Subha J Rao

There are many things women in India are terrified of, and with good reason. Walking on a lonely road after dark, being a lone female traveller in a bus, checking and double checking the surroundings before opening one’s car door, checking the bathrooms in public places for hidden cameras, verifying if hotel rooms are safe, if trial rooms are safe, if online chats are safe… in every single place, a woman is reduced to her body, and her individuality erased. Senna Hegde’s delightful yet punch-to-the-gut Avihitham (translates into illicit) adds one more to the list — a male tailor proudly claims he can size up a woman’s chest, waist and hip just by seeing her. Thanks sir, one more thing to be very afraid about.

I can’t remember the last time leaders of two opposing factions in a film spoke about the futility of their struggle and its relevance with more muddled honesty than in Mari Selvaraj’s Bison Kaalamadan. It helps that the leaders are played by Ameer (Pandiaraja) and Lal (Kandasamy), artists whose faces and voices convey honest anger and built-up fury, but also wander into areas filled with doubt. This makes them very non-leader-like and utterly human. This ability of Mari’s to question his own character is one of his defining traits.

There’s a scene in Kantara (2022) where you know something is going to happen to Guruva, who is Shiva’s cousin. He’s the voice of God, he’s the good one. And, before that, you see flashes of who Guruva is. So when landlord Devendra travels with him, you instinctively know Guruva is going to be the sacrificial lamb. Despite that, when you saw it on screen, the tears flowed. Because, you cared. Because, by then, they’d told you who Guruva is. You know what the loss of that life meant.

THERE’S A SHOT in Sarthak Hegde’s featurette Green Girl, where Ameena (a splendid Sucharita) and Jeevan (Mayur Gowda lives the role) speak about where they want to live, and later sit in companionable silence — he helps her with the lighter, she smokes, he is never tempted to. In that tiny space of freedom, the young couple lets the other be — their love encompasses, but also lets the individual in them thrive. That’s also why Ameena tries telling Jeevan not to get involved with a brash set of boys and men who affiliate themselves with a religion. But when he does not listen, she lets it be. He is also her safe space, and she’s herself with him.

There’s a passing scene in JP Thuminad’s hilarious yet thoughtful Su From So (releasing on July 25), which explains why the film lands the way it does. The villagers need to head somewhere and a convoy departs — it is led by two scooters, followed by two autos and cycles. Even in that not-so-important scene that barely lasts seconds, the film does not veer off its inherent spirit. These vehicles are ‘enough’ to serve the story. This is one of the many reasons why the film, which falls somewhere in the space between a thought-provoking movie and a horror comedy, keeps you engrossed through its runtime that’s a little over two hours.

At a very basic level, Bheemarao P’s debut film Hebbuli Cut, set in Chandrabanda in the North Karnataka–Telangana border, is about a young boy’s aspiration to get a fashionable haircut, like Sudeep’s in Hebbuli, and the path he takes to get it. At a deeper level, it is about how society and its obsession with class and caste kill spirits, bit by tiny bit, even as someone is in quest of dignity. This is probably one of those very rare Kannada films that speak about caste without couching it in pleasant, acceptable language. But, to its credit, it does so without being preachy. Vinaya (a brilliant Mounesh Nataranga) is the heart and soul of the film, keeping things going with his hope, joy, silent anger, and shy smiles. His parents are Mallanna (Mahadev Hadapad is pitch-perfect as dad, who is afraid for his son), who repairs shoes for a living, and Kanaka (the lovely Uma YG of Cinema Bandi fame). Vinaya grows his hair long, and all he wants is to get it cut by Channa (Mahantesh AS), the curly-haired wonder of Modern Men’s Buty Parlar, the go-to person for a good haircut. But he has to make do with the local barber, who is summoned home when the deed has to be done. The mother is constantly complaining about the unruly mop, the father does not mind, because they are not raising it with fertiliser or water.

THERE’S A SCENE in Firefly when Vicky, recently out of a coma, returns home after months and rings the bell, getting more and more irritated with every unanswered ring, before his new reality strikes him. There’s a glimmer of realisation in his eyes. The scene does not cut to sad music and tears. Instead, he searches for the house keys and strides out to get them from his uncle’s house, from where he had just walked out in a huff. This scene, in a strange way, sets the tone for the film, which speaks about coping with grief, depression, sleeplessness, and the overwhelming yearning to see one’s parents one more time. Despite the theme, debut actor-director Vamshi Krishna, who has also written the film, infuses it with a certain childlike lightness of touch and quirky humour. He’s also careful not to toss around the word depression casually—there’s a sensitivity in the portrayal of group therapy and more.

You can say many things about a Karthik Subbaraj movie, but one thing you can never accuse it of is being lazy—be it ideation, fine use of technology, great performances, shock value, irony, smart humour, or just the world he creates. And, with every film, you can see that he’s developing a stronger voice on what he wants to say. Jigarthanda DoubleX was an example. But, the one thing that is sorely missing in his films with the same intensity is emotion—that one thing which brings the rest together, and makes them work. Retro, starring an effervescent Suriya, falls in the same category.