Vishal Menon

One suspects that the experience of reading the script of Aadu 3: One Last Ride: Part 1 must have been a thousand times more rewarding than the experience of watching the film. This is not because one’s imagination isn’t limited by budgets or by performances, nor does it have much to do with this film getting lost in execution. Of all the films of this franchise, this is the only film that relies almost entirely on literal humour. Instead of trusting these characters to deliver the goods with the film’s organically silly situations, Midhun Manuel’s writing goes overboard with wordplay and puns. Now, these are fun at the beginning and you also understand the cleverness of some of the usages, but you can’t help but imagine how much funnier it may have been to read these lines on paper, rather than make a huge ensemble present them, each with their own eccentricities and styles. Instead of figuring a specific brand of humour for each character (like in the previous films), Midhun chooses to repeat the same style of dialogues for all, lending a homogeneous dullness to a film that could have gone anywhere.

There are a hundred metaphors to choose from in Oh Butterfly; even the “butterfly” in the film’s title is open to multiple interpretations. For one, you may think of Gowri (Nivedhithaa Sathish) as the titular butterfly as she struggles through the fag end of her metamorphosis. Her cocoon is a trap laid out by her mind because she believes she was responsible for her husband’s death. She lives in perennial guilt, fuelled by intrusive thoughts when we meet her for the first time. Right from a tennis ball to a kitchen knife, everyday household objects have the power to trigger something catastrophic in her. As the movie progresses, what we could be seeing in Gowri slowly emerges from this trap as she finally finds a way to fly away, primarily from her old self.

Upon completing Secret Stories: Roslin, it doesn’t require a genius to realise that this is a six-part series that was written backwards. The climax of the series is not only shocking; it’s the sort of twist that feels so inventive that everything about it, including characters, detours, and plot points, feels like it was in service of this ending. What’s not so shocking about this writing approach is that this is something you have come to expect from a piece of content that has the backing of a mind like Jeethu Joseph (he is the showrunner). For his fans, the twist at the end is arguably more important than anything that precedes it. At least, it has been this way ever since he wrote Drishyam (2013).

It’s very much a part of the design to start watching Pennum Porattum (The Girl And The Circus) from Suttu’s POV. Voiced by Tovino Thomas, Suttu is a white mongrel with black spots all over and the refugee the film talks about in its opening statement refers to those like Suttu. In his introductory voiceover, he’s letting us in on his daily routine and the number of times he’s been shifted in and out of his master’s house. He isn’t particularly happy there, nor is he comfortable in his tiny cage. And as we see stones being pelted at Suttu from outside, in a fit of rage, he shouts back and calls them “Manushyante makkale!”, which is something along the lines of “You sons of humans!”

‘History repeats itself’ is the phrase that kept coming to mind while watching Jayaram’s delightfully old-school Ashakal Aayiram, co-starring his son Kalidas. Yet, when you think of a film reuniting this real-life father-son duo, you might first be tempted to recall Kochu Kochu Santhoshangal, the charming Sathyan Anthikad comedy that brought them together the first time. But if you observe closely, the soul of Ashakal Aayiram is closer in spirit to another Anthikad classic, the 1999 family drama Veendum Chila Veettukaryangal.

There might be a hundred things you may not like about Raju Murugan’s cinema, but not having a voice that is distinctly his own, cannot be one of them. This voice isn’t just limited to the overarching themes he wants to discuss, his films’ politics or plot, or the manner in which even familiar actors behave differently when they’re in his movies. Even when you get in and out of his movie, there could be dozens of frames only this man could have thought of.

For all the credit Jeethu Joseph gets for being the Malayalam master of suspense, one doesn’t realise how often he’s made films that talk about something as soft and subtle as parenting. Of course he’s no Sathyan Anthikad to be making mild-mannered family dramas, but the parenting theme has always popped its head all over his cinema, even if the genre isn’t quite the expected safe zone for said discussion. We saw this topic getting addressed in a predictable, if entertaining manner in his second film Mummy And Me. Aspects of parenting became one among the many themes of both Life Of Josutty and Thambi. It’s also no debate how both Drishyam and its sequel were as good as two families (and two sets of parents) fighting it out in their ways to achieve justice for their children.

As an audience, perhaps we underestimate the power of nostalgia done right. In what was being marketed as India’s first WWE-style wrestling movie, the makers of Chatha Pacha could easily have begun their movie as a story about a group of twenty-somethings, who start their local wrestling league just as a business idea. But the writers of the film, which includes director Advaith Nayar, decide to begin the film with a flashback of three little boys, taking on each other in their life’s first wrestling ring… their parents’ double cot.