Uday Bhatia

One of several things franchise filmmaking has taken from us is the satisfaction of seeing entire stories play out. When you always have one eye on the future, and when you aren’t sure which parts of your current project viewers will take to, the easiest thing is to keep all options open. Decision-making is replaced by decision-deferring and the audience is stuck in storytelling hell.

OTT lighting. Killer of scenes. Destroyer of aesthetic. The flat, boring, unengaged style that says, we know this looks terrible but no one expects better anymore.

Don’t buy that bowl, I muttered, as Dwayne Johnson cradled it in his huge hands. It’s a Japanese bowl and will obviously break at some point, and will then be repaired by someone who can’t quite pronounce ‘kintsugi’ but says it anyway, upon which Oscar voters will have their minds blown by the realization that you’re a broken man who needs putting together.

What’s in a name? Everything, suggests Homebound, if you live in India. “When you’re in uniform, no one reads the badge,” Shoaib (Ishaan Khatter) tells Chandan (Vishal Jethwa) in Hindi. The English subtitle, a little over-eager, provides the subtext, rendering this as: “Your faith and caste no longer matter.” But, of course, they do, and names are the first battlement to be protected and attacked. Inquiring about the results of his police recruitment exam, Chandan offers only his first name when asked, and his surname as the caste-neutral Kumar when pressed. His slight hesitancy is enough to tip off the clerk he’s talking to, who immediately switches from offering sympathy to mocking the boy about reservations.

Aaishvary Thackeray is saying something to Kumud Mishra when a fly buzzes in his face. It throws him off for a split second, but then he brushes it off and continues speaking. Nishaanchi is three hours long and this moment lasts a few seconds. But in a film where nothing is urgent and time goes by so slowly, it struck me as a rare precise bit of problem-solving. There’s a larger problem that’s not so easily solved. Anurag Kashyap’s last three releases, Choked, Dobaaraa and Almost Pyaar with DJ Mohabbat, were different kinds of disappointing, while Kennedy not finding any kind of release here showed his stock had fallen considerably. Nishaanchi suggests he wants his audience back. Insofar as there’s a Kashyap niche, this is it: north Indian town, twangy Hindi, assorted lowlifes and lovers and family squabbles. It’s a film that’s eager to please and careful not to pick fights, something you can hardly say about any of the director’s previous work.

Brahmastra: Part One—Shiva cost 400 crore rupees. Game Changer cost about the same. Adipurush is estimated between 500 and 700 crore. So much spent, so little to show for it. You can buy all the stars, all the screens, but you can’t buy taste. Money goes a lot further in Malayalam cinema. Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra has a reported budget of 30-33 crore. With this modest amount, director Dominic Arun and co-writer Santhy Balachandran build a sturdy, vivid world, full of personality and charm. The natural comparison is with Minnal Murali (2021), another deft, low-budget Malayalam superhero film. But in its fusing of Indian folklore with breezy Hollywood heroics, Lokah is really the film Brahmastra desperately wanted, and failed, to be. Lokah begins with Chandra (Kalyani Priyadarshan) escaping a burning building and the woman sent to kill her. Her crashing through a window segues into animated, era-spanning opening credits. Already this is a change from the standard Indian action film: no elaborate entry shot, flight instead of fight. The practical nature of the filmmaking carries over into the storytelling—a fantasy film whose heroes have the good sense to be wary and retreat when necessary.

Param Sundari is assemble-your-own-Kerala for dummies. Start with backwaters. Add elephants. Better still: elephants being sung the Malayalam lyrics from ‘Jiya Jale’. Toss in a Mohanlal song. Kalarippayattu. Mohiniyattam. Onam. Ayurveda. Unironic use of ‘god’s own country’. Nurses. Mundus. Red flags. Churches. Boat races. Tushar Jalota’s film hangs its Kerala fetish on the flimsiest of premises. Param (Sidharth Malhotra) is an amiable Delhi failson who keeps launching unsuccessful startups bankrolled by his wealthy father (Sanjay Kapoor). He’s intrigued by a new app called Find Your Soulmate, which matches your unique ‘frequency’ to the one person who’s meant for you. It’s the kind of faux-scientific woo-woo that would set anyone’s alarm bells ringing. Not Param, though, who’s thrilled to learn that his own soulmate is apparently in a small town in Kerala. After informing papa, he sets off to beta test.

There are four key pieces of information on the Coolie poster. Above the title: ‘Superstar Rajinikanth’. And below: ‘Written & directed by Lokesh Kanagaraj’, ‘An Anirudh musical’, ‘An Anbariv action’. In the end, the film ends up less than the sum of these imposing parts. It isn’t sterile, it has something of all their personalities, but no one brings their A-game. The film starts with its best idea: Soubin Shahir as the heavy. He plays Dayal, an enforcer at a Visakhapatnam dockyard, responsible for keeping workers afraid and details of his employer’s smuggling racket from leaking out. It’s inspired casting, transforming the mild-looking Malayalam actor into a loathsome sadist. Shahir jumps in headfirst, radiating mean little guy malevolence as he hacks, bludgeons and gurgles psychotically.