Why Keerthy Suresh-Radhika Apte’s Akka Fumbles Its Bold Matriarchal Premise

The dynamic of women ruling an underworld domain built on blood and dominance promises a fresh take on matriarchy within a mafia world historically dominated by men. However, YRF's Akka, the five-episode web series starring Keerthy Suresh and Radhika Apte, fumbles and lets its plot drag. Directed by Dharmaraj Shetty, the show is set in 1980s Pernuru - a region divided into three territories of Malemar, Perplady, and Herkada - where every domain operates under a singular rule 'Maatratantar' (matriarchy). Keerthy Suresh, as Bhavani, is introduced as a fierce and absolute leader. But her world comes crashing down when Radhika Apte’s Rudra arrives to challenge her authority, systematically tearing away her loved ones one by one. Beneath its sleek production values and stylised violence, Akka fails to deliver a narrative as formidable as the women who anchor it.

While the supporting cast, including Tanvi Azmi, B Jayashree, Nivedita Bhargava, and Monika Panwar, delivers impressive, grounded performances, the script ultimately undermines the series. It may read like a fresh script, but it seems stitched together from several, drawing heavy parallels to the world-renowned Game of Thrones and Dimple Kapadia’s crime drama Saas Bahu Aur Flamingo.

Aesthetically, the show leans into the standard cloak-and-dagger, blood-and-gore blueprint that has become a staple for filmmakers in the wake of Dhurandhar. Skulls shattering under gunfire and blood spurting from severed arteries are treated as the new casual baseline for small-screen storytelling, prioritising graphic impact over narrative weight.

The pilot episode genuinely amps up viewer expectations by diving into historical origins to answer a fundamental question - Why Maatratantar in Pernuru? The makers establish this world convincingly across pre- and post-Independence India, setting up a social order where lineage flows strictly from mother to daughter and formal marriage is outlawed. Here, men are reduced to little more than submissive, functional appendages, constantly bossed around by the women who command the region.

Yet, much like Game of Thrones, Pernuru is divided into three territories - the House of Fields, the House of Mountains, and the House of Seas. The only notable departure is that instead of active warfare, these territories maintain a surprisingly cordial dynamic of 'behenchara'.

Co-written by Hussain Dalal and Abbas Dalal, the plot gains momentum when Rudra, a ruthless operative from Bombay, enters the frame to wage economic war against Akkas. Turns out she is out to avenge her mother's death. This central clash quickly translates into a proxy for the rivalry between Daenerys Targaryen and Cersei Lannister - two iconic figures who were equally merciless and consumed by power. The crucial difference, however, lies in the execution of the show - Akka lacks the razor-sharp writing and rich character development that gave those original dynamic struggles their weight.

Had it not been for the sheer screen presence of Keerthy and Radhika, the series would have collapsed from its opening hour. The dialogue lacks bite, and the screenplay leaves a persistent sense that critical narrative links are missing. Beyond the main power struggle, even the romantic subplot - tracing the bond between Bhavani and Vishak Nair’s Nanda - feels directly lifted from the forbidden alliance of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen in GOT, layered with the illicit romantic tension of Shanta and Dhiman in Saas Bahu Aur Flamingo.

Midway through the series, the narrative shifts visual modes entirely, channelling a Kantara-esque folk ritual as the matriarchs invoke the local deity following the death of elder leader Muthakka.

What ultimately leaves the audience wondering is the logic behind the downfall of the matriarchs. Respected leaders including Duggamma, Subbamma, and Mallika are systematically killed by men whom they explicitly knew couldn't be trusted, yet they took their advice anyway. Despite being framed as the epitome of power who can overcome anything, these women are written as 'fools' for believing the very men they knew were treacherous.

The series concludes on a standard, highly conventional beat - Bhavani reclaiming control and methodically executing every male figure who betrayed them, including her own lover.

Akka begins with a rare and compelling premise, offering a narrative space where female power is absolute rather than reactive. Yet, by stitching together recognisable beats from established hits, the show trades genuine originality for derivative spectacle. Strong leading performances keep the screen alive, but a contradictory script ensures that a promising matriarchal empire ends up feeling like a mosaic of borrowed ideas.

Where to watch: Netflix

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