Subha J Rao

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.

There’s a scene well into Abishan Jeevinth’s Tourist Family when the reticent Gunasekhar (Ilango Kumaravel) who shies away from speaking to anyone decides to open up to Vasanthi (an utterly lovely Simran) about how he met his Mangayarkarasi (Sreeja Ravi, who is a puddle of warmth) and why they are all alone. He mentions love, and eloping, and you sense him blushing, despite the age. Elsewhere, a teacher who does not smile easily hides a ready-to-bloom smile at school thinking of the student Mulli (firecracker Kamalesh) who got him to drop him off with absolute nonchalance. At home, tensions rise over a father and son sparring. And then, Nithushan (Mithun Jai Shankar aces this part) shows his folks something and the family struggles to control their laughter. The way this scene plays out is gold.

There’s an oft-repeated phrase people use after watching certain films — it is “slow.” I didn’t understand it then, I don’t understand it now. Labels help no one. Does life move in real time or at an accelerated pace? The issue of pacing strikes the audience only when they aren’t drawn into the world the director and storyteller have created. Agnyathavasi (translation: ‘a person in exile’) is a film that insists it will breathe — and wants you to breathe with it. Editor Bharath MC works his charm here. Which is why, despite generally steering clear of thrillers and jump scares, I was drawn into the film’s world — gently, like the fog and the mist of Malnad, where the story is set. The thrills here stem not from the certainty of geography, the reliance on camera angles, or music cues — though Charan Raj’s score is fabulous — but from the possibilities of the human mind.

For those who, in the flush of their youth in the early 2000s, in Tamil Nadu, life was coloured by many movies starring Vikram, but most notably Dhill (2001), Gemini (2002), Dhool (2003) and Saamy (2003). He had many hits post those too, but they all demanded so much of him physically — he gained weight, he lost weight, prosthetics were called in — we rarely got to see the performer in him shine without a crutch. We hardly got to see his shy smile or just be part of the universe created by a director, without drawing any attention to himself. Thaandavam (2012) and Mahaan (2022) were rare exceptions. The audience had to wait till 2025 to see vintage Vikram or the people’s much-loved Chiyaan back on the big screen. As Kaali in SU Arun Kumar’s Veera Dheera Sooran: Part 2, Vikram makes time stand still, and you can also see the film as a continuation of the works he greenlit in the 2000s. There’s action - yes, there’s love - yes, there’s sentiment - yes, but there’s also that lovely thing missing in most films — a hero who is part of the ambience, a hero who prefers lurking in the shadows, a hero who shies away from the spotlight. Cinematographer Theni Eswar lights and frames these dark spaces beautifully, considering most of the film takes place at night.

Many a time in Sumanth Bhat’s Mithya, conditioned by today’s happenings and a generally unsafe world, the stomach knots up with uncertainty, wondering what would befall a child that seems to trust adults. You heave a sigh of relief, only to realise that the child can still be injured through other means — what he hears and how he’s treated — especially when he’s too young to remember it all, but also too old to forgetfully. Snatches of these conversations linger and play on in his head like scabs being yanked off.

In his short lifetime of 38 years (1882-1921), Subramania Bharati left an indelible mark on Tamil society. His rousing poetry and prose introduced many to the concepts of patriotism and female emancipation, and enhanced them in those who already possessed it. His love for the country, and towards his Parasakthi, the divine feminine are well-known. The nimirndha nannadai (graceful walk with head held high) and nerkonda paarvai (straightforward vision) he visualised women to possess still serve as an inspiration to some and an aspiration for others. Despite multiple readings of Bharati’s life over the ages, there’s still scope to analyse the various facets of his life. And, that’s what the film Shaktidasan (devotee of Shakti), by director Usha Rajeshwari sets out to do.