The recently released L2: Empuraan is nothing short of a cinematic triumph, a testament to the evolving brilliance of Malayalam cinema. Prithviraj Sukumaran’s direction is a masterstroke, elevating the industry to new heights with a vision that’s both bold and meticulous. Equally deserving of praise is Murali Gopy, whose script and dialogues weave a tapestry of words so powerful they linger long after the credits roll. This film is a shining example of storytelling done right—gripping, thought-provoking, and unapologetic.
But beyond its artistic merits, L2 has sparked a predictable yet absurd political storm. Right-wing leaders have been quick to cry foul, clutching their pearls at the film’s depiction of historical events—specifically, the 2002 Gujarat riots. Their outrage is not just comical; it’s dripping with irony. These are the same voices that cheered for The Kerala Story, a film so steeped in propaganda that it could barely masquerade as fiction. They handed out free tickets, pushed for tax breaks, and hailed it as a "truthful" narrative, despite its glaring distortions. Yet, when L2 dares to touch upon a documented reality—the 2002 riots, with survivors still alive and court cases still ongoing—they’re up in arms, decrying it as an assault on their sensibilities.
The hypocrisy is staggering. If The Kashmir Files, The Kerala Story, and Article 370—films that wear their agendas on their sleeves—are celebrated as cinematic freedom, why does L2, which offers a mere glimpse of historical truth, face such vitriol? The events it portrays aren’t fabricated; they’re etched into India’s recent past, backed by testimonies and legal proceedings. To call it divisive or dangerous is to admit a discomfort with reality itself. What’s more, the film doesn’t play favorites—it critiques all political parties with an even hand. References like “Kutta Thiruvathira”—a nod to the Left’s cultural controversies—and the “black mask,” possibly alluding to Congress’s own murky episodes, show that no one is spared. If other groups can stomach their share of the scrutiny without raising a storm, why does one faction insist on making it a grand spectacle? Their selective outrage only exposes their double standards.
Let’s be clear: L2, like any other movie, is a fictional creation, born from the minds of its writer and director. It’s art, not a documentary. If viewers see echoes of reality—be it the 2002 riots or something else—it’s because our minds paint pictures based on what we know. Anthropomorphism teaches us this: we imagine gods, creatures, and stories in human terms because that’s the lens we have. So if L2 feels familiar, it’s a reflection of our own experiences, not a conspiracy to rewrite history. To judge it otherwise is to miss the point of creative storytelling.
Contrast this with The Kerala Story, which was peddled as truth by its supporters—including the Prime Minister, who urged people to watch it. That film claimed lakhs of conversions were happening in Kerala, yet when pressed for data, its makers went silent. It was even broadcast on Doordarshan, a public platform, lending it unwarranted legitimacy. I watched it myself and wrote a review, calling it what it was: a political project for an election, not a pursuit of truth or even compelling fiction. Did we ban it? Did we cut its scenes? No. It played out as it was, flaws and all. So why the clamor to censor L2, a film that’s already cleared the censor board and dares to provoke thought rather than peddle baseless claims?
Released on March 27, 2025, L2: Empuraan—the much-anticipated sequel to the 2019 blockbuster Lucifer—hit theaters with unprecedented hype, driven by its predecessor’s success and aggressive pre-release promotion. The film raked in an estimated Rs 22 crore nett on its opening day at the domestic box office, making it the biggest opener in Malayalam cinema history. This commercial triumph underscores its widespread appeal, yet it’s the political subtext that has ignited debate. Drawing parallels to real-world events, the film subtly critiques the rise of communal forces, with a narrative that resonates particularly in Kerala, where the BJP secured its first-ever parliamentary seat in the 2024 Lok Sabha elections out of the state’s 20 constituencies. This electoral shift lends urgency to the film’s warning about the fragility of Kerala’s secular identity.
The film’s political undertones extend beyond historical references to a pointed critique of leadership and power dynamics. Its closing message—“Oru jana nayakan karanam thakarnnu pokkunathu, oruopaadu perude Sathyam aanu” (When a leader goes astray, it decimates the aspirations of many)—is a direct call to reassess blind loyalty to political heirs and focus on ideological integrity. In Kerala, where Congress and the Left have long dominated, L2 serves as a wake-up call to secular forces, urging them to counter the creeping influence of divisive politics. The film’s portrayal of these themes, rooted in the state’s current political landscape, amplifies its relevance as more than just entertainment—it’s a mirror to society’s crossroads.
This double standard raises a larger question: Are we, as a society, so fragile that a single film can unravel our secular fabric? Creative expression has always been a mirror to the world—sometimes flattering, sometimes unflinching. The day we start shackling filmmakers, dictating what truths they can or cannot tell, is the day we surrender the soul of democracy. L2 has already passed the censor board’s scrutiny, a stamp of approval that should end the debate. If it’s fit for public viewing, why the uproar? The movie is good—exceptional, even—just the way it is. Tampering with its controversial parts, as some demand, would gut its very essence, stripping away the soul that makes it resonate. Please, don’t. The answer to this brouhaha lies not in the film, but in the insecurities of those who fear its power.
Malayalam cinema in the recent time leads the way in Indian and global cinema, and L2 continues that legacy. It’s not just a movie—it’s a reminder that art can, and should, provoke. To Prithviraj, Murali Gopy, and the entire team: hands off to you for daring to create something exceptional. As for the detractors, perhaps it’s time to stop clutching at straws and face the mirror instead.
PS: Like all the other movies by Ashirvad Cinemas, Antony Prembavor makes an appearance unlike most other times. This time, the character has a name.
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