Aditya Shrikrishna

After five films, Lokesh Kanagaraj’s staples are now well known. His films teem with men embodying varying degrees of macho masculinity, vulnerability and identity crisis. Reluctant heroes drawn into battle against their will, their current pedigree not betraying their past or their abilities. The men of Maanagaram were only looking for love or an IT job or both. We don’t know what Dilli (Karthi in Kaithi) was doing before he went to prison. We meet JD (Vijay in Master) as an alcoholic college professor with no motivation to live for himself, much less for others. Vikram (Kamal Haasan in the eponymous film) retired to a life of geriatric parenthood and then he lost his son. Even Vijay’s Leo with his history of violence found a new name, new identity and an entrance into annals of the happy Indian family. And then shit happens. To all of them.

Over an hour into 3 BHK, director Sri Ganesh stages a scene in a restaurant that is completely disconnected from the rest of the film. It occurs out of nowhere and sticks out like a stray limb out of a burning pyre. Prabhu (Siddharth) and his sister Aarthy (Meeta Raghunath) take their parents, Vasudevan (Sarath Kumar) and Shanthi (Devayani), to a fancy restaurant for their wedding anniversary. The restaurant is way out of their middle class means. As a flabbergasted Vasudevan looks at the menu and his surroundings, Prabhu turns to him and says “kaalam maari pochu (times have changed)”. It is a regular aphorism, but it is also the title of a popular 1996 film from the stables of V Sekar, the ‘90s kingpin of middle-class family dramas. Dramas that might be lowbrow on the surface but have a remarkable level of honesty and clarity. They shoot straight and are seldom disingenuous. That moment really clicked into place what is not working with 3 BHK, ostensibly a similar film but one that takes itself way too seriously and has very little authenticity to deserve our attention.

It’s always cause for celebration when a quintessential arthouse film that did everything right from its inception to production tours the world of festivals, earns accolades, and finally finds a theatrical release. No matter what happens, a public exhibition in the theatre is one of the greatest joys both for the audience as well as the filmmaker. Subhadra Mahajan’s Second Chance had its world premiere at Karlovy Vary International Film Festival 2024 as part of the Proxima Competition. After the premiere, the film travelled to Dharamshala for its India premiere at Dharamshala International Film Festival followed by, among others, International Film Festival of Kerala in the Indian Cinema Now section. Shot in monochrome by cinematographer Swapnil S. Sonawane, it is a gentle document of a young woman finding hope and solace from the utter brink in the mountains. , as Mahajan has said in different interviews, bridges two worlds — the privileged, upper-class world of the protagonist Nia (Dheera Johnson) and the lives of Bhemi and the indigenous people in the mountains, one that is as simple as it is physically and emotionally exhausting. The film gets a theatrical release in select cities on June 13.

It is not prudent to use business terms for art but as this concerns mainstream commercial cinema anyway, here we are. Usually, a Mani Ratnam film promises minimum guarantee. No matter what the film has in store — it works, meanders, dips or is politically dubious — there is always something cinematic, something inspired scattered here and there. Something you can take home, something you can watch in isolation years later. A shot, a stray scene or line or exchange that we can search on YouTube long after the release of the film. Kadal has some exquisite kinetic shotmaking. Guru is magical in some of its interpersonal dynamics. Thiruda Thiruda, for all its vacuousness, is a great ride and rarely a slog. Kaatru Veliyidai at its core has a wonderful premise that is lifelike and probed with intent even if timidly. So far Chekka Chivantha Vaanam was that odd one out with hardly a Mani Ratnam stamp. But here we are: as celebrated as Nayakan is and will remain forever, Mani Ratnam’s weakest film, for now, is his second collaboration with Kamal Haasan — Thug Life.

Anuraj Manohar’s debut film, Ishq (2016), does something interesting. It shows us a calculated act of violence and establishes a certain perspective. Later, it flips the narrative as well as the power imbalance by showing one of the victims, a heterosexual male who recovers from the ordeal quickly, perpetrate the same violence but this time to ghastlier ends in the name of revenge. As the film gradually becomes more and more uncomfortable, we understand that Manohar is interested in this cyclical nature sustained by the insecurities, frailties and ego of men. It makes a much larger point than a quid pro quo revenge act. Manohar’s new Malayalam film Narivetta also keeps moving around the vantage points, but from the view of the sole protagonist. It is clever but more straightforward in terms of storytelling and sociopolitical play than the first film. Yet, it makes for a solid sophomore film from the director.

IN ABISHAN JEEVINTH’S debut feature, a Tamil-speaking family from Sri Lanka lands on the shores of Rameshwaram. We don’t see it, but we get the sounds of their torrential journey through opening credits and even later in the film—a rocking boat, tense waters and the fear of losing oneself to the mighty ocean. But we also get the funny side of it. The youngest kid says he doesn’t know how to swim, and the father reassures him. He is quick to retort, “But you don’t know how to swim either!” The aptly titled Tourist Family is not satire but a light take on heavy problems like geopolitics, economic and migrant crisis. Abishan’s film balances the weight of the emotion of shared camaraderie with a feathery slice of life humour.

In Avinash Prakash’s Tamil feature film Naangal which premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam this week, time is stretched by a limited set of events as if perched on a non-stop Ferris wheel. They are the same moments with their ups and downs, same life-altering triggers that repeat in a cyclical fashion. Three preadolescent siblings — Karthik (Mithun V, eldest, 13 years old), Dhruv (Rithik Mohan) and Gautam (Nithin D) — live somewhere near Lovedale in the hills of Tamil Nadu with their father (Abdul Rafe as Rajkumar) who owns plantations, a house too huge for four individuals and is the Chairman and Principal of their modest school.

They say all you need is love, but sometimes misplaced confidence can go a long way. It is a gift. It might come across as awkward or arrogant or both. It might make one look like an asshole or, worse, foolish. Sometimes the audacity is rewarding, and the reckless abandon can often lead to a hard fall. The very definition of misplaced is such that one cannot predict its outcome or reception. But it is indeed a gift, and goes a long way. It reveals that there was an attempt. That someone took a shot. That no matter what Yoda says, there is always a try. One didn’t simply walk away quietly. One refused submission.