Bāhubali: The Epic

The Gravity of Myth in a Shrunken Frame

I’m honestly not sure anyone needed a trimmed, single-package cut of a saga that basically exists to celebrate excess. Rajamouli’s *Baahubali* was originally two colossal films, savoring operatic betrayals, gravity-defying combat, and a lineage of royal blood feuds. Now ten years on, *Baahubali: The Epic*, a 2025 remaster, squeezes everything into one nearly four-hour run. Whether that’s a detriment or just a different kind of thrill hinges entirely on how much you enjoy being whipped through dramatic beats. Rajamouli has always directed with the force of a loaded freight car, but chopping off over 80 minutes of world-building to accelerate straight into the spectacle changes the emotional layout of the whole thing.



That breathing room disappears almost immediately. The opening act, which used to let us linger as Sivudu (Prabhas) discovers his own superhuman strength around that massive waterfall, now barrels toward his inevitable escalation. We still get the famous cliff-climb sequence driven by the visions of Avanthika, and the camera still spirals around the rushing water with that dreamlike elegance, treating the terrain as an extension of Sivudu’s rising yearning. But because the edit is so snappy now, the ascent reads less like a mystical trial and more like a logistical hurdle to get him to Mahishmati.



Prabhas, juggling the father-son dynamic, mostly communicates through his stance. As Amarendra, his chest is thrown out, eyes fixed on some noble horizon. He moves like someone aware he’s already the stuff of legends. Contrast that with Rana Daggubati’s Bhallaladeva—jealous, simmering, a literal boulder of hostility. Watch his jaw tighten whenever Sivagami speaks; his entire presence seems to vibrate with barely controlled rage. Daggubati spent years in more grounded roles before *Baahubali* transformed him into mythic evil, and you can still sense him enjoying every ounce of cruelty the script lets loose.

Simon Abrams at RogerEbert.com was right to point out how much is lost structurally, noting that "the missing footage only winds up diminishing Rajamouli's sprawling, episodic narrative". I agree. The quieter lessons the elder Baahubali learns from his people—the ones that give the later tragedy its emotional weight—feel a bit rushed when you strip out those lingering beats.



Still, even in this sleeker form, you can’t deny the visual ambition. When the battles break loose, Rajamouli stages chaos with a precision most blockbusters miss entirely. Arrows fly in perfect patterns. Chariots with spinning blades tear through ranks. The violence is tactile, cumbersome, almost weighty. It’s loud, ridiculous, and demands you give in. *Baahubali: The Epic* may be a slightly dulled echo of the original cultural earthquake, but it still thunders with a pulse that hits your ribs.