Even so, I was taken aback by the clumsy writing. One doesn't go into a film like this expecting technical prowess.
As far as exposition goes, that's a very bad start. Meanwhile, the criminal kills them all and escapes. Instead of acting on the information, the commander starts telling the officer who this man is and why he must be caught. When an officer finds the man they are looking for and calls it in. The film begins with a military operation. Commerical or otherwise, it is just bad cinema. So, the viewer develops a robotic detachment with the proceedings knowing well that the hero will come out of it unharmed. But Akandha's titular character is a man who cannot be destroyed. In any other film, the hero's eventual loss of invincibility and possible death is what keeps things interesting for the viewer. The film spends so much time elevating a godman, Gajendra, but, in the later parts of the film, he looks clueless. He is appropriately towering and scary to look at, but the effect wears off. Srikanth plays a businessman who likes the feel of warm blood between his fingers. If Boyapati can be seen through the lens of an auteur, reckless violence would be his trademark. Do we see her do collector-y things? Don't be ridiculously greedy. She is relatively well-written and Pragya carries her well. Pragya Jaiswal plays Saranya, an IAS officer, who is enamored by Murali Krishna and later marries him. Rathnam's dialogues are appropriately over-the-top and fun too. Having said that, he is great as this god-like man who is killing people left and right, bad CGI be damned. You can never tell with a Bala Krishna performance whether you are supposed to be moved by it or laugh at it. That made me laugh, but to everyone else chanting 'Jai Balayya' it was a rousing moment. When the film is all but ending, an investigative officer from New Delhi asks Akhanda, 'Meru maala manishi kaadha?' (Aren't you a human, like us?) 'Never', Bala Krishna replies in his signature manner. He is soon stopped from living his best life, as bad people are aplenty in the cinematic world of Boyapati. He wants to eradicate factionalism, violence against women, and save the planet from misuse-Telugu cinema hero's trivial trifecta. The child who isn't abandoned grows up to be Murali Krishna, who is all things good. When asked by the father to get rid of the child, he puts him in an alms bag of another swami, who is going to Varanasi. The swami is pleased by one of them and calls the other pralayam (destruction). The father takes them to a swami (Jagapathi Babu) to seek his blessings. Inside a palatial home in Anantapur, a woman is sleeping after giving birth to twin boys. Can we watch the same film again and again, with a few changed parameters? Can a head-splitting BGM distract the viewer from the fact that the film's second half is just a lengthy fight sequence? Watch the film to find out. Well, the lack of conceit or the repetitiveness of it is the film's conflict-the second Bala Krishna enters and looks the same way he does in Legend. What about the 2nd act, the central conceit, you might ask.
It is interesting to see a film that uses twins this way one character as an exposition device and the other as resolution. But he abandons one, Murali Krishna (Bala Krishna), as soon as the character is done laying the path for the entrance of Akandha (Bala Krishna), an aghora, who is the heir-apparent of Lord Shiva. In Akhanda, too, he creates two characters for the actor. It's either that his screen presence is way too potent to fit into a single character, or he is half as charismatic as he used to be, so the viewer needs two of them to not notice the difference. It has been that way with all the three films they've collaborated on. For most of us, one Bala Krishna is more than enough.
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