Baahubali 2: The Conclusion, KGF Chapter 2... Ponniyin Selvan 2: Golden Age of sequels and prequels in Indian cinema

Days after the release of Baahubali: The Beginning in April of 2015, there was one question on everyone’s mind – ‘Baahubali ko Katapaa ne kyun maara?’ It was discussed on local trains, exchanged as part of social media banter and even whisked into WhatsApp conversations for the occasional, comic detour. It was a unique moment because never before perhaps, had a film attempted the unthinkable: end on a cliff-hanger as opposed to the usual catharsis. S.S. Rajamouli’s gamble of turning a mammoth story into a two-part cinematic marathon, survived, soared and set a sort of creative precedent. Years later, episodic film projects have become commonplace. As the second part of Ponniyin Selvan, Mani Ratnam’s epic, though unwieldly adaptation of Kalki’s novel, gears up for release, it is worth evaluating if this trend is Indian cinema’s moment of ingenuity or a fad that will pass, as soon as it begins to flunk.

The episodic structure of connecting one film to the other, isn’t exactly novel, but it has to an extent been universalised by Marvel’s barrage of post-credit scenes that remember to dangle a carrot just in case the rats decide they’ve had enough of the decade long pile-up of superhero shtick. The ending of Ponniyin Selvan: Part 1, apes this trope by first suggesting an accusation, and then abdicating it with a late tease. Nandini (Aishwarya Rai), the potential nemesis of this massive story appears to be in two places at once. The intent is obviously to confuse, inject suspicion and push people to speculate about the what as opposed to Baahubali’s why (kyun maara). It’s a fairly simple trick, though still not on par with the former’s head-spinning, punch to the gut moment that no one saw coming.

Marvel’s last two Avengers films have set the bar for episodic scale, pursuing not just loosely connected stories but impossibly sprawling narratives that must connect, overlap and even borrow from a crowd of acting juggernauts. It’s easier, however, to manufacture episodic stories in this context, owing to the global penetration of comic books and familiarity with the source material. Things are trickier when the landscape is new, the characters fresh and only a couple of hours your best shot at endearing them to an unsuspecting public. Yash’s KGF, for example, uses a different route to expand the universe, building on its foundational story, rather than relying on a twist to reel people into a second viewing. A similar device was most recently also employed by Ayan Mukherji’s yuppie, erratically written Brahmastra: Part One (parts 2 and 3 are slated for release in December 2026 and December 2027, respectively).

There is obviously economics at play here. Two successful films are better than one. The model also allows filmmakers to explore subjects that might have previously been considered too large for diminishing attention spans. Duration, it turns out, is not the problem if the film is good. Come to think of it, this episodic format might have helped Ashutosh Gowariker with the laboured, and overlong Jodhaa Akbar, that grappled to earn its ‘epic’ status as opposed to yet carefully embracing it. The multi-part model also seems to embolden the creator’s reputation for a change, drawing away from the stars in front of the camera and showering light on the impresarios making it happen, across several hours of make-believe historical scale and literary accuracy.