Vishal Menon

“Ghosting” is not a term one should ever have used casually when you’re in the same room as director Rahul Sadasivan. Not only does this modern master of horror look at the word differently but he’s also capable of writing an entire screenplay based on how he understands this piece of Gen-Z lingo. This understanding is especially relevant given how he’s made another film about three people just like he did with Bhoothakalam and Bramayugam. And If Bhoothakalam used depression as its central theme to discuss generational trauma passing on from grandmother to grandson, Bramayugam used its three central characters to talk about class and caste divide systemic to Kerala.

There are several ways in which Praveen K gets you to think — and then rethink — the de facto norms of a serial-killer thriller. At about the 20-minute mark in Aaryan, the film has already revealed everything we usually wait to be told in stories of this genre. Not only does the setup end with the film plainly telling us the identity of the serial killer, but it also concludes with this person being given the biggest punishment imaginable. With the whodunit element taken away, Aaryan gets the rare chance to focus on the reasons why a person decides to become a serial killer, and the unique modus operandi that has the entire force running from pillar to post.

There’s an argument to be made about the cleverness of the opening sequence of Pradeep Ranganathan’s third outing as hero, Dude. Not only does he deserve an introduction befitting a rising star, but he’s also not at the level where he can save an entire village — at least, not yet. So instead of a grand hero’s entry, what he gets is the absolute definition of a zero entry.

Several aspects of Bison will urge you to keep rewatching the film, but if there’s one that kept surprising me, it was its editing. More than a smooth linear edit, Sakthi Thiru builds up scenes like he’s stacking Jenga blocks. Just when you feel too overwhelmed to absorb the layers playing out in one scene fully, he chooses to insert that with a tiny reaction shot or a cutaway that will immediately take you through the entire magnitude of Kittan’s (played by Dhruv Vikram) journey and how much he’s had to go through to get where he has.

If anyone else had written Avihitham apart from Senna Hegde and Ambareesh Kalathera, the second scene of the film would perhaps have become the first scene. It’s the scene in which the plot revolves around a village drunkard who catches a couple making out in the darkness in one corner of a coconut grove. Like the setup of a film like Knives Out (2019), the film plays out like a twisted investigation as the entire village comes together to find out the whereabouts of this couple, all for the vicarious pleasures of seeing someone else’s family fall apart.

It doesn’t take Dhanush more than five minutes to both frustrate and fascinate you with his filmmaking. In one scene, we see Murugan (Dhanush) on a video call with his fiancée Meera (Shalini Pandey) after returning to his village. Murugan is in Tamil Nadu and she’s in Bangkok; he is poor, and she is rich. But instead of using a line or a frame to underline this disparity, director Dhanush stages Meera outside her mansion, seated on the bonnet of a white Rolls Royce. The next time we see her, she FaceTimes Murugan with a champagne flute in hand, strutting around the deck of her yacht. And in a silly line, her wealthy father Vishnu Vardhan (Sathyaraj) explains to his spoiled son: “We millionaires don’t get to where we are in life just because of hard work and talent.”

Set in the one of the border towns of Palakkad, bang in the middle of both Kerala and Tamil Nadu, is a surprising film that borrows its sensibilities from both Malayalam and Tamil cinema. The writing, about four young kabaddi players and how they’re slowly absorbed into the world of crime and corruption, feels planted and subtle, like a solid Malayalam slowburn. But the colours of these scenes are dynamic, the sounds loud, and its treatment a lot like that of the rooted Tamil cinema of the 2000s.

There were instances during Karam where you are led to believe you’ve entered into the wrong screen at the multiplex. This begins right from the first shot when when we’re asked to guess if a particular chase is taking place in India or elsewhere. Of course we see Noble Babu Thomas (Dev) in the frame and we’re told that he’s just missed a shot at the most notorious militant in the world, but the imagery is so devoid of specificity that it could be any Mallu action hero running away from bad guys in any continent in any part of the world and it wouldn’t make a difference. A scene later, it’s when Dev gets court-marshalled that we learn that these two are Indian soldiers, out to take on a threat against India. The generic Europeanness of the location is something we need to interpret as the story taking place in some idyllic North Indian hill station, along the lines of Shimla.