Kuberaa Review | Sekhar Kammula Challenges The Ant-Versus-Elephant Tale In A Gritty Thriller

Sekhar Kammula’s Kuberaa (2025) may have a mass-film ethos, but he chooses an uncluttered and humble storytelling approach. Omitting flashy item numbers or self-indulgent displays of set design and cinematography, Kuberaa commits fully to story-first filmmaking. Its strength lies in trusting the word of mouth and a star-studded cast that knows how to pack a punch. Starring Nagarjuna, Dhanush, Jim Sarbh and Rashmika Mandanna in lead roles, Kuberaa moves beyond the familiar ant-versus-elephant binary to examine power itself—how it mutates, corrodes, and eventually makes the ant assume the mantle of the elephant.

On the surface, it reads as a socio-political and class-divide commentary. Yet, its true aim is to actually reach those caught in the middle—neither too powerful nor utterly discarded—and explore who they choose to be each day. This conflict takes strong shape through Sameera (Rashmika Mandanna) and more so, through Deepak (Nagarjuna)—who departs from his usual charming and charismatic roles in Geethanjali (1989), Ninne Pelladatha (1996), and Annamayya (1997) to someone more unsettling and morally ambiguous. Nagarjuna has shown his range in dual roles in works like King (1994) and Hello Brother (2008). Yet here, he consolidates these dualities into a singular, deeply complex character roused by unjust circumstances and past trauma. Deepak is an ex-CBI officer gone rogue—gradually warped by money and power as the final measure of justice.

The teaser of Kuberaa opens with the angsty “Trance of Kuberaa”, setting a charged atmosphere for an underdog tale that Dhanush inhabits with remarkable ease. As his second Telugu-language film after Vaathi (2023), it draws from his established repertoire—portraying the gritty survivor from the fringes, in films like Pudhupettai (2006), Aadukalam (2011) or even Asuran (2019). In Kuberaa, he plays Deva—a beggar ensnared in the web of an intellectual property fraud tied to a massive oil-rig deal alongside Khushboo (Shravani), Khelu (Ajithlal Sivalal) and Divya. Street-smart and wary, Deva must recognise his own potential and learn to trust his intuition to navigate this perilous terrain. Deva is a character very few megastars would dare to play— a hero (who barely survives enough times to be one) who is relentlessly dragged, punched, and pursued by goons. Yet, beneath this endless turmoil, it is Deva’s heart that anchors him—a wellspring of resilience that fuels his redemption, kindness and steadfast devotion to God.

Rashmika Mandanna embraces a rare moment of character-depth playing the headstrong Sameera. Alongside Deva and Deepak, she also rebels—not only against family or fate but, at times, against her own moral compass. Deva and Sameera’s unlikely friendship begins with her as a kind stranger, who always seems to find him in moments of distress. It eventually evolves into a bond that resists logic, held together only by the instinctive act of recognising goodness in each other. Their intertwined journeys unfold within a world indifferent to their existence, where erasure is always a breath away.

Kammula’s gaze toward those living on society’s fringes—outcasts or beggars in particular—stems from deep empathy. His affection for dogs also shines in Kuberaa as a dual metaphor—discarded or cherished, depending entirely on their place in human lives. Stray dogs, often shunned and mistreated, are shown through Deva’s eyes as loyal companions whose worth lies not in wealth, but in how they are treated. Opposite this stands Neeraj (Jim Sarbh), the singularly greedy and shrewd CEO of Global Enterprises, for whom the deaths of thousands register as a little less than a minor inconvenience. Neeraj’s view, though harsh, reflects the broader perception of these marginalised lives as society’s expendable deadweight. As the stakes escalate and Deva finds himself pressed by circumstance and confronted by his own ethics and faith—comes an unexpected moment of release: the wildly absurd and foot-tapping funeral song “Poyiraa Mama,” sung by Dhanush himself. Honouring the life of a fellow beggar with a spirited farewell, the song echoes Deva’s belief that a proper send-off might spare him the same fate in his next life.

Shot largely in Mumbai, with familiar markers like CST, Haji Ali, and Nariman Point, the cinematography by Niketh Bommireddy assumes a quiet, observational stance—often slipping into the backdrop of narrow lanes, garbage dumps, and crowded public transport. It rarely calls attention to itself, allowing the story and its characters to take precedence.

Kuberaa devotes its first half to building Deva and Nagarjuna’s worlds—yet the premise stretches, delaying Deva’s inevitable rise. Certain events feel loosely tethered, others overly convenient, causing the narrative to slip while trying to hold form. While the arc leans towards an idealistic, one-man-against-all narrative, Kuberaa remains a well-intended film that grants Deva his massy-hero moment with dignity, placing the right questions before its audience. Rashmika, as Sameera, remains poised, negotiating space between the two towering leads with grace. Sarbh, with slicked-back hair and tailored suits, makes Neeraj’s menace gripping, yet singularly motivated—recalling his turns in Neerja (2016) and Padmaavat (2018). Dhanush delivers one of the finest performances of his career—but it’s Nagarjuna’s story arc and presence that truly anchor the film, reaffirming his stature. Despite its runtime exceeding a little over three hours, every moment is a delight to watch and one can’t take their eyes off the screen. While the Hindi dub does dilute the original texture of the Telugu and Tamil, the story remains endlessly gripping nonetheless.

What stands out about Kuberaa is that it isn’t trying too hard to come off as a clever film. Rather, it unveils itself as an honest one—which is sometimes more important. Despite minor flaws, Kammula’s Kuberaa is a theatrical experience worth seeking out, emerging as a hearty thriller driven by diligent storytelling. Though limited by a narrow four-week release window and major accessibility hurdles, it remains a film that demands to be recommended—and remembered.