The day of the Matinee Idol

 In Kantara, the Kannada block­buster released in 2022, the relationship between humans and nature is symbiotic, and the daiva (deity) is the bridge. It is the destiny of being a Bhoot Kola performer that Shiva (Rishab Shetty) is trying to escape. It is something his father excelled at, but the more he tries to flee his fate, the more it fol­lows him. In Kantara Chapter 1, which released on October 2, Shetty, the actor and director, goes deeper into the origins of Panjurli daiva and Guliga daiva, whose spirits possessed Shiva in his Bhoot Kola avatar.

In Kannada, kantara means mysterious forest. Another interpretation is ‘mayavijungle’, a location where people can unite with divine forces and nature. Kantara was a local story, firmly rooted in the folklore of Karnataka, yet it appealed to the entire nation, making  ₹400 crore worldwide. Its budget? A modest  ₹16 crore.

Like Kantara, its prequel Kantara: Chapter 1 is the brainchild of Hombale Films, a production house that prides itself on mak­ing faith come alive on the big screen. Friends from their high school days in Mandya, Hombale Films’ co-founders Chaluve Gowda and Vijay Kiragandur, have always loved the movies. And over the years they have built an ecosystem where they can work with the best in the film business—whether it is Prashanth Neel’s KGF or Shetty’s Kantara, two of 2022’s biggest blockbusters. They have done three movies with the late Puneeth Rajkumar, four with Yash, and worked with both actor-directors Rishab Shetty and Rakshit Shetty. Their fundamentals are strong; people are looking for ordinary men being elevated to superhero status by trans­formative events, whether childhood poverty or spiritual communion. They believe their movies should carry the aroma of the region to which the stories belong.

“Kantara is very special to all of us,” says Gowda. “The first film only scratched the surface of a powerful legend, while Chapter 1 delves deeper into its roots, the conflicts, and the rich folklore that shaped it. Rishab has worked tirelessly to craft a story that not only builds on the world of Kantara but also takes it to another level. It is a film that goes beyond entertainment—one that every person can feel proud of.”

Gowda and Kiragandur are also the presenters of one of 2024’s biggest hits, the animated film Mahavatar Narsimha which made  ₹326 crore worldwide on a budget of  ₹40 crore. Kiragandur says: “When director Ashwin Kumar and Shilpa [Kleem Productions] first met us, we knew we had something power­ful, but we never imagined it would resonate at this scale. The love from the audience has exceeded all expecta­tions. As a studio, we believed in the storytelling and the vision, but the way it has connected across generations has been deeply humbling.”

Mahavatar Narsimha, which chronicles two incarnations of Vishnu—Varaha and Narasimha— performed best in North India and Telugu states. Animated films usually don’t do well in India but that may well be because they are usually targeted towards children, and treated as less than live action. For Kiragandur, it is baffling that India produces the world’s best anima­tion, yet is unable to make a universal animation film. The biggest animated film before Mahavtar Narsimha was Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse that in no sense is a children's movie.

Earlier this year, Dominic Arun’s Lokah: Chapter 1 in Malayalam, pro­duced by Dulquer Salmaan’s Wayfarer Films, retold a powerful local tale of the Yakshi as a superwoman, mixing faith, technology and movie refer­ences. Made on a budget of  ₹30 crore, it clocked  ₹275 crore at the box office, and is the first of a franchise, just as Mahavtar Narsimha. A new generation of movie makers is tapping into old stories and reinventing them for an audience hungry to fill a cultural void.

The place where Mahabharata ended is where Nag Ashwin’s imagi­nation took off. The director of the record-breaking Kalki 2898 AD had always felt that Ashwatthama’s story was unfinished. “He is cursed for his sin, loses his gem and walks off into the forest. Then there was the story of the 10th avatar of Vishnu. I was excited by these two ideas,” Kiragandur says. For Ashwin, Kalki 2898 AD was like a fan fiction of the Mahabharata, and the beginning of a franchise. It made  ₹1,200 crore at the box office, made on a budget of  ₹600 crore.

So is faith, and its lo­cal, subaltern manifesta­tions, the new formula at the box office? Says Kirangandur: “Inher­ently we hate the word formula as it is counter intuitive to creating something great. If we are bound by any formula, we would not have been able to make any of our films. That be­ing said, actually telling local stories is bringing originality, as every region of this nation is very different from others. And every region of this nation has countless stories which are waiting to be told. Who would have thought that a story of a coastal region of Karnataka would resonate with the entire nation. Next time, we will not think twice in making an authentic local story.”

And the belief in authenticity is backed by passion for storytelling. As Rishab Shetty says: “If profit were the only criterion we wouldn’t have been able to create Kantara or its prequel. What does a story want? It needs con­viction, collectively. I wanted everyone to be involved in the process of making Kantara: Chapter 1. I sat down with everyone before the movie, at least 15 times, the DoP, designer, art, produc­tion team. I would narrate the story, take their suggestions, make changes, I wanted the entire team to understand what they were doing.”

THIS IS NOT the first time that faith has prevailed at the box office. Sholay was the biggest hit of 1975 but there was a little film called Jai Santoshi Maa, made on a budget of  ₹25 lakh, which grossed  ₹5 crore at the box office, and whose title track became part of the collective consciousness. Jai Santoshi Maa’s story is narrated through her devotee Saytavati who has to bear innumerable misfortunes that test her faith, before her final triumph.

The success of television shows Ra­mayana and Mahabharata only fuelled the faith revolution but it was not until Maddock Films discovered the power of forest-dwelling spirits in their horror franchise that faith got a new lease of life with Stree (2018), Bhediya (2022), and Munjya (2024).

The Hombale founders have known each other for over three decades, hav­ing studied together. Though they took different paths in life, their passion eventually brought them back. They were fortunate to begin their journey with Rajkumar. Hombale is not just a business for them—it’s built on friend­ship, trust, and family. Every collabora­tor who joins them becomes part of that family, and that has been their biggest strength, they say.

This connectedness imbues everything they do, from their work to their name. Hombale is the flower of the coconut and areca nut plant, offered in all auspicious functions. The name is a tribute to their roots, their culture, and the blessings that guide every step of our journey. Kirangandur says: “For me, it also carries a very personal meaning, as it comes from Hombalamma, the deity of my village.”

If the connection to faith is strong, so is the relationship with the land. Shetty shot Kantara “just two min­utes away” from where he grew up in Keradi, a village in Karnataka. It is also where most of Kantara: Chapter 1 was shot. Several extras in the movie are actual villagers who were trained in a workshop he held there. As a child he performed bit of parts in Yakshagana, the Kannada art form that dramatises the Ramayana and Mahabharata. Shetty, who both directed and acted in the movie, has used that training to per­form the Bhoot Kola dance with great passion. The Bhoot Kola involves dance, ritual and elaborate performances in old Tulu to worship the daiva. Shetty watched more than 1,000 videos of Bhoot Kola performance to get it right before training for it. And then, he just didn’t think too much. He adds: “I just went with the flow.” Indeed. There is nothing artificial or exotic about Kantara. It is true to its origins, its roots and its identity.

WHENEVER MANKIND strays into adharma, God sends his ganas to protect dharma, says the voiceover in Kantara: Chapter 1’s trailer. In Kantara, Shiva’s parents tell him: “We are here to serve Panjurli. Where can we go forsaking our Gods? Son, you know where we humans go wrong? We assume that we own everything around us. But we forget the true owner of it all. Once we learn the ultimate truth we can live peacefully.”

But as scholar Machunwangliu Kamei points out, the fascinating part of the religiosity of Kantara is that Pan­jurli is not a Vedic Hindu god. Instead it is a demigod worshipped by the forest dwellers. Though the landowner spon­sors Bhoot Kola performances in order to seek the approval of the Adivasis, he doesn’t believe in Panjurli or Guliga, the gods of the outcastes. Even in the narration of the story of the ‘good’ king who was in search of peace, Panjurli is referred to as a mere pestle used for grinding spices. The landowner practises untouchability. He washes his hands after touching Shiva and gets his house ritualistically purified by a group of Brahmins after Shiva enters his house, making a clear demarcation between Brahminical Hinduism and the religiosity of the outcastes.

As religion and cinema intertwine, the search for cultural engagement becomes deeper, more imaginative, and more spectacular. There is careful world building with characters who have been handed down generations, whether it was the Puranic story of Hiranyakashyap shown in Mahavtar Narasimha, which is soon to get sequels, or the local legend of the daiva. A new exciting world unfolds for the audience who celebrate the novel reimagining, with the familiarity of the inherited stories.