depth to Deepak, capturing a man torn between justice and helplessness. Jim Sarbh, cold and menacing, effectively conveys the dehumanizing logic of corporate greed. Rashmika Mandanna’s Sameera adds both levity and heart, even if her arc feels underwritten at times.
Kammula’s script, co-written with Chaithanya Pingali, makes a concerted effort to move away from commercial formula. The beggar’s world is depicted with dignity and realism — a stark contrast to Neeraj Mitra’s lavish high-rises and infinity pools. Niketh Bommireddy’s cinematography amplifies this visual dichotomy with brooding shadows and sharp contrasts, while Thota Tharani’s production design adds polish and authenticity.
Yet, Kuberaa falters in its execution. The film’s 182-minute runtime feels excessive. The second half, while packed with ideas, sags under its own weight, particularly as it oscillates between a social commentary and an overblown moral fable. The transitions are sometimes jarring, and several subplots — including those involving a pregnant woman and a one-dimensional henchman — feel contrived or poorly integrated.
Devi Sri Prasad’s background score, though effective in parts, often feels manipulative. The film could’ve benefited from more silence, letting its imagery and performances do the talking. While the editing holds the layered screenplay together reasonably well, the lack of narrative economy is felt throughout.
Still, Kuberaa deserves credit for daring to be different. It’s not often that mainstream Telugu cinema interrogates class structures, political corruption, and corporate exploitation with this level of seriousness. Though the final act rushes to tie up loose ends and leans toward poetic justice, it doesn’t quite land the emotional payoff it strives for.
Kuberaa isn’t a perfect film — it’s messy, overlong, and occasionally preachy. But it’s also deeply sincere and courageous in its intentions. Anchored by strong performances and a director willing to defy expectations, it offers a refreshing departure from formula, even if it doesn’t always hit the mark. As a commentary on modern India’s invisible underclass and the commodification of humanity, Kuberaa may not deliver a knockout, but it certainly lands a punch.
Watch it for Dhanush, Nagarjuna, and the questions it dares to ask — even if not all of them are answered convincingly.
CINEMA SPICE RATING: ★★★☆☆ (3/5)
