RAMAYANA NEEDS MORE EMOTIONAL DEPTH
by Piyush Roy November 10 2026, 12:00 am Estimated Reading Time: 6 mins, 11 secs
Epic Spectacle, Elusive Soul: Why the New Ramayana Needs More Heart. Piyush Roy examines how Namit Malhotra and Nitesh Tiwari’s ambitious cinematic adaptation needs greater emotional depth, familial drama and the musical soul of India’s epic.
Namit Malhotra and Nitesh Tiwari’s Ramayana (Part One, 2026) has arrived as a landmark global achievement in cinematic spectacle. India’s oldest, most revered epic finally receives the monumental scale, technical artistry, and narrative ambition it has long deserved—standing tall alongside Hollywood's grand adaptations of Greek and Nordic mythologies.
The Spectacle and the Missing Emotional Core
Through ambitious world-building, grand realms of devas, asuras, sages, shapeshifters, humans, and mythical titans come alive, laying a solid foundation for an expansive multi-platform franchise across cinema, gaming, and merchandise. As these vast, imaginative landscapes roll one after another across the screen, there is an unmistakable personal thrill in seeing ancient Indian lore sculpted with such world-class visual grandeur.
Yet, beneath this staggering technological splendor, a fundamental question lingers: where is the heart?
While the film flawlessly executes the Adbhuta (wonder) and Vira (heroism) rasas, it leaves a critical artistic void by underselling the story’s emotional core. Valmiki’s Ramayana famously originated from Karuna (pathos)—triggered by the tragic cry of a krauncha bird losing its mate to a hunter’s arrow. In this cinematic rendering, however, the scales are tipped heavily towards action.
Unlike Western epics, the Ramayana is not merely a myth preserved in text; it is a living, breathing emotional cosmos woven into the daily fabric of Indian homes through song, reverence, rituals, and a practised cultural memory of festivals tied to the epic's major events. Monumental CGI and battles can awe the eye, but the soul of the narrative lies in its evocative melodrama—its soul-stirring music, intricate family dynamics, and profound domestic sacrifices. The epic thrives on impossible promises, heart-breaking betrayals, and the tender warmth of Ram’s inner universe: his bonds with his family, his devotion, and his companions.
The Family Drama That Deserves More Space
Yet, in Namit and Nitesh’s iteration, the Ikshvaku clan remains curiously understated. Barring Lakshman and Sita, Ram’s family is largely relegated to caricatures of parents and siblings, stripped of the rich psychological agency the epic traditionally grants them. Iconic dramatic turning points—Sita leaving Mithila, Manthara corrupting Kaikeyi, the unfair boons placed on Dashrath, the citizens of Ayodhya pleading to follow Prince Rama, the passionate arguments of Sita and Lakshman to join his banishment, Dashrath’s death, and Bharata’s refusal to ascend the throne—cannot function as mere information fillers to be rushed through for the next battle set-piece to unfold. They require deliberate, lingering pacing to let the grief breathe in dignity. Rather than flattening the human drama to a mere telling to engage unfamiliar global sensibilities, the film’s immense technical infrastructure could have been used to heighten it with performed songs and evocative lyrics.
Melodrama in the Ramayana thrives on the ripple effects of intimate choices—after all, a single upset maid alters the fate of an entire empire. Interestingly, the script treats Ravana’s formidable quest and intense penance as a compelling hero's journey for infinite power, investing multiple characters from his clan with deep backstories, psychological depth, and real emotive agency. Giving similar screen time and agency to the mothers and brothers of Rama, and the citizens of Ayodhya, would have created a starker, more heart-breaking contrast between the riches of Ayodhya and the rags of the forest.
Ravana’s Journey and the Imbalance of Two Worlds
Ravana’s departure from his home for an arduous penance to conquer the heaven, earth, and netherworld unfolds with a gravitas that easily rivals Rama’s banishment, his quest for an abducted Sita, and the eventual return to Ayodhya. If one journey is about the power of desire, the other is about promise and righteousness; if one moves through spectacular battles, the other pulls at heart-warming emotions. Instead of balancing these two arcs, Ramayana Part One skews so heavily toward the outward appeal of the extremes in Ravana’s journey that it could easily be retitled Ravanayana.
The action choreography in the film is intensely realised, but the heavy-handed CGI giants—particularly in the introduction scenes of Kumbhakaran and other titans—look a bit like stiff mannequins, occasionally pulling you right out of the story. It makes the epic cinematic canvas unintentionally shift into looking like a video game action-adventure.
Barring those minor hiccups, the recurring battle sequences are executed on par with the best of Hollywood in the genre, with the ultimate Jatayu-Ravana aerial confrontation on the Pushpaka Vimana proving quite an adrenaline-inducing wonder.
Casting That Brings the Divine Down to Earth
The film’s other highlight is its almost picture-perfect casting, and where the pacing allows the actors to breathe, the dramatic potential of the ensemble shines brilliantly. Ranbir Kapoor beautifully internalises the restraint and assurance of a divine presence, embodying Rama with a quiet, grounded dignity. Sai Pallavi lends a daring grace to Sita—a depth rarely seen in previous Indian screen adaptations. Her moments of shared tenderness with Rama provide the narrative with its most evocative, cherished windows of genuine emotion.
Meanwhile, Yash epitomises a complex, larger-than-life, yet consciously arrogant Ravana with the earnestness of a performer executing the role of a lifetime. Finally, Ravi Dubey’s standout performance as Lakshman effortlessly channels a wide gamut of rasas—shifting from uncontrolled, protective rage to playful, affectionate banter. These lead interpretations effectively humanise the divine avatars, providing a blueprint for how the rest of the ensemble could have been enriched.
The Sequel Needs a More Indian Soul
Looking ahead to the sequel, there is immense potential to elevate the saga by weaving its technical prowess into a far more emotive tapestry. The spectacular battles will naturally draw audiences, but the quiet, intimate moments of sacrifice deserve equal cinematic gravity. This emotional recalibration also demands a complete reimagining of the film’s sonic landscape.
All traditional retellings of the Ramayana—on stage, celluloid, or television—have relied on soul-stirring music, songs, and chants to amplify emotional crests. Here, the few musical elements present feel overshadowed by an orchestration that mimics a sweeping but functional Western background score by Hans Zimmer and AR Rahman. The sequel would benefit immensely from pivoting toward lyrically powered, emotionally raw compositions where the orchestration supports the poetry and thoughts, à la the myriad local retellings of the epic across the Indian subcontinent and Southeast Asia.
Filmmaker Satyajit Ray famously remarked that to be truly international, an artist must be intensely local. Namit Malhotra and Nitesh Tiwari have successfully built the global framework; now, they must inject the local soul.
Looking forward to the next part, the true success of this franchise will depend on whether the makers can make the audience deeply feel the essentially Indian elements—the intricate family dynamics, the devastating weight of impossible promises, and the profound concept of righteousness over ambition.
By marrying their world-class technical bravado with the relentless, tear-jerking melodrama inherent to this eternal tale, Ramayana (Part Two, 2028) can bring its hero’s journey to a crescendo that is both spectacularly global and intimately profound.
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