Bollywood stars Kareena Kapoor and Saif Ali Khan have been spotted in London by a number of eagle-eyed fans. The city is a favourite holiday destination for the couple, who are regular visitors to the capital.
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The sisterhood's descendants have divided Perunuru into three territories: Malemar, Perplady and Herkada
What happens when women take control of a world traditionally dominated by men? Does changing the gender of those in power automatically create a fairer society? Netflix's Akka, led by Keerthy Suresh and Radhika Apte, explores these uncomfortable questions through a violent crime saga built around an 800-year-old sisterhood.
Set in the fictional south Indian region of Perunuru, the five-episode series follows a powerful matriarchal community that controls the criminal underworld and the lucrative gold and illicit liquor trades. While its premise offers an interesting reversal of conventional crime dramas, the story gradually reveals that replacing male rulers with women does not necessarily dismantle the systems of oppression they inherit.
Instead, the series suggests that absolute power can corrupt regardless of gender.
The sisterhood's descendants have divided Perunuru into three territories: Malemar, Perplady and Herkada. Each is governed by women from the ruling family, who have maintained their influence by eliminating male competitors and controlling lucrative state contracts.
At the centre of this empire is Malemar, the most powerful territory. It is led by the calculating Muthakka (Tanvi Azmi), whose position is eventually inherited by the more morally conflicted Bhavani (Keerthy Suresh).
The community follows strict rules that reverse traditional gender roles. The birth of a girl is celebrated, men are expected to remain subordinate, and women cannot inherit the revered position of Akka without having a child. Traditional marriage and interference from the mainland are also rejected.
The premise gives Akka an intriguing starting point. However, beneath its female-led power structure lies a familiar hierarchy built on wealth, caste and social exclusion.
Debutant writer-director Dharmaraj Shetty draws from the visual language of classic Indian crime dramas, creating a gritty and highly stylised setting. The writing is crisp, the dialogues by Hussain and Abbas Dalal have bite, and the production design complements the narrative. Across its five episodes, the series maintains a strong internal logic, with its twists generally avoiding unnecessary detours.
The threat to the sisterhood arrives from Bombay in the form of Rudra (Radhika Apte), a ruthless outsider backed by mafia don Shankar (Mahesh Manjrekar). With links to Perunuru, he wants to seize control of its illicit trade, using men and boys who have long been sidelined by the ruling women.
The conflict between Bhavani and Rudra is not simply a battle between two ambitious women. It is rooted in socio-economic and caste divisions, exposing the exclusion that has helped sustain the sisterhood's empire for centuries.
Bhavani represents an entrenched elite determined to protect its privileges under the guise of tradition. Her defence of Perunuru's customs is ultimately a defence of the existing order. Rudra, meanwhile, emerges from the exploitation and resentment created by that very system.
Suresh brings vulnerability and strength to Bhavani, conveying the character's moral dilemmas and the burden of inherited privilege. However, the writing occasionally limits her ability to explore these conflicts beyond the surface.
Apte is equally compelling as Rudra, a character who deliberately adopts the aggressive language and behaviour traditionally associated with male crime bosses. Her performance is loud, confrontational and physically commanding, moving away from the familiar portrayal of a quiet victim seeking revenge.
Yet Rudra's rebellion is not necessarily about liberating the oppressed. She wants to replace the person at the top rather than dismantle the structure itself. Her ambition raises an important question: is she challenging an unjust system or simply preparing to become its next ruler?
The confrontations between Apte and Suresh are among the series' strongest moments. Their contrasting performance styles give the power struggle an intensity that keeps the narrative engaging.
One of the series' most interesting ideas is that a matriarchal society can be just as exclusionary and ruthless as a patriarchal one. By introducing caste and subaltern politics into its crime narrative, Akka moves beyond a straightforward story of women fighting for control.
The sisterhood has survived for centuries partly by exploiting marginalised communities, whose members have helped maintain its power while remaining excluded from its privileges. This exposes the contradiction at the heart of Perunuru: a society that celebrates female leadership can still preserve deeply unequal social structures.
The argument also gives Rudra's character greater significance. Her challenge to Bhavani's authority reflects the resentment of those who have been pushed to the margins. However, her methods suggest that removing one powerful ruler does not automatically create a more equitable society.
At times, the series appears to dress conventional crime-drama tropes in progressive language. Its stylised violence and dramatic confrontations provide commercial entertainment, but some of its political ideas could have benefited from greater depth.
Ultimately, Akka makes a compelling point about the nature of power. Simply changing who occupies the throne does not change the rules governing it. While the series does not explore every aspect of this argument with equal success, its central conflict, strong performances and striking setting make it an engaging watch.
Verdict: Akka is a stylish, performance-driven crime drama that uses a matriarchal world to question the mechanics of power and privilege. Keerthy Suresh and Radhika Apte make its central battle compelling, even when the writing struggles to match the complexity of its ideas.
Akka is streaming on Netflix.
