Tusshar Sasi

When Krishnadas Murali’s feature debut Bharathanatyam came out in 2024, my immediate question was straightforward: how does this family sustain even a modest lifestyle? I couldn’t tell what anyone in this crowded house did for a living, especially since times were so uncertain. But as the movie went on, that worry went away and was replaced by a growing interest in how normal and strange people live together in a typical Malayali home. With Bharathanatyam 2 Mohiniyattam, the filmmaker dives deep into that chaos to revel hard in its absurdities. The result? A sequel that is richer, zanier, and mightily confident in its skin.

At one point around its midpoint, Bhooth Bangla drops a romantic song without any context. People walk out as if their bladders would burst if they stayed a minute longer. I could almost feel my eardrums burst from a song so grating, paired with a couple that shares negative screen chemistry. Yet that is not why I felt bad for the half of the crowd that did not return. Ironically, that is exactly where the film becomes a wee bit tolerable. Do not expect much, but the least the Priyadarshan film manages in its second half is to stop being annoying.

In cinema, or in the worlds that inspire it, some concepts are inherently dated. One such relic is dacoity. What do you picture when you hear of a film titled Dacoit? I go straight to the Chambal Valley, or maybe think of a Veerappan type, clad in camouflage, sporting a handlebar moustache, clutching hunting guns with a bullet rack slung diagonally across the torso. Given the dubious ways of Telugu cinema, I would at least expect one of those routine one-man battles against the system to protect mothers and sisters. Shaneil Deo’s film, however, delivers none of that. Instead, Dacoit tries to be everything else, none of which resembles a dacoit.

Films are never exactly about stories, but there’s nothing like a film with a refreshingly original one. As paradoxical as it might sound, Phil Lord and Christopher Miller’s Project Hail Mary (based on Andy Weir’s book of the same name) solidified this belief of mine. Its second lead is not even human, and yet I got to witness what we famously call a human story. In a world where uncertainty is the only constant, where technology and greed threaten to upset the balance of society, what we need and deserve is a ray of metaphorical sunshine, and this film, starring Ryan Gosling, provides this in spades, albeit in a very unexpected way.

We live in strange times. A story set in a Karachi neighbourhood called Lyari is Indian cinema’s biggest hit on this date. It’s neither historical nor bona fide historical fiction. Dhurandhar has rewired how mainstream audiences engage with espionage cinema and South Asian geopolitics. Naturally, Dhurandhar 2 (or Dhurandhar: The Revenge), arriving barely a quarter later, comes with immense pressure to like it. Not the lightweight peer pressure, but something far more societal. Should I dare to contradict this, my nationalistic brethren could scrutinise my integrity. This would also weaken my credibility as a critic.

The many permutations of human relationships, and the stereotypes tied to them, feel particularly puzzling today. Can’t two sisters ever be mature and jealousy-free? Will a single mother not be an adequate provider to her daughters? Are all daughters really “daddy’s little girls”? Can’t sons find their best friends in their fathers? Tighee, directed by Jeejivisha Kale, suggests that all of this is possible today. It simply depends on the circumstances people find themselves in. The film’s philosophy is more along the lines of what I would call ‘unity in adversity’.

Does Indian cinema really suffer from a shortage of ageing men in action roles? With the nation’s average male superstar age steadily inching towards 60, the familiar “chacha-buddha” slander hardly makes sense today. But when director Suresh Triveni steps in with Anil Kapoor as the tough action hero, in a setup that offers no ‘Dabidi Dabidi’ to dance to, the proposition becomes instantly intriguing. That curiosity fuels Subedaar, a film that attempts to place Kapoor’s enduring screen energy within a rugged, massy canvas. Triveni has previously delivered two compelling films – the sparkly Tumhari Sulu and the humane, unsettling Jalsa. Both were anchored by women and explored their emotional landscapes very well. Which raises an intriguing question: can the filmmaker channel the same insight into a testosterone-charged universe unfolding in the lawless heartland?

The very thought of the future, in any given year, is frightening. If we are currently standing at the edge of AI taking over, our predecessors once witnessed the Y2K scare and the rise of machines replacing human labour, each threatening to upend human life. And they did, yet we found ways to slip through largely unscathed. In Krishand’s Masthishka Maranam, we encounter a dystopian future set in the not-so-distant year of 2046. In a world equally ruined by technology, advertising, and toxic habits, the film shows a society that has descended into an abyss of crime, grief, and economic disparity.