Athiradi is a loud film in every sense of the word. The characters are loud. The music is loud. And with the story unfolding against the backdrop of a campus festival, the ambience is naturally loud too. There’s a restless, crazy energy to the film, driven majorly by editor Chaman Chakko, who steps on the gas every time the narrative threatens to slow down. His flashy, fancy cuts give the film the pace and rhythm of an extended Instagram reel. But that also means Athiradi trades emotional intensity and character depth for spectacle and set pieces, resulting in a shallow yet enjoyable youthful entertainer that still gives enough bang for the buck.
There's beauty in simplicity, and director Girish AD swears by this. He cherry-picks simple, relatable stories and grounds them firmly with reasonable conflicts and well-etched characters.
So what makes Drishyam a franchise people love to keep revisiting? The family drama and emotional layers are crucial, but it thrives largely in the clever twists and the high it elicits. Drishyam 3 lacks sorely on that note, with very few moments that would make people go, 'Wow, how on Earth did Georgekutty have that covered?' You can't blame the viewer because that's how the franchise and its numerous iterations have trained its audience for all these years. But to be fair, Jeethu deserves a huge pat on his back for bravely opting for a profound ending, sticking true to Georgekutty’s beautifully evolving arc. Only that the real problem lies in how it is arrived at. Cons of reverse engineering, perhaps.
A major reason is the underwhelming presence of its key players, especially Nivin Pauly and Sharaf U Dheen, who struggle to anchor this central conflict. The film’s old-fashioned, exposition-heavy writing does not help either. For instance, the verbose, overly idealistic climax, in particular, spells everything out instead of trusting the audience, diluting the impact of what could have been a sharp finish. Technically, Prathichaya benefits from Chandru Selvaraj’s refined cinematography, but the storytelling remains rooted in familiar templates and rarely generates a sense of urgency or intrigue. Malayalam political dramas have traditionally thrived on ideologically charged, hard-hitting dialogues, but here the lines seldom carry the desired weight. The contrast becomes all the more evident when veterans like Balachandra Menon and Sai Kumar deliver them with ease, conviction, and the required dramatics.
The actor has repeatedly spoken about seeking strong, well-defined female roles, and seeing her reduced to such a generic character, especially in a supposedly female-centric film, feels off.
With a large portion of the film's second half set within a courtroom, the makers take a lot of cinematic liberty to dramatise the proceedings. Asif Ali gets two lengthy monologues where he lists out the consequences of misusing 498A, statistics comparing the suicide ratio of married men and women, questions the practice of alimony, and even brings up an example from the Ramayana to drive home his point. At one point, he even breaks the fourth wall to address things directly to the public. By the end of it, the judge, impressed by Sadhanandan's arguments, urges him to consider taking up LLB! With women empowerment narratives becoming increasingly common, it does make sense that there is a clamour for films that speak for men. Aabhyanthara Kuttavaali does seem to have started at the same point, but as we have seen through films about women empowerment, too, intentions can only take you so far if the writing is flawed, the execution is functional, and your 'villains' are mere caricatures.
His father is short-tempered and whiny, while his mother is a spendthrift keen on building a flashy 'Gulfkaarante veedu'. The first time these two families meet is a cracker, with the fathers having subtle jabs at each other. The dialogues have an everyday ring to them, and with capable actors at the helm, there's an effortless flow to the exchanges. Kiran Peethambaran as Gouri's father and Manjusree Nair as Vinod's mother leave a lasting impression. The show also offers ample space for a couple of other interesting characters like contractor Jiji (Anand Manmadhan) and Lissy (Ann Jameela Saleem). A major share of the show is set within an apartment complex, where the womenfolk are often shown as gossipmongers. For all the conventions the series breaks, it's a needless stereotype reiteration that could have been done away with as it doesn't contribute anything major.
When two cops are pitted against their influential and scheming superior, you expect a battle of wits, but Ratheena's typically old-fashioned filmmaking fails to build any tension or interest in what lies ahead. With crucial evidence 'coincidentally' landing one after the other, the film neither lends the excitement of a nail-biting investigation nor emotional gravitas. After a point, it's just characters repeating the same set of information, making one wonder why the editor was so liberal. When you think the film is somehow dragging itself to the end point, Indrans appears with an emotional monologue. This whole stretch is dedicated only to underlining the ruthlessness of a particular character whose intentions are evident right from the beginning. The artificiality in dialogues only makes things worse.
But bad execution, questionable casting, and some shoddy performances dampen the overall experience. Samji M Antony’s screenplay is loaded with moments similar to several other films, like Adi Kapyare Koottamani, Marykkundoru Kunjaadu, Romans, etc. Even the opening stretch about Thomas’ parents’ desperation for a boy child seems to be borrowed from Ustad Hotel. But at the same time, there are some attempts to infuse freshness like employing AI-generated visuals to narrate the origins of a holy cross and its Mesopotamian heritage. Samji also spins a unique custom around this cross, which brings together the Christian and Muslim communities. It’s a potent idea but explored only peripherally. The focus, instead, is on creating confusion comedies that fail to evoke laughter.
For Prabha, Delulu functions much like Anupama for Vinod in Vinodayathra or Irene for Aymanam Sidharthan in Oru Indian Pranayakadha. She nudges him towards fulfilling his musical aspirations, helps him confront his trauma, mend broken ties with his father, and rediscover a lost connection with God. Along the way, Delulu, too, begins to understand herself. However, after patiently building these characters and their dynamic, the narrative briefly wobbles with the introduction of Saadhya (Preity Mukhundhan). The conflict that emerges here feels hurried, and the answers the film has been carefully leading up to are delivered rather abruptly, diluting their emotional credibility. The restraint Akhil maintains until this point momentarily slips, but the strong groundwork ensures a reasonably smooth landing, aided by an emotional payoff and Justin Prabhakaran’s soulful score, which adds considerable gravitas.
Despite these many characters, none of them have the privilege of a proper arc or depth. Babu Antony is perhaps the only reassuring presence amidst all the chaos. Lately, filmmakers have been increasingly avoiding spoonfeeding to respect the audience's intelligence and ensure they also participate in storytelling. However, when even crucial information is not provided, it only keeps us distant. Here, we don't know much about the past of Babu Antony's character, which is perfectly fine, but it's still important to know why he is so desperate for the money so that we root for him. Without that basic understanding, we hardly care if he wins in his endeavour to find the password to the cryptocurrency. It's also odd to see Jeeva and his friends going to the extent of risking their lives for him, because they, like us, hardly know him.
Mohanlal playing a family man is nothing new. He has done that countless times, including the most memorable Drishyam — a film that Thudarum was often compared to before release. While there are some faint similarities between the two films, like Mohanlal playing an ordinary man who goes to any extent for his family, the treatment, performances and overall mood are a lot different. Unlike Drishyam which rode high on its twists and brainy screenplay, Thudarum is raw, emotionally charged and carefully plays to the gallery. Tharun opens the film on a remarkable note, throwing us off guard. This short sequence, which lasts for five minutes, grabs our attention for the next two hours. He follows it up with some tasteful touches in the title card, especially while displaying Mohanlal's name alongside a silhouette shot of a lone tusker.
A film like ARM relies heavily on technical competence and they don't disappoint. Apart from seasoned technicians like cinematographer Jomon T John and editor Shameer Muhammed, it is music director Dhibu Ninan Thomas who impresses the most. Strangely enough, the romantic track 'Kiliye' is strikingly similar to his own Tamil song 'Othaiyadi Pathayila' from Kanaa (2018), but Dhibu brings his A-game with his other impactful songs and the terrific background score. The score is a mix of allure, excitement, and thumping energy, putting us right amid Chiyothikavu's fantastical world. If a film manages to transport us to a new world, even if it's for two hours, isn't that a success? It is precisely why ARM is that much-needed breath of fresh air from Malayalam's overpopulated realistic dramas and generic thrillers.
Vignesh Madhu of The New Indian Express rated 2.5 out of 5 and stated: "we have seen many celebrated filmmakers becoming victims of their own formulas.
