After a high-voltage chase involving helicopters, speedboats, and snipers, the film seems to build toward a fitting conclusion. Instead, it ends abruptly midway, setting up the next part. This comes despite a runtime nearing three hours. Sure, the cliffhanger is intriguingly absurd, but it raises a question. Is there enough material to justify splitting the story? A tighter first half, especially trimming the prolonged setup around the stone’s location, along with unnecessary detours like the ‘special dance number’, might have allowed the story to conclude within a single film. That could have made this a truly complete experience—a genuine one last ride. Or are we in for more madness, with characters stranded in timelines they don’t belong to? For now, we wait for the ‘final ride’.
It is perhaps a testament to the power of storytelling and cinema that no matter how important your message is, if you don’t respect the medium enough, the film doesn’t even work as a competent PSA (Public Service Announcement). Arulvaan follows a young tribal girl and her quest to find education, after she sees how her illiterate tribal community is exploited and oppressed by the ones in power. There is an all-encompassing unidimensionality to the film's making. It is as if the director was hoping you would be moved enough by the very real issue shown that you would give the shoddy making a pass. Which, ironically, translates to an (hopefully) unintentional form of exploitation despite the supposed noble intention.
Beyond the scares and the laughs, Boys Never Compromise leaves its audience with a simple thought: success and failure are two sides of the same coin, but compromise is always a choice. It's a fitting sentiment for a film that doesn't always get everything right but never backs away from its youthful spirit. Like its protagonists, Boys Never Compromise stumbles, laughs, and keeps moving, making for an entertaining, if uneven, horror-comedy.
Chiraiya has other bigger problems though. The series suffers from the excess in many ways. Relentless in its sense of sermonising, it doesn’t know where to pull the breaks. Every scene is underlined with a statement, and every statement is underlined with heavy-handed treatment just so that we don’t miss out on the theme. The show has no trust in its viewers. While there are a few good men in the series, the show is not afraid of pointing fingers at the root problems of our society, and how it’s still governed by patriarchy. But after a point, with so much finger-wagging, it must physically hurt.
It is clear that Meera wants to underline a person's connection to their roots and hometown, while establishing that the heart often wants what it wants. The emotional pull is evident, and the pain of that separation feels authentic. The director never villainises the one making that hard choice to leave. In fact, he acknowledges the realities that drive young people to seek opportunities elsewhere—to fill their stomachs and their wallets. It also has one of my favourite scenes where Abu Tahir’s chacha and chachi find comfort in each other’s’ voices through cassettes as they navigate the pain of mundanity. However, Habeebi places one too many signposts around the downsides of that decision that it unintentionally comes across less as a nuanced exploration and more as a discouragement masquerading as empathy.
There are storytelling leaps that are too much to bear, leaps that wink at the audience, and then there are leaps that add to the entire fantasy. The film works because the latter leaps outnumber the other leaps. The terrace on which Idhaya and gang often hang out is noticeably a film set, and the moon is obviously enlarged in VFX ,but there is beauty in such exaggerations, and Idhayam Murali gets it. If Idhayam (1991) was all about showing the pathos of an anxious yearner who crumbles under the weight of his own unsaid love, Idhayam Murali is a rose-tinted fantasy, in which, all the world conspires to give a yearner as many chances as possible until he finally gets it.
The film is not without flaws. At nearly two and a half hours, it overstays its welcome in places, and a tighter edit would have sharpened several emotional peaks. A few narrative detours briefly affect the flow before the story regains its footing. Yet even in these uneven stretches, the film never loses its emotional centre.
All said, not everyone will embrace Mollywood Times, as those who believe cinema should primarily inspire hope are unlikely to enjoy its worldview. This is a film that repeatedly argues that talent alone is not enough. Reputation, timing, connections and pure luck often matter more. Sometimes the wrong people win, sometimes originality goes unrewarded and sometimes success arrives for reasons that have little to do with merit. Even when it becomes messy and overindulgent, it remains undeniably sincere. In the end, Mollywood Times may not be as sharp or tightly controlled as Mukundan Unni Associates, but it is bold, provocative and frequently compelling, finding horror not in ghosts but in the price of success.
Visually, the film is pleasing, with neat cinematography that captures both urban spaces and scenic locations effectively. Vishal Chandrasekhar’s music, however, turns out to be the film’s weakest link, with songs that fail to leave a lasting impression. That said, the sharp dialogues more than compensate for the lack of musical highs. In the end, Nari Nari Naduma Murari stands tall as a clean, laugh-out-loud entertainer that understands the pulse of festive audiences. Without resorting to forced drama or over-the-top gimmicks, it delivers genuine humour driven by writing and performance. For Sharwanand, it marks a confident return to form, and for audiences, it offers exactly what a Sankranthi release promises — unpretentious, wholehearted entertainment.
Davy Suresh's background score rarely amplifies the unease the story demands, and the AI-generated visuals at the beginning and end feel more distracting than effective.
