Reviews

Four adults rush to their family home in Chandigarh. Their favourite parent is no more; the glue that binds them all is gone. The parent left behind is difficult and bitter, unable to fathom the fact that life moves on. Goodbye might have you believe that it's a mainstream version of Ram Prasad Ki Tehrvi (2021), Seema Pahwa's beautifully observed drama, rooted in the ritualistic nature of grief - where an untimely death briefly brings together different generations of a distant family under a single roof. All through, a widow grows wary of the performative punctuations of loss. But this comparison is too flattering. If you look closer, Goodbye is nothing but a spiritual sequel of Baghban (2003), arguably the most culturally-entitled Indian melodrama of this century. Consider a universe in which Amitabh Bachchan's character simply grows old, loses his loving wife, and then guilt-trips his adult children for not caring like he does.

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Even though it follows the original storyline with unwavering faith and is helmed by the same writers and directors, the Hindi version of Vikram Vedha is, on paper, not a Xerox copy of the 2017 Tamil film. While R. Madhavan and Vijay Sethupathi played cop versus gangster in the grey-toned metropolitan clutter of modern Chennai, the Hindi Vikram Vedha is set in Lucknow and Kanpur, which directors Pushkar-Gayatri depict as peak, north Indian exotica: Mughal architecture; a palette of saturated, warm colours; labyrinthine slums with brightly-painted buildings; Ram leela actors and explosive Dussehra celebrations in the background; Hrithik Roshan prowling with his trademark, feline grace in the foreground. Technically, all this should serve to make the Hindi Vikram Vedha look and feel different from the original. Yet barring Roshan's solo action sequences, there are few moments in this remake that don't make you nostalgic for the original.

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In its first episode, Dahan: Raakan ka Rahasya seems promising. We meet Avni (Tisca Chopra), a disgraced Indian Administrative Service (IAS) officer who is also mother to the teenaged Anay (Rohan Joshi) and a widow. Reeling from charges of corruption and her husband's suicide, Avni convinces her superior to send her to a village in Rajasthan, named Shilaspura, where a mining project is facing resistance from locals. As Avni and Anay make their way to the village, they learn the story of the beheaded sorcerer Ridhiyakan and his demoness mother Haadika. If Haadika is awakened, people turn into the bloodthirsty "Raakan". The first step to this awakening is seemingly caused by entering the caves of Shilaspura - the very mines that Avni is here to blast with the aim of bringing progress to this remote area.

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There's something in the air of Asola-Fatehpur Beri, on the outskirts of Delhi. These twin urban villages are known for being the birthplace of bouncers, but that's not the point of concern. In director Madhur Bhandarkar's film Babli Bouncer, the residents of Asola-Fatehpur Beri are all suffering from mass delusion. When they look at Babli - a pink-cheeked, bright-eyed Tamannaah Bhatia - they declare she's unmarriageable because she's not womanly enough when in fact, Bhatia is the epitome of north Indian, feminine beauty. The only difference between Babli and Bhatia's other on-screen appearances is that Babli looks healthy, rather than petite. Apparently, that's all it takes for a woman to be knocked off the pedestal of desirable femininity. Also burping. (Fun fact: Babli is the only person we hear burp in the entire film. Even though her burps are presented as proof of her masculinity - irritable bowel syndrome would have been more convincing - not one man in Babli Bouncer expels gas audibly.)

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It might seem rather hypocritical for a film that begins by thanking the brand Porche to lash out at the bourgeoisie over the rest of its running time.

This practice of acknowledging and appreciating those who closely or remotely helped make the movie, came to be a standard in the Malayalam film industry long ago. But in Theerppu, directed by Rathish Ambatt and written by Murali Gopy, the folly of this exercise appears pronounced. It is a film that reduces society into a pool of labels and signs, with a screenplay scooped out of newspaper headlines and opinion pieces, where characters are little more than what their names and surnames represent. A husband and a wife are named Ram and Mythili. A character robbed of his ancestral assets and rightful position is named Abdullah Marakkar. The kitchen, where a marriage's bitter secrets come undone, has a large portrait of Princess Diana. Gandhi and Che Guevara smile from the wall behind the couch from where the film's avenger pronounces his judgements. Was one of the characters named Kalyan as a nod to the textile-jewellery brand Prithviraj endorses? Likely.

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I know the heading sounds harsh, but I partly mean it as a compliment. And as for the other part, I meant to be, well, harsh. I think you'll agree with me, too. Here's the story writer-director Vasishta has chosen to tell.

A ruthless king Bimbisara gets rid of his opponents, including his own twin brother Devadatta to rule the Trigartala Kingdom. He doesn't stop even if he has to kill children. He's a despot, but he also leaves you in awe with the sheer power he commands. One day Devadatta reemerges and dethrones Bimbisara and sends him through a magical portal into the modern world. This despot now must adjust and learn to be human in today's Hyderabad, while also protecting his descendants. The anti-hero finally becomes the hero Trigaratala and his descendants need.

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I'm not sure what to make of this version of Ravi Teja - the humorless machine that churns out senseless mass films. It's not even reaching the stage of "it's so senseless that it's ironically amazing" like with Balakrishna, where his films have merged self-deprecating irony with genuine masala. While Balakrishna tends to overcommit to his part here, Ravi Teja feels like a lazy rehash of himself from the past like an assembly line of films meant to be safe money spinners. The disappointment is two-fold. He is an actor who is capable of pulling off subtle films where he can play more vulnerable men on screen and also within this framework of masala films, he lent a freshness to them nearly a decade and a half ago.

Sadly, Rama Rao On Duty, while being better than his recent films, still doesn't become a great or even a good film.

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David Cronenberg has always had an unsettling view of the human body, its many vices and its limitations. In Existenz (1999), bodies exist to serve as energy sources for technology to feed off. In Dead Ringers (1988), they're strange specimens to be carved up and peered at with suspicion. In Crimes of the Future, the director's first film in eight years, he maps a journey from self-loathing to self-acceptance, of learning to feel at home in one's body, even if it doesn't live up to your expectations of it. It's a surprisingly sentimental swerve for the director, even if his way of getting to the heart is to repeatedly take a scalpel to the flesh surrounding it first.

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In Ek Villain Returns, John Abraham plays a character named Bhairav who has two jobs. He's a driver with an Uber-like car service and he's also a zoo keeper. When Bhairav isn't driving people around - he mostly has one customer Rasika - he's feeding a large, CGI tiger. And that's not the most absurd thing about this film.

Eight years ago, director Mohit Suri, seemingly inspired by the Korean film I Saw the Devil (2010), created a deeply misogynistic but genuinely creepy tale about a serial killer. Rakesh Mahadkar, a seemingly meek and ineffectual man, dealt with his frustration and anxieties by killing women. Rakesh says, "Tum sabki nikalti jaan ke saath, meri har chinta, sari stress nikalti hai." Riteish Deshmukh delivered a terrific performance as the unhinged Rakesh. Both the film and viewers were on his side as he went around plunging screwdrivers into overly shrill women who gave him a hard time. And there was singer Ankit Tiwari's chart-busting 'Galliyan' song, which propelled the film further.

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Somewhere inside Vikrant Rona is a surprising, spooky saga about a daredevil cop with a tragic backstory. But before you get there - roughly in the last half an hour or so - you have to endure an incredibly convoluted story about a remote village where murder seems routine. Children are found hanging from a tree. A decapitated inspector is found hanging in a well. There is a one-eyed smuggler who carries stuff across the border, but I never managed to unravel his connection to the plot. There's also an old woman who appears at regular intervals to provide scares. Is she real? Is she imagined? I have no clue. Phantom Comics play a key role. There are lines about Brahmrakshas, khoon ki Holi, Bhoothnath ka mandir and shaitano ke bhagwan.. it's a lot.

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Say what you want about the final result, but you have to give it to writer-director duo JD-Jerry for the amount of conviction they've put into The Legend-a sprawling, 160-minute rocket launch for its lead star. It's the kind of mega movie that operates on one simple principle-why have one of something when you can afford 12,000 of it. This doesn't just apply to the massive sets that have been erected to recreate a mansion, a research facility, a bar in Manali, a second research facility, and a hell-hole to hold hundreds of human lab rats. This also extends to the film's two main heroines, two item-song stars, five medium-to-large villains, and an army of every comedic actor money can buy. Add to this a few thousand dress changes, a plethora of Rolls Royces, and at least four foreign locations and there's nothing you cannot find in this movie.

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I saw Thank You. It starred Akkineni Naga Chaitanya, Malavika Nair, Raashi Khanna, and a few other actors. The main character is Abhiram. Naga Chaitanya plays that character. He comes to the US for a job. He creates a health-related app. He falls in love with Priya. Rashi Khanna plays that character. But Abhiram becomes arrogant. Priya almost leaves him. He then goes and says 'Thank You' to all the people who helped him. He and Priya get back together. The end.

Read those sentences again. That's how blandly the film Thank You unfolds. At some point, my jaw dropped wondering if this was really Vikram Kumar's film - given that he managed to delve into the intricacies of time travel in 24, and he gave probably the most family-friendly sci-film since Aditya 369 in Manam.

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There is something acutely dispiriting about Shamshera. The film is set in 1871 against the backdrop of the British Raj, but the story isn't aiming for historical authenticity. This is the fantastical tale of a warrior tribe called Khameran, their subjugation and their battle for independence against the British and against a particularly sadistic daroga named Shuddh Singh. That a bloodthirsty, opportunistic megalomaniac should be called Shuddh is about as clever as this film gets.

According to press reports, Shamshera was made on a budget of Rs. 150 crore. The film was extensively shot in the Nubra Valley in Ladakh. The hard work and sweat of the team are apparent onscreen. In the production design of the fictitious kingdom of Kaza by Sumit Basu. In the scale and visuals captured by cinematographer Anay Goswamy - he artfully utilises the constantly-swirling dust, especially in the song "Fitoor". In the music and background score by composer Mithoon, who has created a fittingly rousing title song for his two heroes, Shamshera and his son Balli. And most of all in the performance of Ranbir Kapoor, who after 15 years in the business, takes on the mantle of being a larger-than-life hero. He has built his physique and mostly sheds the fumbling softness and vulnerability that made him such a winning performer in more layered roles in films like Barfi (2012), Rocket Singh: Salesman of the Year (2009) and Tamasha (2015). Shamshera needs him to wield an axe like Thor and rescue the downtrodden. And he delivers. His presence isn't instantly electrifying like Ranveer Singh's in Simmba (2018) or Ram Charan and NTR Jr in RRR (2022), but with acting chops and charisma, Ranbir Kapoor holds the frame.

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Director Taika Waititi is an artist with many talents, but one of his great accomplishments has been inserting mischief into the MCU. His 2017 film Thor: Ragnarok was subversive, surprising and exhilarating with a touch of absurdist humour, which humanised the characters. As Waititi told it, superheroes and gods were, like the rest of us, just fumbling and struggling. Who can forget Thor and the Hulk raging at each other and then sitting side by side, talking about their emotions and making up? This mix of sweet, sincere, melancholic and ultimately hopeful is what defines the Waititi oeuvre. His films - even the one about Nazis, Jojo Rabbit - hold a kernel of joy in their heart. And Waititi functions like a conductor, blending these disparate tonalities into one satisfying symphony.

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If the Ayushmann Khurrana sub-genre of broad-stroked, social messaging movies and the Rajkumar Hirani sub-genre of feel-good, smiling-through-tears movies had a baby, it would be Jayeshbhai Jordaar. Debutant writer-director Divyang Thakkar creates a sanitized, aimable, sometimes bordering on farcical but always heartfelt saga of a closet feminist who decides to rebel against his awful, overbearing Sarpanch father and protect his wife and unborn daughter.

The story is set in Pravingarh, a fictitious hamlet in Gujarat ruled by the Sarpanch, who is such a neanderthal that when a young girl complains that boys are harassing her, he orders the women in the village to stop bathing with soap because obviously when women smell fresh, men lose control. The Sarpanch's wife isn't much better. She prays obsessively that Jayesh's wife Mudra will deliver a son - their first child, Siddhi, is a girl who she has little affection for. In one scene, she looks at Siddhi and says: Ghagra paltan nahi chahiye. So when Jayesh finds out that Mudra is going to deliver a girl again, he has no choice but to run away. Jayesh and Mudra become perhaps Hindi cinema's first couple to elope after marriage and with two children - one still a foetus.

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There are two ways to look at Sarkaru Vaari Paata. Either view the film as an astoundingly unoriginal film that follows no screenplay writing rules or celebrate it as the return of Mahesh Babu of the late 2000s and early 2010s where he was willing to take a joke on himself, be villainous, and most importantly show some energy on screen.

When presented with good news and bad news at the same time, I usually choose to hear the bad news first. So let me begin by recounting how creatively dull Sarkavaru Vaari Paata is. The plot is simple. A money lender in the USA, Mahesh (Mahesh Babu) decides to go to Vizag to retrieve money that is owed to him by Rajendranath (Samuthirakani), a corrupt businessman. But once there, he realises that he's not alone in being cheated by the businessman and the film is about him bringing those affected by Rajendranath's greed to justice.

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As I watched Jersey, I wondered if OTT platforms had rendered the frame-to-frame remake obsolete. In 2019, writer-director Gowtam Tinnanuri made Jersey, a rousing saga about a failing, frustrated Ranji cricket player who makes a comeback at the age of 36. The story moves back and forth from 1985-86 to a decade later and we see two distinct versions of Arjun - the brash, flamboyant cricketer whose signature move is stretching his hand out with the bat and rotating his shoulder. And the defeated, aimless, washout who has been suspended from his government job. The star athlete now dulls his anguish with cigarettes and the company of deadbeat friends.

Nani, who plays Arjun in the Telugu film, is superb. He nails the spectacular highs and abject lows of Arjun's life. Jersey is a three-hankie weeper with child artist Ronit Kamra, who plays Arjun's seven-year-old son, dialling up the emotions with his dimpled smile and innocence. He reminded me of Jugal Hansraj in Masoom - his face is enough to make you want to hug and protect him. Jersey won two National Awards - one for best editing and one for best film in Telugu.

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At last, a film about animals, And now about a delightful Dog called Simba! Great news!!

The last time I ever saw a film in which a dog had such a huge impact was probably Hum Aapke Hain Koun (1994). And suddenly animals seem to have disappeared from our screens. Why? Way back in 1992, a small NGO was founded by the influential Maneka Gandhi called People for Animals. By 1995, she was in the Lok Sabha and she went on a strong campaign to promote the humane treatment of poor animals. Undoubtedly, a very noble and laudable task!

But in a vast agrarian country like ours where cattle and sheep are the mainstays of all agricultural development, in a country where jungles are being constantly attacked by poachers and the wildlife is always under threat, and in a growing urbanized country where animals are locked inside houses as pets with no freedom at all, how do you expect an organisation like prevention of cruelty to animals every work?

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Just at the beginning of the third act, after the central conflict is resolved and Rambo (Vijay Sethupathi) has his epiphany, he goes to a tea shop and orders tea with salt - to give him some shame, apparently. He then walks over to an old man and asks him to take off his slippers. "Ammava vittuttu poviyanu kelunga," (ask me if I'll ever leave my mom again) he says. The old man obliges. "Adinga enna," (slap me) he urges. Phatak, phatak, phatak, Rambo comes to his senses. This is perhaps Vignesh Shivan's message to critics who come with expectations.

To be clear, dear reader, I did not expect anything unreasonable. Despite the trailers' warnings, I went expecting only a Vignesh Shivan-esque comedy - an irreverent, lighthanded, college boy-level take on semi-serious issues. For Kaathuvaakula Rendu Kaadhal, even that is too much. Because it is just an escapist male fantasy stretched on for too long.

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Call it an overtly meta reading of what's essentially a simple scene, but there's something about the timing of Jana Gana Mana's release that made this stretch feel a lot more significant. With Sathyan Anthikad's Makal set to release a day later, we get a scene where Jana Gana Mana's director Dijo Jose Antony appears as a college professor. It is set in Maharajas College and the lecture is on Indian Polity with a full strength of students in attendance. But his speech does not compliment the "good students" for attending his class. Instead, his big mass dialogue here forces them to get up from their benches and go out in protest against the murder of a professor in another state. He calls it the "practicals" of the subject he's teaching, but it feels like an event in itself with a filmmaker teaching his audience to be more political. When seen just a day before the release of an Anthikad film, it's a sign of how most makers today have rejected the apolitical stands of films like Sandesham and Priyadarshan's Cheppu to embrace full student participation. Given how the film comes back later to underscore this very point only adds to the film's cleverly deceptive writing.

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There's a fairly straightforward throughline in Beast that ensures this new Vijay film doesn't suffer from the same problems you've come to expect from the superstar's films. In an effort to make a Vijay film a "complete package" with a little bit of everything, especially since Atlee took over, you sense the makers throwing a lot at you assuming some of it sticks. But with Beast's allegiance to almost every single trope you expect in a typical hostage drama, you get a focussed film without the flab and the excesses that make parts of Vijay's films tiring.

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Right through K. G. F: Chapter 2, I couldn't help but imagine what it must have been like for Prashant Neel to watch The Godfather for the first time. More than the whole film, I'd love to ask him someday about the impact its climax left him with as he watched it in what I imagine to be an old theatre, wherever he grew up. Like the iconic theatre scene in Cinema Paradiso, this moment must have been Prashanth's big life-altering moment, his metamorphosis where he not only discovered the magic of movies but also the concept of "mass" before it became a thing. Without sounding too dramatic, something must have clicked in him because there's no one here who thinks in intercuts like this man.

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