By nine in the morning, you could tell this wasn’t going to be a normal release day.
Outside theatres in Kannur, the air felt tight. Not loud at first, just tense. A few clusters of protesters. Police stationed a little too neatly. Posters already smudged with black streaks, as if someone had tried to erase the film before the first frame even flickered on screen. It’s strange how quickly a premiere can turn into a standoff.
The Kerala Story 2: Goes Beyond was technically cleared to screen. A late Friday night order from the Kerala High Court had overturned the earlier stay. On paper, that should have meant celebration, maybe at least curiosity. Instead, Saturday morning arrived with barricades.
In Kannur, screenings were called off after protests intensified outside the theatres. In Thiruvananthapuram, Cinepolis at the Mall of Travancore pulled the plug on its scheduled shows after a large demonstration gathered. The mall, usually all soft lighting and weekend chatter, felt subdued. You could sense management weighing optics, safety, and politics, all at once.
Kottayam was more dramatic. At Anashwara Theatre, the first show actually began. For a moment, it seemed like the day might unfold normally. Then activists entered during the screening and stopped the film midway. Audiences were urged to leave. Refunds were issued. By evening, all remaining shows were cancelled.
Something is jarring about a movie being cut mid-scene. It feels unfinished in a way that mirrors the wider conversation.
Further north in Kozhikode and Kochi, the resistance took a quieter form. At Regal Theatre and Shenoys, morning shows were reportedly cancelled not because of crowds outside, but because hardly anyone bought tickets. Some shows sold two seats. Two. In a state where cinema is practically a second language, that number lands with weight. It suggests something beyond protest. It suggests hesitation. Or indifference. Or both.
Most of the protests have been led by the Democratic Youth Federation of India, the youth wing aligned with the state’s ruling left. Their actions have been visible and direct. Posters blackened with charcoal in Thrissur and Kannur. Banners torn down. Activists stepping into halls, urging the few audience members to reconsider, to ask for refunds, to think about what they were supporting.
The objections are not vague. Protesters argue the film misrepresents Kerala’s secular identity and pushes what they describe as centralised propaganda. Certain scenes depicting forced religious conversions and beef consumption have struck a particularly raw nerve. In Kerala, food and faith are not abstract topics. They’re lived realities. They sit at dinner tables and in daily routines.
Meanwhile, the legal back and forth has only heightened the atmosphere. A single-judge bench had initially stayed the release for fifteen days, citing concerns over communal harmony. That order felt decisive when it came. Then, almost as quickly, a Division Bench overturned it late Friday night, allowing screenings to proceed.
So by Saturday morning, theatres were legally permitted to run the film. But legality and practicality are not always the same thing.
Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan has publicly criticised the film, calling it false propaganda. On the other side, BJP leaders have framed the issue around freedom of expression, urging people to watch the film and judge it for themselves. And just like that, a movie release slipped into the broader national conversation about speech, identity, and who gets to define a state’s story.
Inside the few theatres that attempted screenings, the mood was reportedly subdued. No whistles. No first-day frenzy. Staff kept an eye on entrances. Managers refreshed booking apps. Some venues opted for what they described as spot cancellations, choosing to avoid potential security issues rather than test the atmosphere.
For ticket holders, the advice has been simple: check before you go. Shows have appeared and disappeared from booking platforms within hours. A confirmed seat in the morning might not exist by afternoon.
What struck me most about today wasn’t just the disruption. It was the feeling that the audience itself was conflicted. Some people expressed frustration that screenings were being blocked despite court clearance. Others felt the protests were necessary, even protective. The divide isn’t clean. It rarely is.
Kerala has always been politically alert. Conversations here don’t skim the surface. They dive in, sometimes sharply. When a film touches on themes of religion and identity, it’s never going to float by unnoticed. It’s going to be examined, argued over, pulled apart.
Whether The Kerala Story 2: Goes Beyond eventually finds a steady footing in theatres across the state remains to be seen. Opening day has already been defined less by box office numbers and more by barricades and debates.
By evening, some theatre entrances stood quiet, posters half torn, the day’s tension settling into something heavier and less visible. The screens may have gone dark in several cities, but the conversation certainly hasn’t.
And maybe that’s the real story of February 28. Not just whether a film screened or didn’t, but how deeply people here care about the narratives attached to their home.
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Zayn blends critical thinking with genuine fandom. Whether it’s decoding OTT series arcs or rating the latest Bollywood blockbuster, he writes with clarity, pop fluency, and a dash of irreverence.
