Reincarnation of Regret
There are few cinematic experiences quite like Upendra Matte Baa (translation: Come Again, Upendra), and I mean that in the way one might describe a stubborn case of food poisoning — once is plenty, but it insists on returning. Directed by N. Arun Lokanath, this supernatural drama-slash-family film-slash-ghost comedy is a remake of Soggade Chinni Nayana— which itself was already a supernatural melodrama with more reincarnations than sense.
Blumhouse makes movies about ghosts that terrify you. India makes movies about ghosts that lecture you. Upendra Matte Baa somehow manages neither. It’s a film about love, loss, and one man’s spectral midlife crisis, except it’s told with all the subtlety of a fireworks display in a monastery.
The Plot: Two Upendras Walk into a Temple…
Let’s start with the plot, because that’s where the haunting begins.
Upendra plays a double role: one as Ramu, a socially inept cardiologist with the bedside manner of a broken heart monitor, and the other as his dead father, Upendra Raju, a flirtatious zamindar with all the charm of a peacock on a sugar high.
Ramu is married to Seetha (Sruthi Hariharan), a woman whose patience rivals that of Indian broadband users. Neglected, lonely, and married to a man who shows more affection to his stethoscope than to her, Seetha wants a divorce. Naturally, the couple heads back to Ramu’s ancestral village to break the news to his saintly mother Satyabhama (Prema, returning from cinematic exile).
Satyabhama reacts by yelling at her late husband’s portrait — which, in this movie, counts as a resurrection ritual. Upendra Raju’s ghost, apparently busy flirting in the afterlife, is summoned back to Earth by Lord Yama himself. Shiva wants him to “fix his family,” though given the chaos that follows, it’s clear divine HR didn’t screen this employee very well.
Once back, ghostly dad Upendra Raju can only be seen by his wife, which is convenient for the plot and confusing for everyone else. What follows is part spiritual intervention, part family counseling, and part fever dream.
At one point, Upendra Raju possesses his son’s body — a sequence that sounds kinky but isn’t. In Ramu’s body, he flirts with cousins, fights local goons, and rekindles his son’s marriage, all while investigating his own murder. Yes, because on top of everything else, this movie suddenly decides to be a supernatural whodunit.
It turns out Raju was murdered by his scheming uncle Rudraraju and a corrupt priest, over some temple jewelry. There’s also a divine snake, a talking godman, an evil thread that blocks ghosts, and possibly the world’s first example of ghostly nepotism.
By the climax, there’s fighting, possession, divine intervention, and reconciliation — because no Kannada film worth its salt ends without a moral, a family hug, and the ghost waving goodbye in slow motion.
Characters: When One Upendra Isn’t Enough
Upendra, playing both Ramu and Raju, clearly loves himself — and in this movie, he gets to literally act opposite himself, making Upendra Matte Baa the cinematic equivalent of a man flirting with his reflection.
As Ramu, he’s stiff, robotic, and seems permanently confused about how to be human. As Raju, he’s a loud, womanizing spirit who seems to think “haunting” means “hitting on women from beyond the grave.” Somewhere between the two, there might have been a performance, but it got lost in translation — possibly while crossing over from Naraka.
Prema, as the long-suffering wife, gives the film its only touch of sincerity. She spends most of her scenes crying, pleading, or talking to thin air — which, coincidentally, is also what it feels like to watch this movie.
Sruthi Hariharan as Seetha deserves hazard pay. Her job is to look confused while her husband occasionally turns into his own father, without so much as a psychiatric consult. She somehow maintains dignity in a role that involves being possessed, pursued, and perpetually perplexed.
Sai Kumar shows up as Yama — the God of Death — but instead of terror, he brings the kind of energy you’d expect from a retired gym teacher. Even death looks bored.
And Sadhu Kokila, as a godman named Atmananda, provides comic relief, though his jokes land with the grace of a falling coconut.
Tone: Half Ghost Story, Half Marriage Counseling
The movie tries to balance comedy, sentimentality, and supernatural drama — and fails at all three. It’s a horror film where no one’s scared, a romance where no one has chemistry, and a family drama where every conflict could’ve been solved with a group WhatsApp chat.
Every scene oscillates between melodrama and slapstick. One minute, Upendra’s ghost is lamenting his death; the next, he’s flirting with college girls. The tonal whiplash is so severe, I’m surprised the cinematographer didn’t demand hazard insurance.
There’s even a moral buried somewhere in the chaos — something about family values and true love transcending life and death — but it’s delivered with the grace of a sermon yelled through a megaphone.
Cinematography and Music: Pretty Pictures, Forgettable Sounds
To its credit, the film looks good. Swamy J. Gowda’s cinematography gives us lush villages, glowing temples, and enough golden lighting to make everyone look like they’re in a Fair & Lovely commercial. The problem is, beauty can’t save boredom.
The soundtrack by V. Sridhar is serviceable but repetitive — imagine every soap opera theme song playing at once while someone hits a tabla with divine frustration. The background score insists you feel emotional even when the script gives you no reason to.
Direction: Loki, God of Muddled Storytelling
Director N. Arun Lokanath (nicknamed Loki, appropriately) seems torn between making a fantasy drama and a family entertainer. Instead, he’s made both — badly. The pacing is glacial, the humor forced, and the emotional beats feel like they were storyboarded by committee.
Scenes stretch endlessly, dialogue repeats itself like an ex who doesn’t take a hint, and by the time Yama shows up, you’re praying for him to take you too.
The film’s biggest problem is that it takes a concept that could’ve been charming — a mischievous ghost fixing his broken family — and turns it into a sanctimonious slog.
Symbolism: When Metaphors Die and Become Ghosts Too
The “totem” of the film — family unity, divine justice, the cycle of life — all drowns in a sea of bad writing. Upendra’s ghost represents a bygone era of masculinity — charming, flirtatious, slightly toxic — trying to haunt a modern world of career women and divorce lawyers. It’s not empowering; it’s embarrassing.
By the end, the film seems to say: “A husband who ignores his wife can still redeem himself, as long as his dead father possesses him and punches some people.” A bold message, truly.
Final Thoughts: Come Again? Please Don’t.
Upendra Matte Baa is the cinematic equivalent of being haunted by your father’s ego. It’s bloated, confused, and utterly convinced of its own charm. It tries to be funny, emotional, and spooky — but only manages to be long.
If you’re a die-hard Upendra fan, this might feel like a nostalgic callback to his glory days. For everyone else, it’s a supernatural endurance test featuring more possession than The Exorcist and fewer thrills than a tax seminar.
When Yama tells Upendra Raju it’s time to go back to Naraka, you can’t help but whisper, “Take the film with you.”
Final Rating: ★★☆☆☆
(Two out of five divine snakes — one for Prema’s effort, and one for finally ending.)
