Akka Review:
All that glitters is gold, and for the first few scenes, Akka could be blinding with its glitter. Every character you see glistens with the humungous gold jewellery decked upon them. It takes the show a while to establish the significance of gold in the fictional land of Perunuru, the matriarchal dynasty that's at the centrestage of this series. Whether the explanation is satisfactory or not is a separate subject. But for all its worth, the crime-drama admirably attempts, with its expansive universe and sprawling ideas, to coherently sew together every puzzle piece it throws at us.
In Akka, Bhavani (Keerthy Suresh) and Muthakka (Tanvi Azmi) rule Perunuru with an iron fist. Established centuries ago as a matriarchal society, the empire operates with its own set of rules and conditions, as an outlier to the modern world around them. The dynasty has also survived the abolishment of zamindari system, forcing the government to find a middle-ground of sharing authority. Things get interesting when Shankar Anna (Mahesh Manjrekar) and Rudra (Radhika Apte) decide to infiltrate the empire, with a heinous plan to overthrow Bhavani and mould Perunuru according to their whims and normative ideas of power, crimes, and hierarchy.
Writer and director: Dharmaraj Shetty
Cast: Radhika Apte, Keerthy Suresh, Tanvi Azmi, Monika Panwar, Chhaya Kadam, Vishak Nair, Anshuman Pushkar, Pooja Mohanraj
Streamer: Netflix
In this universe, Bombay (it's the 70s, so yes, Bombay) stands as that outlandish, parallel space which poses threat to the matriarchal universe of Perunuru. And yet, the makers forget to underline the smaller shocks that could emerge from a clash of these two distinct worlds. It’s an ambitious conceit alright, but not done with enough ease or skillfulness. Monika Panwar plays a younger version of Muthakka who, as we gradually learn, has made some significant decisions that are responsible for the chaotic present of Perunuru. However, for the first three episodes, Akka dwindles between being exposition-heavy, generic, and fumbling with its massive world-building. There are too many moving pieces here, and the series often struggles to make sense of them while juggling the linear storytelling duties. In an already complicated web, the writers gets too immersed in adding new blocks to the universe that adequately inform us but don’t necessarily pull us in.
There are a handful of impressive strokes early on. The first face-off between Bhavani and Rudra is surprisingly muted. While built on stereotypical turf, Rudra gradually emerges as a woman almost of a mythical force, someone who steps down from another world to wreak havoc on this land. Akka makes some subtle but interesting space for gender politics, by exploring how power is perceived and wielded differently when Perunuru threatens to lose its matriarchal essence. Some of the commentary feels too understated for a story of such grandiose nature, like the one that explores Perunuru’s penchant for self myth-making as a coping mechanism for its failures. Suddenly, you begin to see Bhavani and her herculean efforts to keep the empire alive in a new, complicated light.
Rudra, in that sense, becomes all the more interesting because she is a result of every form of clash that shaped the destiny of this dynasty, be it gender, caste, or class. Radhika Apte, however, struggles to tap into that larger-than-life quality of her role. There are also strong influences of other, recent pathbreaking works. The folklore is straight out of Kantara (2022), the background score is disappointingly reminiscent of Baahubali (2015) in some places, and relying on 70s trumpet-heavy sound at others. There is also a Kill Bill (2003) climax-like revelation at one point, which falls flat. Rudra, in fact, mirrors everything about the show itself: an intriguing concoction of many things mythical, myriad, and convoluted that doesn’t always hit the right spot, but cannot be dismissed either. Amidst all its influences and cliches, Akka continues to aim for something big, succeeding intermittently.
A lot of the delight, meanwhile, comes from registering the enormous acting talent at work — Tanvi Azmi, Amrita Patil, Chhaaya Kadam, Monika Panwar, Anshuman Pushkar — that is often overwhelmingly distracting from the show’s limitations. Pooja Mohanraj, as Deju, makes a strong Hindi debut. Meanwhile, occupying the centrestage as Bhavani, a commanding patriarch who slowly sees her world crumble while mustering courage to win it back, Keerthy Suresh brings an intensity to her part like very few can. Such is the power of her close-ups, capturing the pathos of a warrior who is equal parts determined and defeated, that we learn to forgive the jarring Hindi accent.
It’s only around the half-way mark when Akka shows a desire to explore its own inherent darkness, especially when Rudra talks about her childhood, and Bhavani contemplates defying herself for the sake of her empire. In the final two episodes, the series eventually manages to rise above its generic template, packing in a few punches. The structure of episode four particularly takes you by surprise, with its visceral depiction of Bhavani’s falling empire. Season finale has another long, breathtaking action sequence that grabs you by the collar with its grit and kinetic energy. And though the show delves into its wide web of interconnected dynasties even in its last leg, Akka finally emerges strongly on its own. The flaws remain, but so does the ambition. Despite all its convolutions, the narrative remains taut.
And yet, at the end of it, I don’t know how to feel about a show like Akka. This is a show brimming with ambitious world-building ideas, interesting themes weaved all over a generic plot, and that occasional sense of palpable doom that threatens to rise above the narrative’s bigger failures. Yet, you feel a distance from Akka. That doesn’t mean it’s not admirable, but it’s hard to shake off the feeling that with all the ground it walked on, this Keerthy Suresh-Radhika Apte starrer series could have been a lot more hypnotic.
