A title card at the interval point of SS Rajamouli’s Baahubali: The Epic cheekily declares that viewers don’t need to wait for two years to answer the WKKB question – Why Kattappa Killed Baahubali.

Kattappa thrust a sword into Baahubali’s back at the end of Baahubali: The Beginning in 2015. Baahubali 2: The Conclusion, which came out in 2017, cleared the air about Kattappa’s treachery. Baahubali: The Epic combines The Beginning and The Conclusion, shrinking the gap between suspense and revelation, anticipation and gratification.

The release of The Epic marks a decade since the first film. Material that clocked close to 330 minutes has been hacked down to 225 minutes, or three hours and 45 minutes. The Epic certainly isn’t for anybody who feels that movies are getting far too long – bottom-numbing, thrombosis-inducing, waistline-expanding long.

Rajamouli and producer Arka Mediaworks could simply have brought back the previous films as a double bill. Instead, they have created a new excuse to revisit familiar thrills. The Epic has been remastered, with improved visuals and a sharper rendition of MM Keeravani’s rousing background score.

The re-edit is available in Telugu, Hindi, Tamil and Malayalam in regular and IMAX formats. Beyond fan service, The Epic is a reminder of why the films worked in the first place.

The two-part saga is a box office phenomenon as well as a cultural touchstone. It’s no exaggeration to divide mainstream cinema into before and after Baahubali.

Already a seasoned hit-maker in Telugu, Rajamouli boldly reinvented the swords-and-dhoti movie with Baahubali. Rajamouli brought Hollywood-level pizzazz to a once-upon-a-time tale inspired by the child-like wonderment of the Chandamama and Amar Chitra Katha comics.

The films revolve around a fratricidal war in the kingdom of Mahishmati. The queen Sivagami (Ramya Krishnan) doesn’t discriminate between her son Bhallaladeva (Rana Daggubati) and her orphaned nephew Amarendra Baahubali (Prabhas). Bhallaladeva and Sivagami’s husband Bijjaladeva (Nassar) resent what they perceive as Sivagami’s favouritism.

Amarendra falls in love with Devasena (Anushka Shetty), the princess of a neighbouring kingdom. Bhallaladeva, who wants Devasena for himself, schemes with his father to have Amarendra killed. Although Mahishmati’s general Kattappa is on Amarendra’s side, he is duty-bound to obey his masters. The couple’s infant son Mahendra (Prabhas) is presumed dead, only to resurface years later.

Rajamouli imagined the films on a scale rarely seen in Indian cinema, and then created situations to match his maximalist vision. The men and women in Baahubali stride across the screen like gods or prehistoric giants. The sets are huge, the costumes shiny, the battlefield scenes massive and frenzied.

The visuals appear three-dimensional but the dramaturgy itself is strictly one-dimensional. Characters are defined not by their inner lives but by outer appearance and physicality. Their exaggerated emotional displays resemble thought balloons in cartoons.

The villains are literally dark-skinned. Ramya Krishnan’s eyes threaten to pop out of their sockets. Amarendra/Mahendra are hunks of flesh, towering over friends and foes alike.

The re-edit carried out by Rajamouli and editors Kotagiri Venkateswara Rao and Tammiraju remove the obstacles in the way of the Baahubali universe’s chief appeal: the imaginatively staged, elaborately choreographed and frenetic action. Anything that constitutes a distraction from Mahendra’s mission to avenge his father’s death and restore his mother’s dignity has been snipped out.

The excisions include a scene set in an arms market and a few songs, including one featuring the cousins at a bar (which sees Rajamouli in a cameo). The buddy comedy track between Amarendra and Kattappa from the second movie has gone too.

The rebellion against Mahishmati organised by Devasena’s brother Jaya (Meka Ramakrishna) has similarly been consigned to the bin. This sub-plot removal does further injustice to Avanthika (Tamannaah Bhatia), a soldier in Jaya’s rebel army.

In Baahubali: The Beginning, Avanthika existed only to provide Mahendra with the means to leave the hamlet where he was raised and bring him to Mahishmati. Heavily sexualised despite proving her fighting skills, Avanthika found herself out of favour in the second movie.

She was one of the many fighters in the background, staying out of the way as Mahendra and Bhallaladeva lunged at each other. In The Epic, Avanthika appears, disappears and barely reappears, an act of magic on par with Mahendra’s gravity-defying feats.

The movies have been reshaped through the eyes of a friendly critic, with only the best bits and hyperbolic scenes retained.

That moment when the people of Mahishmati protest against Bhallaladeva being crowned king instead of Amarendra by pounding the ground with their sticks and spears so hard that they cause a minor earthquake? Amarendra hitching a ride on the backs of cows with flaming horns? His journey to Mahishmati with Devasena in a flying ship? Mahendra’s air-borne sortie into Mahishmati?

The re-edit captures the intended flow of the screenplay from one grand set piece to another. Bahaubali: The Epic unfolds as one battle after another. The moments of calm serve as placeholders for the next set of jaw-dropping visuals.

The trimming strips Baahubali down to its shock-and-awe essence. The principal characters appear more laser-focused in their grandiose strivings, having been liberated entirely from the burden of acting.

It’s telling that whatever has been chucked out won’t be missed. The question of whether Baahubali should have been released as a single film in the first place lingers.

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