Baahubali: Crown of Blood Review: Is it Time for the Baahubali Franchise To Retire?

Creators: S.S. Rajamouli, Sharad Devarajan

Directors: Jeevan J Kang, Naveen John

Episodes: 9

Streaming on: Disney+ Hotstar

Watching Baahubali: Crown of Blood is like watching the slow and painful dismantling of an empire. Only the empire in question isn’t the fictional kingdom of Mahishmati. It’s director S.S. Rajamouli’s sprawling media franchise itself, which was kickstarted by the two live-action epics Baahubali: The Beginning (2015) and Baahubali 2: The Conclusion (2017) – before devolving into a bloated expansion of the brand with graphic novels, video-games and multiple animated series. Crown of Blood is another long-form prelude to the films. It’s a standalone story, despite following five forgettable seasons of Baahubali: The Lost Legends. The animated nine-episode drama unfolds as an example of how the medium of film-making often defines our perception of fantasy storytelling. The novelty of the two films was that they were live-action movies with the imagination and audacity of animated movies. Crown of Blood lies at the opposite corner of the spectrum – it is an animated show with the grammar and limitations of a live-action film. It defies the very essence of the Baahubali universe by looking like outdated cartoons. 

Even the world-building feels repetitive. The plot precedes the events of the movies – back when Queen Sivagami was still playing mind-games with young princes Amarendra Baahubali and Bhallaladeva – but the cycle of power, jealousy, deceit, mythological hangovers and battles remains the same. Baahubali is the people’s prince who treats his cousin’s sabotage attempts as sibling banter; Bhallaladeva is a war-mongering dictator desperate to be King; Kattappa is a loyal-to-a-fault commander with a penchant for twists; their new nemesis is called Rakta Deva, a masked Marvel-villain-styled baddie with some beef to grind. The storyline is a not-so-distant relative of Santosh Sivan’s Asoka (2001). When things on the battlefield go wrong early on, Baahubali is presumed dead because he was last seen standing on a tank drowned by flaming lava (don’t ask). His protector, Kattappa, is held responsible for this tragedy by Queen Sivagami. He is banished, and like any self-respecting exiled warrior in a period epic, old Kattappa finds the time to hit the bottle and save a woman’s dignity at a local watering hole. Naturally, a resentful Kattappa breaks bad and is lured to lead the wolf-themed army of Rakta Deva, whose real identity is a mystery. And you’re a fool if you think Baahubali died – he is held for six months in a random slave camp, where he again becomes a people’s hero, counsels brainwashed children of this enemy kingdom, and returns to warn his mother of an impending attack. 

What follows is the pale shadow of a spectacle that spends more time staging verbose dialogue than grand battles. The few interesting strands – like an eccentric inventor whose weapon falls into the wrong hands; or the kids divided by moral conflict – get lost in a sea of stretched red herrings. Most episodes are just padding, where every character is pretending to be someone they’re not. Even in the context of the overcooked premise, there are two moments that succumb to the inert animation. The first involves a masked Kattappa and Baahubali fighting each other without realizing they’re fighting each other. The scene builds up to a revelation of sorts, except that Kattappa’s shock doesn’t quite register. The idea is that he’s too consumed by bitterness to retain any love for the royal family, but I’m going to blame this lack of impact on the technical prowess of the production. 

The second moment features the reunion of a grieving Sivagami and Baahubali. It’s a re-intro scene of sorts. But the medium flattens the lavish sentimentality. I found myself imagining a live-action Rajamouli-directed version, where the viewers’ anticipation of the reunion is written into the buildup. A lot of the animation feels half-hearted, almost like it’s counting on the hype of the franchise to tide over the 1998-Playstation-cricket-level expressions and static backgrounds. The design misses that suspension of disbelief element too; Baahubali’s superhuman strength no longer invites that sense of real-world wonder. I like that Baahubali is a rare homegrown brand that can be milked beyond its art. But the bar has to be higher in 2024, particularly when it comes to a genre that transcends language and cultural barriers. 

I’d like to go into the social commentary behind one of the two twists, because I’m pretty sure it’s another hyper-nationalistic, pro-military stance (“the sacrifice of our soldiers were necessary!”) disguised as period storytelling. But I cannot do that. Not for the sake of spoilers in a show that’s slated to air every week. But because I couldn’t get over the fact that the Baahubali of Crown of Blood looks more like a young Mahendra Singh Dhoni than Prabhas. Every time he lunges at a rival, I see a bat in his hand instead of a sword. He’s a tactician who’d rather penetrate the conscience of the foe than their defenses. The drama and credit are craved by Bhallaladeva too; he can’t stand that ultimately it’s always Baahu that hogs hearts for his last-ball sixes. Maybe the (accidental) likeness isn’t so bad. The character arc almost makes more sense, not least due to the yellow-toned colour palette. But I’m done with this deluge of backstories, reflected glories and nostalgia-grabbing. The legacy is in danger. Perhaps it’s time to retire.