S.S. Rajamouli’s ‘Baahubali: The Epic’ merges both parts into one reimagined saga, offering a nostalgic return to Mahishmati — but at a pace with barely a moment to breathe.
If you walk into an auditorium to watch a film that you and nearly everyone around you have already seen multiple times, yet feel the same excitement, perhaps even more, than you would for a festival release, you know you’re about to witness something epic. And this time, it’s not just a feeling. It’s literally titled ‘Baahubali: The Epic’.
There are films, and then there are experiences that transcend cinema to become part of our collective memory. ‘Baahubali’ belongs to the latter. Nearly a decade since it redefined Telugu cinema and expanded the boundaries of Indian filmmaking, SS Rajamouli returns to Mahishmati—merging ‘Baahubali: The Beginning’ (2015) and ‘Baahubali 2: The Conclusion’ (2017) into a single, remastered saga. Running just under four hours, ‘Baahubali: The Epic’ isn’t merely a re-release—it’s a resurrection crafted for a post-RRR world, tailored for global audiences rediscovering India’s cinematic grandeur.
The first half bursts with renewed momentum. Rajamouli’s voiceover now bridges narrative gaps, while subplots like Avantika’s arc and the Kuntala sequence are trimmed for pace. The storytelling moves briskly—efficient, yes, but slightly at the cost of the emotional pauses that once deepened its texture. Moments like Mamathala Thalli and smaller character interludes are missed, giving the first hour a restless rhythm. Yet, even in this condensed form, Baahubali retains the sense of scale and purpose that made it monumental in the first place.
It’s in the second half that ‘Baahubali: The Epic’ truly finds its pulse again. From Amarendra Baahubali’s coronation to the blazing climax, the film unfolds like a symphony—each emotion, action, and conflict precisely measured. The ceremonial march of Baahubali, where even the elephants, armour, and the glint of glass evoke awe and rage, stands as one of the most breathtaking sequences ever captured. In that moment, you realise you’re not just watching a scene, you’re witnessing history in motion. .
What makes Baahubali so enduring isn’t just its visual scale but its rootedness in detail. Watch closely, and you’ll notice how Telugu grammar, idiom, and rhythm of an ancient dialect are woven into the dialogue. The words like ghat and pratighat used in war sequences breathe authenticity that transcends translation. Every detail, from the chandeliers to Bhallaladeva’s telescope, feels authentic and thoughtfully designed, making Mahishmati come alive with conviction rather than convenience. Rajamouli’s imagination gives it a world that feels lived-in, not created for effect.
Though around 90 minutes of footage have been sacrificed in this version, the essence remains largely untouched, while M M Keeravani’s monumental score continues to transcend mere background music. His compositions elevate action into opera and emotion into poetry, reaffirming why his collaboration with Rajamouli remains among the finest in Indian cinema.
At the heart of the film stands Prabhas, whose portrayal of Amarendra Baahubali remains a defining chapter in modern Indian cinema. This re-release reignites memories of the charismatic star who once balanced tenderness with might—a spark that has dimmed in his recent work. Anushka Shetty’s Devasena is both regal and fierce, while Rana Daggubati’s Bhallaladeva once again towers as one of Indian cinema’s most compelling antagonists, his controlled intensity making the menace feel real. Yet, beyond these leads, the soul of the film lies in Ramya Krishnan, Sathyaraj, and Nassar, each bringing timeless depth and authority to their characters. They are so distinct, it’s impossible to imagine anyone else playing those roles.
K. K. Senthil Kumar’s cinematography deserves every bit of praise it has received over the years. Every frame carries something immortal—a look, a gesture, a silhouette that could live forever as a still. It’s the kind of visual storytelling that transcends time and language. That’s the hallmark of true cinematic greatness: its ability to remain unforgettable, no matter how many times it’s revisited. Rajamouli’s direction, as ever, balances emotional clarity with sheer spectacle.
As the re-release opens up the world of Baahubali to international audiences and first-time viewers, this nearly four-hour epic can feel overwhelming in action and pace. The first half, especially, moves at a relentless pace—so much happens so quickly that certain emotional beats lose their weight. The early portions feel rushed and occasionally uneven, as though the narrative is racing through history rather than allowing us to live within it.
With both parts now fused into one continuous narrative, the abundance of action can also feel heavy. Without the natural pause that once separated the films, battle sequences arrive back-to-back, leaving little room for breath or reflection. For newcomers, this intensity might blur the emotional arcs, even if the spectacle remains intact. And for long-time fans, the absence of a few songs and sequences, though not drastically affecting the experience, creates a faint sense of longing, a small ache for moments that once lingered.
