Now, with Kantara: Chapter 1, a prequel released October 2, 2025, Shetty turns back the clock—both literally and mythologically—to explore the origins of the lore, rituals, and deities that underpin the world his original film brought to vivid life.

I saw the film's first day first show on the big screen at Regal theatre in downtown New York city to an almost full house. I had not seen Kantara, but seeing the prequel was not just seeing a movie on the big screen but a cultural experience that literally arouses raw instincts of tribalism.

Rishab Shetty creates the atmosphere of a superstition ridden mythic pyrrhic coastal town of thousands of years ago deeply seated in the linga (idol-stone) shiva worship , possession, half divine and half human being who can erase his opponents with a ferocity that could make your raw nerves play out to the maxim.

Rishab Shetty not only creates the atmosphere of a tribalistic society fighting against oppression by a King of Bangra who tries to enslave them Egyptian style to build monuments like the Pharaohs did using the Hebrews as slaves until Moses leads them out. Berme is the Moses here who invokes the powers of the tribal gods to get his village folk their right to live and not be oppressed.

Writing, directing, producing and also playing the protagonist role all rolled into one is indeed a tough proposition and he proves he can do it as he invests his energies into all departments to make the movie a stupendous experience. He acts well, gets Gulshan Devaiah (Dahad) to go full blast as the irresponsible debauched king Kulashekara and his father is played by veteran Malayalam-Tamil actor Jayaram. Devaiah has been used to delivering restrained performances but, in Kantara chapter one, he can show he can put on an uninhibited unbridled performance as an anti hero. His sister, princess, played by Rukmini Vasanth, a kanadika actress, too acts well in promoting her father to oppose Berme. She has emerged as the reigning queen of Karnataka cinema.

At its core, Kantara is a story of man vs. nature, tradition vs. modern law, land rights, and the spiritual ecology of rural coastal Karnataka. It weaves together folklore—especially Bhoota Kola, the worship of local spirits (daivas), particularly Panjurli Daiva (a protective boar-spirit), and Guliga Daiva (a more fearsome, chaotic spirit).

The rituals of Bhoota Kola are not invented: they are very much living folk practice in the Tulu speaking regions of coastal Karnataka (Tulunadu), where ancestral spirits, sacred groves, the oral tradition of paddanas, and mythic guardians of land and forest are woven into daily life. Kantara does not merely borrow folklore as color; it builds from it, making these belief systems central to the plot, the moral stakes, and the film’s visual and emotional power.

With Chapter 1, Shetty goes further mythic. Set in the Kadamba dynasty era (Banavasi, ~4th–6th century CE), the prequel seeks to dramatize the mythic origins of Panjurli and Guliga, and to depict how tribal communities, ritual, royalty and spiritual guardianship intertwined in ancient times.

In doing so, Shetty blends myth and history: Berme (a warrior/Naga Sadhu), King Rajashekara or Vijayendra, and other characters exist in this semi-mythic realm. Whether every “fact” is historical is less important than what the story says about the moral and spiritual universe the original film inhabited.

Is Kantara “mythical”? In the sense that Chapter 1 draws from myth, yes. But neither film abandons rootedness in local tradition. The rituals, linguistic texture, forest landscapes, village hierarchies—these are not fantasy in the Tolkien sense; they are drawn from real folk practice.

The mythic elements (origin stories, spirit possession, divine retribution) are part of oral tradition, of mythologized history in Karnataka, not foreign invention. Shetty has explicitly said Kantara: Chapter 1 is “deeply rooted in Tulunadu folklore with added fictional elements for cinematic appeal.”

Regarding Shavite culture (i.e. the sect devoted to Shiva), the films do engage with Shiva imagery and myth (e.g. association with Shiva, shrines, etc.), but they are not sectarian in the orthodox sense of promoting a particular religious sect over others. Rather, they draw on folk Hindu traditions that mix animism, ancestor worship, spirit possession, and local deity worship.

These traditions often sit alongside more formal Hindu sects (Shaiva, Shakta, Vaishnava) but are indigenous, local, syncretic. So while Kantara engages with “Shiva” mythic reference (as do many Hindu traditions in Karnataka), its world is more about the lived folk universe, land, ritual, belief, rather than temple theology or sectarian doctrine.

Shetty’s road to Kantara was long, with many stepping stones. Born Prashanth Shetty in Keradi, Kundapura (coastal Karnataka), he was active in Yakshagana from childhood, and in theatre groups in college. He held varied jobs after college (selling water cans, working odd jobs) even while studying film direction in Bangalore.

His early film work included acting in small roles (e.g. Tuglak (2012)), supporting roles in films like Lucia, Ulidavaru Kandanthe (directed by Rakshit Shetty). His directorial debut was Ricky (2016), a crime thriller with Rakshit Shetty; then Kirik Party (2016) which was a big hit: youthful, campus humour, strong emotional chord; followed by Sarkari Hi. Pra. Shaale, Kasaragodu, Koduge: Ramanna Rai (2018), which won a National Award for Best Children’s Film. He also played the lead actor in Bell Bottom (2019) and had critically praised roles in Garuda Gamana Vrishabha Vahana (2021).

What seems to have inspired Shetty is a combination of: deep familiarity with the Tulu/Keradi / Tulunadu cultural landscape; an understanding of how ritual, land and belief operate in villages; a desire to tell stories that have emotional as well as spiritual stakes; and a wish to make local stories with universal resonance. He has mentioned influences like the ‘angry young man’ persona of Amitabh Bachchan for his protagonist in Kantara, especially in terms of moral anger, gratitude to culture, protecting ancestral land.

Made on ~ ₹15-16 crore, Kantara was not expected to do more than typical regional success. But it broke out of regional confines: dubbed versions (Hindi, Telugu, etc.) found audiences. It earned in its home state a net over ~₹160-168 crore, earned major sums in North India, Andhra/Telangana, Kerala, etc., and roughly ~₹44 crore overseas. Total worldwide gross ~ ₹400+ crore.

Its success was not just commercial but symbolic: rooted cinema, involving folklore, ritual, forest and land conflict, could compete with big spectacle fare. It also sparked discussions about cultural identity, the ecological sacred, tradition vs development.

With Chapter 1, Shetty aims both to satisfy audience curiosity about “What came before Kantara”, and to scale up the mythic dimension. The setting in Kadamba period offers a historical canvas rarely explored in Kannada folklore cinema; the visual scope is larger, the spiritual stakes are more clearly mythic. Behind the scenes, the production is grander: massive sets, period costuming, larger budget (some reports suggest up to ₹125 crore for the prequel though unconfirmed) and multi-language release.

Critics have already noted that Chapter 1 promises a more epic, mythological storytelling than the more recent rural realism of Kantara proper. Some early reviews applaud the grandeur; others caution that mythic scale comes with risks—narrative coherence, character depth, over-reliance on spectacle. But the early box office shows are strong.

It’s tempting to draw comparisons. S. S. Rajamouli has built a reputation for combining local mythic/historical material with blockbuster scale (Baahubali, RRR etc.), and for films that are simultaneously rooted and grand. Shetty similarly is drawing from local folklore, elevating it, and achieving pan-India success. But there are important distinctions:

Rajamouli has had much larger budgets earlier, access to big studio resources, visual effects, wider pan-India network. Shetty’s rise has involved more risk, more gradual scaling. Rajamouli often works with established myth (Mahabharata, epics) or large historical legends. Shetty is mining lesser-known regional folklore, indigenous practices, ritual, land, village conflict. Shetty’s films are deeply embedded in his regional area (coastal Karnataka, Tulunadu), with linguistic, ritual, devotional elements that may not be familiar outside. Rajamouli uses myth more universally known in India.

So while Shetty is certainly emerging as a Rajamouli-like figure in Karnataka (and arguably for Pan-India folk-myth cinema), it’s premature to say he is Rajamouli. He is his own kind of filmmaker: one who bridges the local and the mythic, with strong emotional stakes, and now, much larger ambition.

Kantara’s ascent was a revelation: a film of ₹15-crore ambition rooted in coastal Karnataka folklore, land, forest, spirits, ritual, and moral justice, became a ₹400-crore phenomenon. Kantara: Chapter 1 doubles down on those roots, stepping further into mythic origins while preserving authenticity.

In a film ecosystem increasingly hungry for both spectacle and soul, Shetty offers both. He has delivered not just a blockbuster, but a kind of cultural reclamation—of stories that belonged to villages, traditions, lesser-heard voices.

If Chapter 1 succeeds, it will further entrench him as a filmmaker who does not simply chase scale, but whose scale is earned through rooted storytelling. In that sense, he may be of Rajamouli’s company, but he remains distinct—and perhaps that’s more exciting. (IPA Service)