L2: Empuraan takes a stand politically but stumbles narratively

Prithviraj Sukumaran’s ambitious L2: Empuraan, featuring Mohanlal, Manju Warrier, Sai Kumar, Tovino Thomas, and Prithviraj himself, sets out to expand the world of Lucifer (2019). The once-enigmatic Stephen Nedumpally, who in Lucifer had the occasional mythic aura, now fully embodies Khureshi Ab’raam, as foreshadowed in the film’s climax. Yet, while the sequel magnifies its predecessor’s scale and grandeur, it wrestles with the challenge of sustaining narrative cohesion amid its visual and thematic spectacle.

In Lucifer, we saw Stephen’s resolve to shield ‘God’s Own Country’ from the drug cartel’s grasp. Empuraan shifts its focus to another insidious plague—one that has already entrenched itself within Kerala’s fabric, contrary to the film’s ominous framing of it as something looming on the horizon: Hindutva. The film takes its time to lay the foundation for this narrative, weaving it into the backstory of a character with striking boldness—one that directly references the Naroda Patiya massacre and the plight of Bilkis Bano during the 2002 Gujarat riots, even going so far as to name its character after the Bajrang Dal leader who was one of the masterminds behind the massacre. This cinematic choice is undeniably audacious in today’s India. (That said, it also prompts a reflection—if this qualifies as ‘bold’ for a filmmaker with production resources, unparalleled access, and vast connections across various film industries in India, then how ‘bold’ can someone without any of these—namely, the majority—aspire to be?) It also delivers a critique on how mass psychology intertwines with grand spectacles, exposing the allure and manipulation that fuel collective frenzy.

If Lucifer granted Stephen fleeting moments of humanity, punctuated by glimpses of vulnerability, Empuraan no longer relies on the mystery that once veiled him. The pan-Indian aspiration further deifies and elevates him, but in doing so, it also creates a sense of detachment, making him feel more distant from the audience. This might also explain why his omnipresent influence across the globe—including high-stakes negotiations with an international drug cartel leader—had less impact on audiences compared to his return to his homeland at a crucial moment. Tovino Thomas’s portrayal of Jathin Ramdas and the evolving dynamics of his relationship with Priyadarshini (Manju Warrier) had the potential to anchor Empuraan firmly within the realm of Kerala politics, restoring a sense of familiarity to its narrative.

While its predecessor took time to build its world, laying fertile ground for Empuraan, this sequel indulges in world-stretching. The film revels in its own extravagance, and the twists (if they are indeed the intended ones) often feel predictable, diminishing their impact when they finally arrive. Much like its predecessor, metaphors dominate here, as if the film does not trust its audience to grasp meaning without glaring signposts. But that is hardly a flaw, as one wouldn’t expect subtlety from the writer Murali Gopy either. The film also indulges in prolonged self-referential moments and sequences that seem to exist more to highlight directorial trademarks than to serve the story, spending more time admiring itself than progressing its narrative.

Rather than enhancing Lucifer, Empuraan inadvertently highlights its predecessor’s strengths by falling short of its own promise, often lacking ingenuity and narrative grip. Still, it remains worth a watch for its social commentary, portrayal of political demagoguery, visual grandeur, and the undeniable swag that Mohanlal exudes.