Sangeetha Devi Dundoo

There is a fine line between inventive and outright bizarre. On paper, Thammudu might have seemed like a gripping watch —blending complex family dynamics, childhood friendship, and a good-versus-evil survival thriller. But in execution, it is more of an endurance test than an immersive film. Written and directed by Venu Sriram, starring Nithiin, Varsha Bollamma, Sapthami Gowda and Laya, the film tries to juggle too much, and drops most of it. Nithiin plays Jai, an archer chasing gold at the world championship. His struggle, we are told, is not about fitness or skill, it is emotional baggage. He confides in childhood friend Chitra (Varsha) about his broken bond with his sister (Laya) and the regret that has been weighing him down. Chitra, meanwhile, is apparently a successful entrepreneur who wins ‘Start-up of the Year’. What does her company do? The film does not tell us. On stage, she announces her love for Jai, tearfully calling him “more than just a boyfriend.” Logic takes a backseat, and so does character depth.

At one point, well into the second hour of the Telugu film Kannappa, Prabhas appears on screen as the deity Rudra. His extended cameo includes lines that cheekily nod to his larger-than-life image — one even references the endless speculation around his bachelorhood. These ‘meta’ touches serve as deliberate fan service, injecting energy into an otherwise uneven narrative. It is a shame, because Kannappa, led by Vishnu Manchu, sets out with the earnest ambition of reintroducing the devotional legend to a contemporary audience. Rooted in folklore, the story follows Thinna, an atheist hunter believed to be a reincarnation of Arjuna, who transforms into a devout follower of Lord Shiva. In a final act of faith, he offers his own eyes to the deity, earning the name Kannappa.

The film begins by acknowledging its writer-director’s 25-year career, and the title card — Sekhar Kammula’s Kuberaa —says it all. Kuberaa is driven by its director and his ambitious tale that does not pander to the starry aura of Dhanush, Nagarjuna Akkineni, and Rashmika Mandanna. Sekhar makes them play characters — men and women inhabiting a complex world driven by money, power and greed. The narrative is not perfect. Yet, it is a brave one in the realm of mainstream Telugu cinema, giving viewers plenty to chew on. In broad terms, Kuberaa is the story of a capitalist exploiting those who are below the poverty line. How these two worlds collide makes all the difference. A multi-billionaire (Jim Sarbh as Neeraj Mitra) believes ‘fame is power’. He lives in a Mumbai high-rise that has an infinity pool. At the other end of the spectrum are those who beg for alms, whom this film describes as the ‘invisible’, brushed aside at traffic signals and at places of worship as an inconvenience.

When things take a dark turn in Rana Naidu season two, Rana (Rana Daggubati) tries to reassure his daughter Nitya (Afrah Sayed) that everything will be fine. She retorts that nothing will ever be the same. This exchange encapsulates the story’s core, which follows the consequences of Rana’s actions as a fixer in Mumbai, tasked with managing the scandals of celebrities. Written by Karan Anshuman and Ryan Soares, with dialogues by Vaibhav Vishal, the series is directed by Suparn S Varma, Karan Anshuman and Abhay Chopra. It traces Rana’s attempts to protect his family while continuing his long-standing conflict with his father, Naga Naidu (Venkatesh Daggubati). Loosely adapted from the American series Ray Donovan, the first season drew criticism for making Venkatesh, a long-time favourite in Telugu family films, deliver frequent expletives for shock effect. The new season offers a more restrained portrayal. Venkatesh avoids most of the profanity, though others around him do not. Unlike the first season, which opened provocatively, this one begins with Venkatesh practising pranayama — the calm before the storm.

It is tough to look at 23 (Iravai Moodu) solely as a film. The indie-spirited Telugu venture based on real incidents, written and directed by Raj R, is part social commentary, presented in a docu-drama style. Armed with a cast that includes 25 newcomers and a few established names, Raj questions if the justice system is equal to everyone. George Orwell’s statement from Animal Farm, ‘All are equal, but some are more equal than others’, sets the tone of the film that wants its audience to look at crime and its perpetrators through different perspectives. The film’s premise is shaped by three incidents that shook undivided Andhra Pradesh in the 1990s. In 1991, the Tsunduru massacre witnessed brutal caste violence against Dalits. In 1993, 23 passengers lost their lives after two Dalit men set a bus on fire in Chilakaluripet. In 1997, a car bomb explosion in Film Nagar, Hyderabad, reportedly killed 26 and injured several others.

Last year, the Telugu film 35: Chinna Katha Kaaduasked viewers to consider why zero — seemingly without value — becomes greater than nine when placed after a one. The message was a subtle but effective way of empowering students struggling with mathematical concepts. This year, director Sunny Sanjay returns with Anaganaga, streaming on ETV Win, which presents science lessons — ranging from eclipses to the role of red and white blood cells — through short, story-driven episodes. At the heart of the film is Vyas Kumar, a storyteller-teacher played with quiet sincerity by Sumanth, in one of his most nuanced roles. He brings learning to life for children who find traditional methods difficult to absorb. Loosely adapted from the Marathi film Eka Kay Zaala, Anaganaga opts for simplicity, using its narrative as a gentle teaching tool. Like Taare Zameen Parand 35, it follows a familiar underdog arc, delivering its message with warmth and clarity without talking down to its audience.

It is always a joy when a modest film swings big and lands comfortably, andSubham, a Telugu horror comedy, does just that. Marking actor Samantha Ruth Prabhu’s debut as a producer, the film is directed by Cinema Bandi’s Praveen Kandregula and written by Vasanth Maringanti. On the surface, it is a spooky comedy, but at heart, it is a sharp commentary on gender sensitivity — made all the more effective by smart writing and charming performances. Set in the early 2000s, in the pre-internet days of coastal Bheemili, undivided Andhra Pradesh, the story begins with a sweetly awkward pelli choopulu (an arranged marriage meet-cute) between Srinu (Harshith Reddy), a cable TV operator, and Sri Valli (Shriya Kontham), a bank employee. The backdrop — where cable still reigns while satellite TV starts inching in — adds nostalgia without overwhelming the narrative.

In a scene from HIT: The Third Case, a character describes Arjun Sarkaar’s (Nani) actions as “classy”. Arjun retorts that this time, he intends to show his true self — stepping away from the image of refinement often associated with him. In another moment, when someone warns him that he “cannot survive here”, he responds, “I’ve been hearing that since the beginning of my career.” These meta-cinematic lines feel less like commentary on the character and more like nods to the actor himself. In HIT 3, director Sailesh Kolanu leans into fan service, casting Nani — long embraced by family audiences — in a darker, bloodier setup. The film carries an ‘A’ certificate, and Nani effectively sheds his man-next-door image to become a ruthless cop whose methods, unsurprisingly, come under scrutiny. Departing from the slow-burn whodunit tone of the earlier films, this third instalment in the HIT universe trades mystery for carnage. It is not about who, how, or even why — the perpetrators are beyond reasoning. The real question is whether the film successfully marries crime thriller elements with full-throttle action to offer a gripping cinematic experience. Some segments land powerfully; others feel stretched or overly engineered.