Sangeetha Devi Dundoo

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.

The Girlfriend is a film for the ages. Had it been made a decade or two ago, it would have felt just as relevant, and if revisited decades later, it would still hold true. Its layered exploration of men, women, and the childhood experiences that shape their adult relationships is timeless. Writer and director Rahul Ravindran crafts a slow-burn drama that cuts close to the bone — close enough to make us pause and reflect on our emotional maturity and approach to love.

To call this a review required careful thought. Strictly speaking, it is a re-release — marking a decade since Baahubali: The Beginning first hit theatres in 2015. But this is no ordinary re-release. After undergoing the required technical upgrades to meet current digital projection standards, the 225-minute-long Baahubali: The Epic arrives as a digitally remastered and re-edited film that condenses both parts of the Baahubali saga into a whole.

In an early scene from director Neerraja Kona’s Telugu romance drama Telusu Kada (loosely translated as You know it, right?), chef-restaurateur Varun (Siddhu Jonnalagadda) berates his staff for failing to meet his exacting standards. His friend and moral compass (Harsha Chemmudu) reminds him to see things more practically: for Varun, a loner, the restaurant is his world; for his staff, it is just a job.

“When a cyclone strikes, bow down to the tide. When OG arrives, run and hide.” A character holding a grudge against the protagonist says something to this effect. It isn’t the sharpest mass dialogue in mainstream Telugu cinema, but the actor’s intonation gives it weight. Director Sujeeth’s They Call Him OG references cyclones a few times, but fire serves as the recurring visual motif, shaping the presence of the titular character — Ojas Gambheera, aka Original Gangster, played by Pawan Kalyan. The film was in production for four years, and the director openly acknowledges his admiration for the star, filling the film with fan-service moments.

At a time when Telugu cinema often leans on grand canvases and visual effects to mask weak storylines, it is refreshing to find reminders that storytelling still matters, even in modestly budgeted films. Little Hearts, released recently, captured the innocence of young romance and parental bonding with crackling humour. This week’s release, Beauty, written by RV Subramanyam, takes a darker path. Director JSS Vardhan, credited with additional screenplay and dialogues, slowly peels back the layers to deliver an unexpected jolt. Led by Ankith Koyya, Nilakhi Patra and VK Naresh, the film gradually assembles what first appears a frustrating puzzle into a striking whole.

While watching Mirai, I was occasionally reminded of actor Teja Sajja’s earlier film Hanu-Man. That superhero fantasy by director Prasanth Varma, set in a fictional world, drew on devotional texts while borrowing familiar tropes from the genre. Its engaging characters and emotional depth made audiences root for the underdog hero. This time, the canvas is wider, with a larger budget. Cinematographer-director Karthik Gattamneni, who co-wrote Mirai with Manibabu Karanam, crafts a striking visual aesthetic with production designer Nagender Tangala, art director Dasireddy Srinivas, and a skilled visual effects team. Yet beneath the spectacle lies a story that finds its footing in parts, and that makes all the difference. Indian epics are rich with fantasy steeped in devotional fervour — gods, demons, worlds on the brink of darkness, and the triumph of good over evil. What matters, however, is translating such tales into emotionally resonant storytelling for the screen.