Kantara Chapter 1 feels like every movie you’ve ever watched, all at once

And yet, Kantara Chapter 1 became one of the biggest blockbusters of the year, breaking records and earning massive praise. Perhaps that’s because it knew its audience — people who had never encountered these stories before, or worse, never cared enough to read or watch what inspired them.

As a movie lover and someone deeply fascinated by mythology, I couldn’t help but spot familiar moments throughout. Here’s where the film’s inspirations seem most transparent.

The hidden land of Kadapa, concealed by illusion from the rest of the world, instantly evokes Black Panther’s Wakanda. There, a nation protects its sacred Vibranium; here, Kadapa guards its spices. But unlike Wakanda’s moral strength and technological brilliance, Kadapa’s world is steeped in black magic, power struggles, and superstition. Even their appearance and aura seem borrowed from Amish Tripathi’s Shiva Trilogy — especially the Nagas, the cursed race feared for their deformities and strength.

ALSO READ | Rukmini Vasanth on Kantara Chapter 1: ‘Many of my scenes with Rishab Shetty were complex, but he was always right there — guiding and performing’

Then comes Maayakaara, Berme’s spiritual guide — a clear echo of T’Challa’s ancestral communion in the Astral Plane. Where the Marvel hero consumes a sacred herb to meet his ancestors, Berme, a divine boy born from mystery, sees and speaks to Maayakaara in visions. The imagery is almost identical, only with a different cultural filter.

The resemblances continue. When Berme steps out of Kantara and ventures into the Bangra kingdom to trade spices, the setting, costumes, and mood feel lifted straight from Hrithik Roshan’s Mohenjo Daro. Much like Hrithik’s character, Berme too discovers hidden truths about his identity and rises against tyranny — the familiar hero’s arc, told once again with new ornaments.

By the climax, deja vu turns into repetition. The grand face-off between Kadapa-Bangra and Kantara mirrors Twilight: Breaking Dawn – Part 2, where the Volturi arrive to destroy the Cullens over an “immortal child.” Here, the immortal child is Princess Kanakavathi (Rukmini Vasanth) — except she’s the villain. To defeat her, Goddess Sankebaare descends, and Rishab Shetty’s Berme transforms into her fierce divine form, wrapping a cloth around his body, smearing blood on his face — a visual directly reminiscent of Allu Arjun’s Mathangi Vesham in Pushpa.

And just when you think the narrative will find its footing, comes a random subplot about a Brahma Rakshas — entirely disconnected from the story of Buta Kola, feeling like an afterthought thrown in to make the myth appear deeper than it is.

There’s no denying Rishab Shetty’s passion or performance — both are electric and earnest. But brilliance in acting cannot mask the flaws in storytelling. What could have been a soulful origin story ends up feeling like a well-produced montage of borrowed moments.

This pattern of creative “borrowing” isn’t unique to Kantara. I recently stumbled upon a clip from Mahavtar Narsimha, where the climactic scene — Lord Narasimha slaying Hiranyakashyap — is a near scene-by-scene copy of The Incredible Hulk (2008). Here’s the link if you want to see it yourself.

So the question isn’t whether these films are successful — clearly, they are. The real question is: what does our praise say about us? Are we so unaware of global storytelling that we mistake imitation for originality? Or have we become so complacent that we don’t care — as long as the story feels grand and the visuals are rooted in faith or folklore?

In celebrating these films without questioning their substance, we may be exposing not our love for cinema, but our growing detachment from authentic storytelling.