Sangeetha Devi Dundoo

Two years after the urban romcom Miss Shetty Mr Polishetty(2023), actor-screenwriter Naveen Polishetty returns with another film laced with humour. In contrast to the restraint he showed in that film, Naveen unabashedly plays to the gallery in Anaganaga Oka Raju. The humour is delivered through gags that come at such a rapid pace that the audience may not get a breather to pause and reflect.

Certain things are a given in a film written and directed by Anil Ravipudi. There will be ample comedy, even if much of it is unabashedly silly. Viewers familiar with his work know not to expect nuance, or much by way of technical polish. In Mana Shankara Vara Prasad Garu, his first collaboration with Telugu superstar Chiranjeevi, Ravipudi leans into these strengths, loading the film with humour and fanboy moments that bank on the actor’s nostalgic appeal. The chief pleasure lies in watching Chiranjeevi clearly enjoying himself, aided by an extended cameo from Venkatesh Daggubati and the presence of Nayanthara.

Early on in The Raja Saab, a health scare prompts Prabhas to ask comedian Mahesh Achanta to fetch an odd assortment of items, from footwear to cigarettes. When Mahesh asks if he is serious, Prabhas snaps back with: do the needful — call an ambulance. The exchange is meant to be funny, but it lands flat, setting the tone for what follows. Written and directed by Maruthi, The Raja Saab aims to rewind Telugu cinema to a pre-Baahubali Prabhas — when he thrived in light-hearted roles with space for romance and comedy, à la Darling or Mr Perfect. The actor appears willing to embrace this blend of horror, comedy, fantasy and romance. Yet the film collapses into a baffling hotchpotch that squanders a promising premise. At 189 minutes, it becomes an endurance test, where the occasional spark of fun is smothered by a dull, meandering narrative.

There’s something disarming about a first-time filmmaker’s eagerness to break free of established norms of storytelling. Architect-turned-filmmaker Varun Reddy’s Telugu film Psych Siddhartha is a case in point. Varun, who has written and co-produced the film with actor Shree Nandu, presents a fairly simple relationship drama like a comic book for adults, wanting to speak the language of Gen Z. The film may not be perfect but ushers in a promising voice that’s eager to push the boundaries of storytelling.

There is a scene in Akhanda 2: Thaandavam that is almost impossible to describe with a straight face. Somewhere in the snow-capped Himalayas, Balakrishna — as Akhanda, endowed with divine powers — bends over the antagonist to check if his heart still beats. This man has already survived one round of Akhanda’s wrath. His tongue had flown out (I wish I were exaggerating), but he apparently stitched it back on and returns to contribute to this talk-heavy film. This time, Akhanda wants to be absolutely certain. So he pierces the man with his mace, hoists him into the air, and swings him left and right several times.

Some bonds defy rational explanation, like the devotion an ardent fan feels for a film star. What drives someone to go to extraordinary lengths for an actor who may never know they exist? Andhra King Taluka, written and directed by Mahesh Babu P, frames itself as a “biopic of a fan” to explore precisely this question. Through the fictional journey of Sagar (Ram Pothineni), an admirer of superstar Surya Kumar (Upendra), fondly called the “Andhra King”, the film examines how fandom shapes identity and ambition.

This is a film in which a man slender enough to slip sideways through the bars of a police-station lockup chooses not to walk out when the cops are not watching. Instead, he quietly takes a constable’s phone while the officer dozes off, slips back into the lockup, and starts watching reels. With moments like this, director Navaneeth lays out the film’s grammar early on — through the quirks of the principal characters played by Priyadarshi and Anandhi, and even through this random man in the station — signalling that Premante (love means…) is not a conventional relationship drama. Anything can happen, and the film wants viewers to simply go along for the ride.

Should an artist refine his craft for art’s sake, or can he adapt it to suit audiences who respond with applause and make the work commercially viable? And what happens when that applause begins to blunt the craft itself? Kaantha, the Tamil film written and directed by Selvamani Selvaraj and produced by Dulquer Salmaan and Rana Daggubati, poses these questions through a narrative that moves from psychological drama to whodunnit, while consistently acknowledging the art of cinema.