First Telugu Color Movie ›
Ghantasala’s soundtrack is legendary. Songs like "Ramayanamlo Sitaramulni" and "Illalu Priyuralu" remain classics. The background score swells at every emotional beat—sometimes too obviously, but it works. The folk-style singing of the twins in the street scenes is wonderfully authentic.
For the uninitiated, Lava Kusa follows the Uttara Kanda of the Ramayana. After Sita’s exile, she gives birth to twins Lava and Kusa in sage Valmiki’s hermitage. The boys grow up unaware of their royal lineage, sing the Ramayana in the streets of Ayodhya, and eventually challenge their own father’s royal horse sacrifice. It’s a tale of destiny, identity, and the bittersweet price of dharma.
When Lava Kusa hit screens in 1963, it didn't just tell the story of Rama’s twin sons—it painted the very soul of Telugu cinema for the first time in vivid, breathtaking color. Directed by C. S. Rao and produced by the legendary N. T. Rama Rao (who also plays Rama and doubles as Narada), this film is less a movie and more a milestone. first telugu color movie
A time capsule worth unwrapping. Just keep your expectations for “color accuracy” in 1963.
As cinema, Lava Kusa is a dated but sincere mythological drama. As a historical artifact, it’s priceless. It opened the door for every colorful Telugu epic that followed, from Devadasu to Baahubali . Watch it for the nostalgia, the music, and the sheer audacity of making India’s first Telugu color film on a modest budget. And remember—every time a Telugu hero enters a song in a fluorescent shirt, they owe a debt to Sita’s green saree. Ghantasala’s soundtrack is legendary
N. T. Rama Rao is a commanding Rama—dignified, stoic, and just a bit too unforgiving (as the role demands). But the real heart is S. Varalakshmi as Sita. Her silent suffering and quiet strength transcend the melodramatic dialogue. As Lava and Kusa, child artists (played by actors Shobhan Babu and Ch. Narayana Rao) are energetic and endearing, even if their dance moves are more enthusiastic than graceful.
Modern viewers will find the pacing glacial (nearly three hours), the acting stage-like, and the special effects laughable—the scene where arrows turn into a serpent is charmingly primitive. The dialogue is overly poetic, and the film leans heavily on mythological exposition. Also, for a movie titled Lava Kusa , the twins share less screen time than their mother’s tears. The folk-style singing of the twins in the
Let’s address the elephant in the ashram: the color. Processed in Gevacolor, the hues are astonishingly vibrant for the era—Sita’s green saree pops against the forest browns, the golden chariots gleam, and the demon king’s court is a riot of crimson and purple. Yes, the color balance flickers occasionally, and some outdoor shots look overexposed, but for a first attempt, it’s nothing short of magical. The opening scene where flowers drift down a stream in full technicolor must have left 1960s audiences spellbound.
