Mirai

It is irritating when religious people use science to explain faith—the language of energy, Einstein, vibrations, frequency etc. to rationalise how blessings and prayers work, for example. (If your prayer is an action, the blessing is the equal and opposite reaction, so the lore goes) Faith operates on a logic that is different from science, and appropriating the language of reason to express the contours of belief, is like demanding the heart to breathe. It is also why the religious film and the science fiction film have been kept apart, because their pursuits, pitch, and parlance seem to walk in different directions. That was until Hanu-Man starring Teja Sajja last year blew those borders apart, to tell a story that, though riddled with the flaws of both genres—too much faith, too much reason—was also packed with the joys of those genres—the joyful imagination, the pungent staging. It built its mythical world on the quirky possibilities of our present, remember the women pickling in the backdrop of a pulping?

Mirai is no ordinary stick. It’s a divine staff, the use of which baffles rudderless young Super Yodha (Teja Sajja) who must dedicate his life to a mission where the Mirai will work its miracles and help him succeed. Writer-director-cinematographer Karthik Gattamneni goes time-trotting and globe-trotting. Hark back to the times of Emperor Ashoka, glimpse at Lord Rama and Hanuman. Also go futuristic with set action pieces overloaded with VFX. Move from the Himalayas, Varanasi, Morocco, Hyderabad and Japan to hidden temples, the Kumb Mela and faraway islands. The target is simple: Super Yodha must save the nine granths or scriptures from falling into the hands of Mahabir, a dark force (Manchu Manoj who must wear black). He has already misused his tantrik powers and gained even more strength from eight granths. Super Yodha must save the ninth.

While watching Mirai, I was occasionally reminded of actor Teja Sajja’s earlier film Hanu-Man. That superhero fantasy by director Prasanth Varma, set in a fictional world, drew on devotional texts while borrowing familiar tropes from the genre. Its engaging characters and emotional depth made audiences root for the underdog hero. This time, the canvas is wider, with a larger budget. Cinematographer-director Karthik Gattamneni, who co-wrote Mirai with Manibabu Karanam, crafts a striking visual aesthetic with production designer Nagender Tangala, art director Dasireddy Srinivas, and a skilled visual effects team. Yet beneath the spectacle lies a story that finds its footing in parts, and that makes all the difference. Indian epics are rich with fantasy steeped in devotional fervour — gods, demons, worlds on the brink of darkness, and the triumph of good over evil. What matters, however, is translating such tales into emotionally resonant storytelling for the screen.