Directed by Maari, Anaganaga Oka Raju is a film that breathes easy because of its male protagonist. The world created is generic not only in terms of its template look and feel but also because of the stock characters that inhabit it. Yet, the focus is cast entirely on Naveen Polishetty, who takes centre stage with great confidence and struts about with his now well-known comic timing and self-effacing warmth. The story might be predictable all along, but his one-liners come at a breakneck speed, and the gags remain at the optimum level of silly and harmless.
At the same time, the film starts to come undone in the second half when it suddenly runs out of ideas. A couple of twists and crop-ups lead the narrative to a juncture where Kishore Tirumala is asked to put his best foot forward, but his writing comes up short in terms of a response, resorting to winding monologues and justifications that make little to no sense. Why does Manasa opt to do whatever she does after learning Sathya’s truth? Why does he get away so easily? What use was the brother character (Tarak Ponnappa, a Kannadiga who emphasises Telugu cinema’s increasing love for the neighbouring state)? Bhartha Mahasayulaku Wignyapthi shows no interest in tying up these loose ends and instead prefers to conclude things on a bland, unimaginative note.
The only difference between the two films, and a big one at that, is that while the former manages to realise its potential, Landlord gets swayed by the weight of its own promise.
The number of genre clichés in Ravi Saranga’s Rakkasapuradhol is unmistakably high. A skilful cop has recently hit the bottle and is in and out of suspension.
The film takes on a fairly complex subject matter, but it could have easily afforded itself clarity and coherence had the intent been well-defined. It also runs with the responsibility (or burden) of catering to a massive ‘pan-India’ fanbase, but with the superstar himself apparently in the mood to try something different, there was an equal chance to set a new precedent for today’s expensive moviemaking. However, even with an audience that feels willing to be lenient and forgiving, the film comes off as incredibly casual and unfocused. The central conflict of the story has parallels with multiple other works from across the world, including Venkat Prabhu’s Maanaadu (2021).
At the same time, the film would have benefitted further by infusing some inventiveness into the writing. While the breezy screenplay holds our attention till the very end, it occasionally has a stop-start rhythm that leaves certain key arcs in the story (Vinya’s growth into self-reliance, for instance) slightly underdeveloped. Barring these missteps, Hebbuli Cut has lots to offer in terms of perspective as it bats defiantly for the underdog, and still manages to be thoroughly entertaining. It’s also a showcase of the Kannada Film Industry’s rich pool of talent that is unafraid of representing the world it emerges from, in all its innocence and injustice.
Much like Nag Ashwin’s Kalki 2898 AD (2024), Kingdom boasts an originality that is now rare to find in big-ticket adventures. What also connects the two films is the lack of intimacy in their storytelling. In Kingdom’s case, the opportunity to craft a profound tale is squandered as it fails to fully engage with real-world politics (in fact, it paints a murkier picture of the human subjugations seen today or in past), or explore the aspect of human desire and morality; an epic isn’t just a spectacle after all, but also a document of what it is to be human. Gowtam Tinnanuri’s film gestures at those explorations, but it doesn’t commit to them, coming across as though it is unsure of the audience’s intelligence. The result is a film with a beating heart, but still emotionally distant.
It has the routine central conflict of an infallible hero matching up to a merciless villain(s), but with a kind of writing that hasn’t evolved with the times, the payoff is just as routine and dull as one would expect. The very idea of masculinity in today’s Telugu movie is in dire need of an upgrade, and Mass Jathara confirms this further: for instance, the bad guy’s animalistic instincts are made evident in how he holds the woman he loves hostage by literally chaining her to a pillar. In a later scene, when the good guy does the rescue act, he ends it with a proposition that should the bad guy survive the next few days, he could “have” the woman to himself regardless.
While this sets up a fascinating battle at first glance, the film soon gets carried away and resists creating a compelling narrative worth the pitch. The first half is a whirlwind with imagination that includes many outlandish yet entertaining fight sequences. However, as things proceed, Akhanda 2 starts to sermonise and dispense long monologues about divinity, the Sanatana Dharma and a mystical energy that will provide answers to the actual war that is unfolding within the country and at the border. It is noteworthy that one of the main antagonists is an Indian himself, and Boyapati Sreenu (sort of) avoids being chauvinistic for as long as he can, even while the overall temperament of the film is loud and unrestrained. But just as you tell yourself that this worldview feels different, the film starts to castigate other cultures in order to prop up its own value system.
Yet, the much-awaited endeavour arrives in theatres after a long delay reeking only of laziness and juvenility. This is a film in which every element, from start to finish, is soaked in artifice and is completely devoid of the agency or emotional intelligence that one might even find in a regular school play. If the completely lacklustre visual effects are one issue, the narrative that piles on one exaggerated moment after another in the name of intensity makes the whopping 163-minute runtime feel almost punishing. Even for an actor of the stature of Pawan Kalyan, who once enthralled masses simply with his onscreen charisma, the task of carrying such a lifeless film becomes too much to deliver, and it doesn’t help either that he is sleepwalking through his largely mechanical performance.
Ultimately, Kannappa remains incoherent for most parts, and the disjointed storytelling leaves a lasting dent in it. If the unimaginative world-building, compounded by some high-level hammy acting, becomes its chief shortcoming then the lack of narrative urgency damages things further. In fact, it feels apparent that the makers are hesitant to commit to a full-fledged mythology experience for today’s audience, and that second-guessing shows in how the story’s most significant stretch arrives painfully late into the 182-minute runtime. It shines fleetingly, particularly when it becomes aware of its emotional core, and the finale does rise to a fitting crescendo. But those highs are scattered, and the misfires far outnumber the successes.
If Geetha feels repressed to assert her thoughts and disagreements in a world surrounded by a male shrill, so does Bhooma. The idea of love, be it of the romantic kind or the nurturing kind, being forced and burdened upon them is another unmistakable parallel between the two women. What fundamentally separates them, though, is the factor of accountability that one overlooks and the other accepts the onus of, highlighting the saviour syndrome that Indian cinema often employs to smooth over its gendered creases. As a result, The Girlfriend becomes a matter of pertinence as it goes about studying the skewed nature of the gender dynamics around us, and for all its other shortcomings, it still beams bright for opting to pursue its study from really up close.
Swaroop Kodur of The News Minute gave it three out of five stars and wrote, "Roopanthara, despite being a supremely sophisticated idea, is ultimately bogged down a little by its own ambition."
