Chand Mera Dil Review: Honest Emotions Cannot Save This Dragged-Out Romance

Director - Vivek Soni

Cast - Ananya Panday, Lakshya, Aastha Singh

Runtime – 145 Minuntes

Rating – 2

Chand Mera Dil begins with a refreshing idea but slowly loses itself in its own confusion. Directed by Vivek Soni, the film tries to move away from the glossy fantasy of traditional Bollywood romances and instead focuses on what happens after love collides with reality. Backed by Dharma Productions and starring Ananya Panday and Lakshya Lalwani, the film deserves credit for attempting something emotionally grounded. Unfortunately, ambition alone is not enough to hold together a nearly two-and-a-half-hour emotional drama that struggles badly with pacing and storytelling.

The story follows Aarav and Chandni, two engineering students in Hyderabad who fall in love during college. Their romance feels natural in the beginning—filled with youthful energy, emotional impulsiveness, and the kind of confidence only young couples possess. However, one unexpected mistake changes the course of their lives, pushing them toward marriage before they are emotionally or financially ready for it. What follows is not a dreamy love story, but a difficult journey through responsibilities, misunderstandings, compromises, and emotional exhaustion.

This is where the film deserves appreciation. Instead of stopping at the point where most Bollywood romances end, Chand Mera Dil explores what happens after the big romantic decision is made. The film attempts to portray marriage not as a fairy tale, but as something messy, exhausting, and emotionally demanding. There are moments in the film that genuinely feel real. Arguments between partners, silent emotional distance, unspoken expectations, and the loneliness that exists even within relationships are portrayed effectively in certain scenes. People who have experienced heartbreak or relationship struggles may connect deeply with parts of the narrative.

However, the problem is that the film mistakes slowness for emotional depth. The first half remains engaging because the chemistry between the lead actors keeps the story alive. But after the interval, the screenplay becomes repetitive and directionless. Scenes drag on for too long, conversations repeat the same emotional points, and the narrative begins to feel emotionally exhausting instead of impactful. The film keeps circling around the same conflict without taking the story anywhere meaningful for a long time.

The biggest surprise of the film is undoubtedly Ananya Panday. This is easily one of the strongest performances of her career. She appears far more controlled and emotionally mature than in her previous films. There is no unnecessary exaggeration in her expressions or dialogue delivery. Instead, she plays Chandni with sincerity and restraint, which works beautifully for the character. Several emotional scenes belong entirely to her, and she handles them with confidence. Viewers who have often criticized her acting may genuinely walk out surprised after watching this performance.

Lakshya Lalwani is equally impressive. The film heavily depends on his emotional presence, and he delivers consistently throughout. Whether portraying a young man deeply in love or someone slowly breaking under pressure, Lakshya performs with remarkable honesty. In a few scenes, his screen presence and emotional vulnerability even remind one of Ranbir Kapoor. He has the charisma and emotional intensity of a mainstream Bollywood star, and this film proves that he is capable of carrying a complex romantic drama on his shoulders.

Sadly, the supporting cast is barely utilized. Characters played by Aastha Singh, Pratham Rathod, Resad Azim, Elvis Jose, and Ankur Poddar exist mostly to move the plot forward whenever required. The film had opportunities to build stronger emotional layers through side characters, but those opportunities are ignored.

Director Vivek Soni, who previously made films like Meenakshi Sundareshwar, once again tries to blend realism with romance. But this time, the writing becomes the film’s weakest point. Along with writers Tushar Paranjape and Akshat Ghildial, Soni creates an emotionally rich setup but fails to shape it into a satisfying narrative. The climax, in particular, feels disappointing because the film suddenly abandons its realistic tone in favor of a safer and more familiar Bollywood-style emotional resolution.

The music by Sachin-Jigar and lyrics by Amitabh Bhattacharya support the emotional atmosphere well, but the soundtrack alone cannot rescue the film from its sluggish storytelling.

In the end, Chand Mera Dil feels like a film with strong intentions but incomplete execution. It contains honesty, good performances, and emotionally relatable moments, yet it becomes too slow and unfocused to leave a lasting impact. Watch it for Ananya Panday and Lakshya’s performances, but do not expect a memorable romantic drama overall.

System Review: A Sensitive Courtroom Drama That Wins Through Performances, Not Tension

Director- Ashwiny lyer Tiwari

Cast- Sonakshi Sinha, Jyotika, Ashutosh Gowarikar, Vijayant Kohli, Gaurav Pandey, Nishant Singh, Addinath Kothare, Sayandeep Sengupta

Platform - Amazon Prime Video

Runtime - 123 minutes

Rating – 2

System is not the kind of courtroom film that thrives on loud arguments, shocking revelations, or dramatic legal twists every fifteen minutes. Instead, director Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari chooses a quieter and more emotional route, focusing less on legal spectacle and more on the emotional burdens carried by the people fighting these battles. The result is a film that feels sincere and emotionally grounded, even though it occasionally struggles to maintain narrative momentum.

The story revolves around Neha Rajvansh, played by Sonakshi Sinha, a young lawyer trying to establish herself outside the shadow of her famous father Ravi Rajvansh, portrayed by Ashutosh Gowariker. Ravi is one of the most respected lawyers in the profession, but he firmly believes success should never be inherited. He refuses to give Neha any professional advantage simply because she is his daughter, forcing her to prove herself independently.

While struggling to build her career, Neha meets Sarika, played brilliantly by Jyothika. Sarika works as a stenographer and spends most of her life balancing work with responsibilities at home, including caring for her wheelchair-bound husband. Initially, she appears to be just another hardworking woman trying to survive difficult circumstances. But Neha slowly discovers that Sarika possesses a sharp legal mind and an instinctive understanding of courtroom dynamics. Their professional relationship gradually evolves into a partnershipp built on trust and mutual respect.

The emotional core of the film truly emerges when circumstances place Neha directly opposite her own father in court. What could have been treated as a standard courtroom conflict instead becomes a deeply personal battle involving pride, emotional wounds, family expectations, and self-worth. The film is at its best in these quieter emotional moments, where the characters are forced to confront not just legal truths but also uncomfortable personal realities.

The strongest aspect of System is unquestionably its performances. Jyothika delivers the most memorable performance in the film. Without relying on dramatic monologues or exaggerated emotions, she brings tremendous depth to Sarika. There is a visible exhaustion in her expressions, but beneath that fatigue lies resilience and quiet dignity. Some of her most effective scenes are the ones where she says very little. Her silence often communicates more than lengthy dialogues ever could.

Sonakshi Sinha also continues her recent streak of choosing more layered and performance-driven roles. After projects like Dahaad and Heeramandi, she once again moves away from glamorous stereotypes and delivers a restrained performance focused on emotional realism. As Neha, she convincingly portrays the frustration of constantly trying to earn validation in a profession where her surname becomes both an advantage and a burden. Her emotional scenes work particularly well because she avoids overplaying them.

Ashutosh Gowariker has limited screen time, but his calm and authoritative presence adds weight to the film. Interestingly, audiences often associate him more with direction than acting, but films like Ventilator have already shown his acting capabilities. In System, he portrays Ravi with restraint, ensuring the character never feels entirely cold or antagonistic. That balance makes the father-daughter conflict more believable.

Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari deserves credit for keeping the film understated. She avoids turning the courtroom scenes into overdramatic cinematic set-pieces. The legal proceedings feel grounded and believable, which helps maintain the emotional authenticity of the story. The film never screams for attention; instead, it quietly unfolds through conversations, silences, and emotional confrontations.

However, where the film falters is in its writing. The screenplay introduces several interesting ideas and emotional subplots but fails to fully explore many of them. Certain storylines appear important initially, only to disappear midway without meaningful resolution. The film repeatedly hints at emotional depth but does not always dig deeply enough into its themes. As a result, some moments that should have felt emotionally devastating end up feeling merely effective.

The pacing also becomes uneven in places. A tighter edit could have significantly improved the overall impact, especially during the middle portions where the narrative occasionally drifts. The climax, while emotionally decent, lacks the powerful payoff the film seems to build toward throughout its runtime.

Despite these shortcomings, System remains watchable because of its emotional honesty and strong performances. It is less interested in shocking the audience and more interested in understanding its characters. Viewers expecting a fast-paced courtroom thriller may find it too subdued, but those who appreciate relationship-driven dramas with emotional nuance will likely connect with it more deeply.

In the end, System is an imperfect yet sincere film elevated by its cast. It may not fully achieve the emotional power it aims for, but it still manages to leave behind a quiet impact.

Pati Patni Aur Woh 2 Review: A Loud Comedy That Mistakes Confusion for Entertainment

Writer/Director - Mudassar Aziz

Cast - Ayushmann Khurrana, Wamiqa Gabbi, Sara Ali Khan, Rakul Preet Singh.

Runtime – 117 Minutes

Rating – 2

Pati Patni Aur Woh 2 tries to revive the familiar chaos of relationship-based comedy, but ends up recycling the same misunderstandings until they lose all charm. Directed by Mudassar Aziz, the film brings together a strong cast and a promising setup, yet struggles to turn its simple idea into something fresh or engaging.

The story follows Prajapati Pandey, played by Ayushmann Khurrana, a forest officer working in Prayagraj. He is married to Aparna, a TV journalist portrayed by Wamiqa Gabbi. Their seemingly stable married life takes an unexpected turn when Aparna’s friend Nilofar, played by Rakul Preet Singh, becomes professionally connected to Prajapati in the Forest Department.

The situation becomes more complicated when Prajapati’s college friend Chanchal, played by Sara Ali Khan, re-enters his life after years of separation. She is planning to marry her boyfriend and asks Prajapati for help in arranging things. What should have been a simple reunion quickly turns into a chain reaction of misunderstandings, misinterpretations, and exaggerated reactions.

From this point onward, the film depends entirely on the classic “you heard half a conversation and assumed the worst” formula. Characters constantly walk in at the wrong time, overhear incomplete sentences, and jump to conclusions. Unfortunately, the film never attempts to go beyond this predictable loop. Instead of building comedy through clever writing or situational depth, it repeats the same pattern until it becomes exhausting.

The biggest issue with Pati Patni Aur Woh 2 is not its simplicity, but its lack of creativity. A basic storyline can still work if handled with fresh energy or sharp writing, but here the screenplay offers very little variation. By the time the intermission arrives, it becomes almost obvious how every misunderstanding will unfold in the second half. There is no surprise, no escalation, and no real payoff.

Mudassar Aziz tries to give the film a strong “small-town UP” flavor, but the execution often feels forced. The heavy use of local slang and accent sometimes feels exaggerated to the point where characters appear more like caricatures than real people. Instead of enhancing authenticity, it occasionally disrupts it.

The film’s humor swings between two extremes—on one side, it feels like exaggerated WhatsApp-style jokes, and on the other, it resembles the over-the-top confusion of daily soap operas. Very few moments feel naturally funny. Most comedic situations appear constructed rather than organic, which weakens the overall impact.

Ayushmann Khurrana, as always, brings sincerity to his performance, but the writing does not support him enough. He falls back on familiar traits seen in his earlier films like Dream Girl, Bala, and Shubh Mangal Saavdhan. While his comic timing remains strong, the repetitive nature of the script makes his performance feel routine in several places.

Wamiqa Gabbi stands out as the most grounded performer in the film. She brings emotional balance and seriousness to her role, preventing the film from slipping completely into chaos. Her performance has a natural sincerity that makes her scenes more believable than most of what surrounds her.

Sara Ali Khan, however, is given a character that thrives on high energy and exaggerated reactions. While she clearly commits to the role, the performance often feels overly loud and theatrical, as if every scene is designed for maximum social-media-style impact. This makes her character less effective in maintaining tonal consistency.

Rakul Preet Singh is placed in a somewhat limited role, mostly serving as a trigger for misunderstandings and suspicion. Despite the writing constraints, she performs her part with confidence and clarity, even if the character itself lacks depth.

In the end, Pati Patni Aur Woh 2 is a film that keeps trying to generate comedy through confusion, but rarely moves beyond repetition. It has a talented cast and a familiar setup, but the execution feels stretched and predictable. What should have been a fun, breezy comedy ends up feeling like the same joke told too many times.

Kartavya Review: Saif Ali Khan Anchors a Dark Rural Thriller That Tries to Say Too Much

Writer/Director – Pulkit

Cast - Saif Ali Khan, Rasika Dugal, Sanjay Mishra, Saurabh Dwivedi, Zakir Hussain, Manish Chaudhari. Yudhvir Ahlawat

Runtime – 108 Minutes

Platform – Netflix

Rating – 3

Kartavya is one of those films that begins with enormous promise. It creates an atmosphere filled with tension, political unease, and emotional conflict, making you believe you are about to witness a deeply layered rural thriller. Directed by Pulkit, the film dives into themes of corruption, caste politics, abuse of power, and fractured family relationships. While the film succeeds in building a believable and unsettling world, it eventually loses momentum under the weight of its own ambitions.

The story follows Pawan Malik, played by Saif Ali Khan, a police officer posted in the fictional town of Jhamli in Haryana. Pawan is assigned to investigate the murder of a journalist, but the deeper he digs into the case, the more dangerous the truth becomes. What initially appears to be a straightforward investigation slowly exposes connections involving politicians, religious figures, and powerful local networks that thrive on fear and silence.

At the same time, Pawan’s personal life begins falling apart. His younger brother chooses to run away for a love marriage, triggering a storm inside the family and the community. Suddenly, the issue is no longer just about relationships—it becomes entangled with caste identity, family honor, and social pressure. The film smartly runs these two parallel narratives together: one involving crime and corruption, the other rooted in emotional and familial conflict.

For a significant portion of its runtime, Kartavya manages this balance impressively well. The family drama never feels disconnected from the police investigation, and both tracks contribute to the growing sense of tension. The portions involving Anand Shri’s ashram are especially effective because they tap into fears and realities that feel disturbingly familiar in today’s socio-political environment. These moments give the film a sense of urgency and realism that keeps the audience invested.

However, the screenplay begins to weaken after the interval. The film becomes overly dependent on twists and revelations, as though it constantly needs to shock the audience to maintain engagement. While a few of these twists genuinely work, others feel forced and unnecessarily dramatic. Instead of strengthening the emotional impact, the constant narrative turns begin to dilute it. The story gradually loses focus, and by the final act, the emotional grip established earlier starts slipping away.

Saif Ali Khan is undoubtedly the biggest strength of the film. Over the years, some of his best performances have come when he has stepped away from polished urban characters and embraced more grounded roles. As Pawan Malik, he brings vulnerability, anger, exhaustion, and helplessness together beautifully. He does not play the character as a heroic cinematic cop, but as a deeply flawed man trying to survive pressures coming from every direction. In several scenes, Saif communicates more through silence and expression than through dialogue. His Haryanvi accent feels surprisingly natural and never distracts from the performance.

That said, the second half occasionally pushes his character into repetitive emotional territory. The constant outbursts and frustration begin to feel somewhat overused, making certain scenes less impactful than they could have been.

Rasika Dugal delivers another sincere and understated performance, although the film does not utilize her talent fully. She brings warmth and realism to her role, but her character is mostly limited to supporting Pawan emotionally. The script never allows her to emerge as a fully independent force within the narrative. Similarly, Sanjay Mishra leaves an impression despite limited screen time, proving once again how effortlessly he can command attention.

Manish Chaudhary fits perfectly into the role of an arrogant senior officer, while Zakir Hussain adds genuine menace to the film. His character is deeply unpleasant, but that discomfort works entirely in favor of the story. One of the biggest surprises, however, is Yudhvir Ahlawat. He portrays a frightened young man trapped under social and emotional pressure with remarkable honesty. His emotional scenes feel raw and authentic.

Visually, the film is extremely effective. The dusty landscapes, dimly lit police stations, village politics, and constant feeling of unease create an immersive atmosphere. In fact, there are moments when the cinematography leaves a stronger impact than the screenplay itself. The background score also plays a major role in maintaining tension throughout the film.

Pulkit’s previous work, Bhakshak, felt tighter and more focused. Kartavya appears to exist in a similar thematic space, tackling institutional corruption and exploitation, but this time the storytelling lacks the same sharpness. The film raises too many issues at once and struggles to give all of them equal emotional and narrative depth.

In the end, Kartavya remains an engaging but uneven experience. It is elevated significantly by Saif Ali Khan’s performance and its immersive atmosphere, yet weakened by an overstuffed screenplay and a climax that fails to land with the power it promises. It is a good film with flashes of brilliance, but it stops just short of becoming truly exceptional.

Director - Ashish R Mohan

Writer - Shubhra Gupta

Cast - Neetu Kapoor Singh, Kapil Sharma, R Sarathkumar, Sadia Khateeb, Tejaswini Kolhapure, Riddhima Kapoor, Yograj Singh, Jitender Hooda, Deepak Dutta, Aditi Mittal, Nikhat Khan

Rating – 2

Runtime – 2h35m

Daadi Ki Shaadi arrives with a charmingly rebellious premise — a grandmother deciding to get married again and the entire family collapsing into panic over “log kya kahenge.” Directed by Ashish R Mohan, the film tries to package generational conflict, loneliness, romance and family values into a wholesome entertainer. On paper, it sounds like the perfect recipe for a warm-hearted family dramedy. Unfortunately, while the intentions remain admirable, the execution rarely rises above a stretched television sitcom.

The story revolves around Daadi, played by Neetu Kapoor, whose decision to remarry shocks her children and grandchildren alike. The announcement sends the family rushing from Delhi to Shimla in an attempt to stop the wedding before “society” begins judging them. The film smartly taps into the hypocrisy surrounding women and aging, questioning why older women are still expected to suppress companionship, desire and individuality once they cross a certain age. It is a relevant theme with genuine emotional potential, especially in Indian family dynamics where appearances often matter more than emotional truth.

Neetu Kapoor is easily the film’s biggest strength. She brings grace, charm and emotional ease to Daadi, making the character consistently engaging even when the screenplay falters around her. There is warmth in her performance that naturally holds scenes together, and she manages to make Daadi feel playful, vulnerable and quietly strong at the same time. Whether she is teasing family members or confronting emotional loneliness, Neetu remains effortlessly watchable throughout the film.

Kapil Sharma once again proves that he is capable of more than comic punchlines. After showing surprising depth in Zwigato, he brings sincerity here too, though the screenplay gives him frustratingly little to work with. His romantic equation with Sadia Khateeb never develops convincingly, largely because the film sidelines their relationship midway through the narrative. Their chemistry feels underwritten rather than emotionally lived-in, making the romantic subplot feel more obligatory than essential.

The supporting cast adds some life to the film. R Sarathkumar brings dignified charm to Daadi’s potential groom, while Riddhima Kapoor makes a noticeable appearance as the demanding daughter. Actors like Aditi Mittal, Tejaswini Kolhapure and Yograj Singh contribute to the crowded family atmosphere, though most characters remain broad archetypes rather than fully realized individuals.

The biggest issue lies in the writing and treatment. The film often stages scenes like a dated television serial, with characters lined up waiting for their dialogue cue before dramatically reacting and exiting. Emotional confrontations lack subtlety, and several moments are weighed down by repetitive moral lectures about family values, loneliness and responsibility. What could have been a nuanced exploration of aging and emotional freedom instead becomes increasingly melodramatic in the second half.

Ironically, the film works best during its lighter moments. The early portions carry an easygoing charm, balancing humor and awkward family reactions effectively. There is genuine fun in watching younger family members challenge the older generation’s conservative thinking. However, as the film progresses, it abandons that playful energy and sinks into emotionally manipulative territory. The pacing becomes sluggish, scenes stretch unnecessarily and the screenplay begins overexplaining every emotional beat instead of trusting the audience to understand it naturally.

Still, Daadi Ki Shaadi deserves credit for centering an older woman’s emotional life in mainstream Hindi cinema. Even with its flaws, the film asks an important question — why should companionship, romance or personal happiness have an expiry date for women? It may not fully succeed as a sharp family dramedy, but Neetu Kapoor’s warm performance and the film’s progressive core idea prevent it from becoming entirely forgettable. Beneath the melodrama and sitcom-style execution lies a genuinely meaningful conversation that deserved a far stronger film around it.

Director - Ashish R. Shukla

Writers - Varun Badola, Umesh Padalkar

Creator: Siddharth Sengupta

Cast - Harsh Chhaya, Surya Sharma, Dibyendu Bhattacharya, Anchal Singh, Ankur Rathee, Gautam Rode, Varun Badola

Episodes: 8

Platform – SonyLIV

Rating – 2.5

Undekhi returns for its fourth and final season with the same grim understanding that has defined the franchise from the beginning — evil never disappears, it simply evolves. Set five years after the previous season, the new chapter pushes its characters deeper into moral decay, power struggles and emotional damage. The result is an intense, gripping and occasionally messy finale that remains consistently watchable despite uneven storytelling choices.

The season wastes no time in establishing how little has changed within the Atwal empire. Harsh Chhaya’s Papaji may now be behind bars, but prison has done absolutely nothing to soften him. He remains as volatile, abusive and terrifyingly manipulative as ever. Meanwhile, Surya Sharma’s Rinku has fully stepped into power, inheriting Mahinder Atwal’s empire and carrying forward its culture of fear with chilling confidence. What makes Rinku fascinating is that he no longer behaves like an impulsive loose cannon. He now understands patience, strategy and control — qualities that somehow make him even more dangerous.

Varun Badola’s Mahinder Atwal, now operating quietly from the shadows, proves once again that visibility is not necessary when fear itself becomes power. The show smartly allows him to linger over the narrative like an invisible threat rather than constantly forcing his presence into every scene. That understated menace continues to work strongly for the series, especially as the trafficking investigation begins unraveling darker secrets around the family.

One of the season’s biggest emotional shocks arrives almost immediately — Teji is dead following a car crash. The revelation completely shifts the emotional dynamic of the story, especially with Daman now helping raise Teji’s daughter Samaira alongside her husband Vikram Saluja. It is a deeply uncomfortable arrangement layered with guilt, grief and unresolved history. The series wisely avoids melodramatic overexplanation here, instead allowing emotional tension to quietly simmer underneath conversations and silences.

Gautam Rode emerges as one of the strongest additions to the season. As Vikram Saluja, he brings a composed stillness that constantly feels suspicious without becoming obviously sinister. The writing deliberately withholds information about his true intentions, creating an ambiguity that becomes increasingly compelling across the eight episodes. Every interaction involving Saluja feels loaded with something unspoken, and Gautam Rode plays that uncertainty remarkably well.

The emotional and moral centre of the show, however, still comes from the conflict between Rinku and DSP Ghosh. Their relationship remains one of the most layered aspects of Undekhi because neither man can fully detach himself from the other. Dibyendu Bhattacharya once again brings grounded decency to Ghosh, anchoring the series whenever the surrounding darkness threatens to become emotionally overwhelming. The tragedy of their dynamic lies in how deeply they understand one another while standing on completely opposite sides of morality.

What Undekhi Season 4 does better than previous seasons is humanizing its monsters without excusing them. Rinku and Papaji are not suddenly softened into sympathetic antiheroes, but the writing allows glimpses into their fears, insecurities and warped emotional logic. That moral grey zone becomes the show’s greatest strength. There are moments where viewers may unexpectedly find themselves understanding people they should fundamentally despise, and the series fully understands the discomfort of that reaction.

Visually, the series continues to excel. The cold beauty of Manali remains the perfect backdrop for a world filled with dread, violence and corruption. The cinematography constantly balances scenic calmness with emotional brutality, making the setting feel almost like another silent character within the narrative. New additions like Saqib Ayub’s deeply unsettling DJ further amplify the atmosphere of unpredictable danger surrounding the Atwal empire.

Still, the season is not without flaws. The writing occasionally buckles under the weight of too many subplots, introducing fresh crime angles and characters without fully developing them. The pacing remains relentlessly fast, but that speed sometimes prevents emotional moments from landing with their full impact. As the finale approaches, certain twists feel predictable while some storylines seem rushed or abruptly resolved. The climax delivers tension, but not necessarily the emotional devastation the show appears to be aiming for.

Even so, Undekhi Season 4 succeeds because it understands exactly what kind of show it wants to be. It never attempts to reinvent itself into something cleaner or more heroic. Instead, it remains committed to exploring power, corruption and survival within a world where morality has almost completely collapsed. Messy yet gripping, brutal yet emotionally layered, the final season may not land perfectly, but it keeps viewers invested until the very end — and in a crime thriller this morally dark, that itself feels like a victory.

Lukkhe Review: A Chaotic, Gritty And Surprisingly Addictive Ride Through Rap, Rage And Ruin

Director: Himank Gaur

Cast: Raashii Khanna, King, Palak Tiwari, Lakshvir Saran, Shivankit Singh Parihar, Kritika Bharadwaj, Nakul Sahadev

Writer - Debojit Das Purkayastha and Agrim Joshi

Episodes – 8

Platform - Amazon Prime Video

Rating - 3

There is chaos in every corner of Lukkhe, and strangely, that becomes its biggest strength. Directed by Himank Gaur, the eight-episode crime-musical drama throws rap rivalries, gang wars, synthetic drugs, betrayal, ambition and revenge into one explosive blender. Streaming on Amazon Prime Video, the series rarely slows down, constantly pushing its characters into emotional and violent collisions. At times, the overload becomes exhausting, but the sheer energy of the storytelling keeps the show consistently binge-worthy.

What immediately works in Lukkhe is its atmosphere. The world feels unstable, loud and dangerous, exactly the kind of environment where emotions erupt before logic can catch up. The rap battles are staged with raw intensity and the action choreography lands surprisingly well for a streaming series. Even when the writing starts juggling too many subplots at once, the pacing ensures there is never a dull stretch. The show understands how to hold attention, even if it occasionally loses control of its own ambition.

Writers Agrim Joshi and Debojit Das Purkayastha deserve credit for giving almost every major character a proper emotional arc. The series avoids reducing people into simplistic heroes and villains. Instead, it spends time exploring insecurities, desperation, emotional wounds and the hunger for validation. That layered writing gives the show emotional texture, especially in a genre where style often dominates substance. Even side characters feel like products of a broken system rather than mere plot devices.

The biggest surprise, however, is undoubtedly King in his acting debut as MC Badnaam. He brings a quiet menace to the role that feels unexpectedly natural. Beneath the rage and arrogance sits a man carrying years of humiliation and emotional damage. King smartly avoids overperforming and instead allows silence, expression and restrained anger to do most of the work. His performance captures the dangerous intersection between vulnerability and power obsession, making MC Badnaam one of the show’s most compelling characters.

Raashii Khanna delivers a confident performance despite limited screen time. As cop Gurbani, she carries emotional weight convincingly, especially in scenes connected to her personal hatred toward drugs. Palak Tiwari also performs well during quieter emotional moments, though there are instances where she appears slightly too polished for the gritty world the show is trying to create. In contrast, Kritika Bharadwaj feels far more rooted within the universe of the series, bringing a natural ease that makes her scenes believable.

Lakshvir Saran leaves a strong impact too, particularly during emotionally vulnerable scenes. His Punjabi accent feels authentic and his performance carries emotional honesty that strengthens the show overall. However, the problem lies less with performances and more with the series trying to handle too many narrative tracks simultaneously. Lucky’s hockey portions feel underdeveloped, while several potentially interesting emotional threads disappear before they fully evolve into something meaningful.

That becomes the central issue with Lukkhe. The pacing is both its greatest weapon and biggest weakness. The fast-moving storytelling keeps the thrill alive, but emotions often need silence and breathing space to truly hit hard. Betrayals, grief and emotional collapse arrive quickly, only to be replaced by another dramatic twist moments later. As a result, viewers understand what characters are feeling without always emotionally connecting to those feelings themselves. The show rarely allows pain to linger long enough to leave a lasting scar.

Still, Lukkhe remains an entertaining and ambitious watch. It feels most alive during its darker moments — the rap rivalry, the violence and the drug crisis create far more impact than the romantic subplots. Despite its flaws, the series succeeds because it takes risks, embraces chaos and delivers strong performances throughout. More importantly, it leaves behind genuine curiosity for what comes next. If a second season happens, Lukkhe has the potential to become even grittier, sharper and emotionally more devastating than it already is.

Krishnavataram Review: A Visually Grand Mythological Drama Held Together By Faith And Emotion

Writer/director – Hardik Gajjar

Cast - Siddharth Gupta, Sanskruti Jayana, Sushmitha Bhat and Nivaashiyni Krishnan.

Runtime – 150 Minutes

Rating - 2..5

Krishnavataram Part 1: The Heart arrives with enormous ambition and even bigger spiritual intent. Written and directed by Hardik Gajjar, the film attempts to reimagine the mythology of Lord Krishna through an emotionally layered and visually extravagant lens. Spanning nearly 150 minutes, the film blends mythology, devotion, romance and philosophy into one sprawling cinematic experience. While the execution occasionally struggles under its own scale, the sincerity behind the storytelling remains undeniable throughout.

The narrative begins at the moment of Krishna’s death after being struck by hunter Jara’s arrow, placing the divine figure between earthly closure and spiritual transcendence. From there, the film moves into the present day, where a rational young man questioning God’s existence visits the Jagannath Temple in Puri and becomes immersed in Krishna’s story. It is an interesting framing device that allows the film to bridge mythology with modern skepticism, though the transition between timelines occasionally feels uneven.

What makes Krishnavataram stand apart from conventional mythological dramas is its emotional perspective. Instead of merely glorifying Krishna as a divine figure, the story chooses to explore him through the eyes of Satyabhama. Adapted from Satyabhama, the film gives overdue importance to a character often overshadowed in mainstream retellings. Through Satyabhama, the narrative explores jealousy, devotion, insecurity and emotional attachment, contrasting her human love with Radha’s eternal spiritual connection and Rukmini’s quiet strength. The film’s greatest achievement lies in presenting these relationships not as mythology alone, but as emotional philosophies of love itself.

Visually, the film is undeniably stunning. Every frame feels soaked in grandeur, from the opulent palace interiors of Dwarka to the carefully staged dance sequences and battle imagery. The production design constantly aims for scale and succeeds more often than not. Director Hardik Gajjar approaches the material with visible reverence, crafting moments that feel painterly and immersive. The cinematography and costume design contribute heavily to the film’s dreamlike atmosphere, making it a theatrical experience clearly designed for the big screen.

The performances from the largely fresh cast come as a pleasant surprise. Siddharth Gupta brings calmness and grace to Krishna, avoiding excessive dramatics and instead leaning into serenity and emotional restraint. Sanskruti Jayana emerges as the emotional anchor of the film, portraying Satyabhama with both fierceness and vulnerability. Sushmitha Bhat lends Radha a spiritual softness, while Nivaashiyni Krishnan gives Rukmini quiet dignity and emotional depth. For a cast filled with relatively newer faces, the performances carry sincerity that helps the film emotionally connect.

Another major strength is the music by Prasad S, which elevates several scenes beyond dialogue and spectacle. The background score understands when to become devotional and when to turn emotionally intimate. The songs and choreography feel integrated into the storytelling rather than existing as interruptions. Some sequences achieve genuine emotional beauty simply through music, visuals and movement working together harmoniously.

However, the film is not without flaws. The runtime feels excessively stretched in places and the screenplay occasionally becomes too indulgent in its own grandeur. Several scenes linger longer than necessary, slowing the narrative momentum considerably. The modern-day portions involving the skeptical protagonist also feel underdeveloped compared to the mythological narrative. At times, the dialogue leans too heavily into exposition, explaining emotions and philosophy rather than allowing them to emerge naturally through the storytelling.

Still, Krishnavataram remains an ambitious and visually rich cinematic effort that deserves appreciation for attempting something emotionally and spiritually layered within mainstream mythological cinema. It is a film driven more by devotion and conviction than commercial formulas. More importantly, it lays the foundation for what could become an emotionally expansive trilogy exploring Krishna beyond the familiar legends. Imperfect yet heartfelt, Krishnavataram succeeds most when it stops trying to impress and simply allows faith, love and mythology to speak for themselves.

Director - Joe Russo

Showrunner/Writer - David Weil

Cast - Priyanka Chopra Jonas, Richard Madden, Stanley Tucci, Lesley Manville, Jack Reynor, Matt Berry, Lina El Arabi, Gabriel Leone

Episodes – 7

Platform – Prime Video

Rating - 3

Citadel returns for its second season with larger ambitions, slicker action and significantly tighter storytelling than its uneven debut chapter. This time, Joe Russo takes full control by directing all seven episodes, clearly attempting to inject the emotional weight and blockbuster scale that defined films like Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. The result is definitely an improvement over season one, but despite the upgraded spectacle, Citadel still struggles to feel emotionally alive beyond its polished spy-thriller surface.

The season picks up immediately after the events of the first installment, with Stanley Tucci’s Bernard Orlick delivering a quick recap before diving back into the chaos. Thankfully, the series finally allows Tucci to do more than sit tied to a chair looking stressed. Watching him embrace action mode with sharp sarcasm and understated menace becomes one of the season’s unexpected pleasures. He brings wit and gravitas into scenes that otherwise risk becoming mechanically serious, often feeling far more engaging than the central emotional arcs around him.

One of the more interesting additions this season is the subtle expansion of the Citadel universe through callbacks to Citadel: Honey Bunny by Raj Nidimoru and Krishna D.K.. The cameo involving Honey creates a meaningful bridge between the international and Indian stories while adding emotional context to Nadia’s character. The idea of generational trauma within a world built around espionage gives the show brief flashes of emotional intelligence that the first season sorely lacked.

Those emotional flashes work largely because of Priyanka Chopra Jonas. As Nadia, she once again proves she can carry emotionally layered material even when the writing barely slows down long enough to explore it properly. One particularly moving scene involving the classic song Aa Chalke Tujhe stands out as the season’s emotional high point. In that moment, the show finally pauses its relentless spy theatrics and allows vulnerability, memory and motherhood to breathe naturally. Priyanka delivers the scene with heartbreaking restraint, quietly reminding viewers of the depth she has always been capable of as a performer.

At the same time, there is a growing sense of repetition surrounding Priyanka’s recent international projects. Whether in The Bluff, Heads of State or Citadel, she increasingly finds herself playing variations of emotionally wounded yet hyper-capable women carrying dangerous pasts. She still commits fully to the role, but Citadel rarely gives her material rich enough to truly challenge her range beyond intense stares, action choreography and maternal protectiveness.

Richard Madden continues to feel strangely detached as Mason Kane. In fact, the show itself jokingly describes him as a “sexy robot,” which unintentionally becomes the most accurate review of his performance. His emotional track involving mother Dahlia Archer, played by Lesley Manville, never fully lands despite the series repeatedly trying to inject psychological depth into their relationship. Similarly, the love triangle involving Nadia, Mason and Abby feels more functional than emotionally compelling, existing largely to create tension rather than meaningful emotional conflict.

Where Citadel undeniably succeeds is action. Joe Russo understands rhythm, escalation and visual momentum extremely well. The close-combat fights, betrayals and tactical set pieces maintain tension throughout the season, even if the constant double-crossing eventually becomes exhausting. Unlike The Gray Man, the action here feels slightly more contained and character-driven rather than purely gigantic in scale. Supporting players like Massimo Rigo and Jack Reynor also bring welcome charisma and unpredictability into the narrative, often outshining the emotionally muted protagonists.

Ultimately, Citadel season 2 works best as a stylish binge rather than a deeply affecting spy saga. It is sharper, more coherent and more entertaining than the first season, but the emotional writing still lacks the complexity needed to elevate it beyond premium streaming spectacle. Joe Russo successfully raises the intensity and scale, but the soul of the series remains frustratingly underdeveloped. Still, for viewers invested in slick espionage, polished action and Priyanka Chopra commanding the screen, Citadel season 2 delivers enough adrenaline to make the ride worthwhile — even if the high fades quickly after the credits roll.

Director - Karan Anshuman, Kanishk Varma

Cast - Pulkit Samrat, Divyenndu, Suvinder Vicky, Ashutosh Rana, Sikander Kher, Sayani Gupta, Kashmira Pardeshi, Vishal Vashishtha, Zakir Hussain, Yashpal Sharma, Jannat Zubair Rahmani, Kunal Thakur

Episode – 7

Platform – Netflix

Rating – 2

Glory enters the crowded space of small-town crime thrillers with boxing rings, fractured families, khap politics and violence stitched into its DNA. Set in the fictional Haryana town of Shaktigarh, the seven-episode series attempts to combine sports drama, family conflict, murder mystery and social commentary into one sprawling narrative. At its core lies a story about ambition, masculinity and emotional damage, but the show often struggles under the weight of trying to become too many things at once.

The series opens exactly the way modern streaming thrillers now seem contractually obligated to — with bodies dropping within the first few minutes. In fact, Glory wastes barely nine minutes before delivering multiple deaths, immediately announcing itself as a world driven by brutality and tension. The atmosphere is sweaty, volatile and aggressively masculine, where boxing rings become extensions of emotional warfare rather than merely sporting arenas.

At the centre of the chaos is Suvinder Vicky as Raghubir Singh, a respected yet emotionally destructive boxing coach whose obsession with Olympic glory leaves deep scars on his family. Suvinder Vicky once again proves why he remains one of the most commanding performers working today. He brings both menace and tragic vulnerability to Raghubir, making him feel like a man who genuinely believes ambition justifies emotional cruelty. The show works best whenever it stays close to him and the damage his relentless pursuit of success inflicts on his sons.

Divyendu Sharma delivers a solid performance as Dev, carrying years of resentment and unresolved anger beneath his swagger. His scenes with Raghubir carry emotional weight because the bitterness feels lived-in rather than theatrically exaggerated. Pulkit Samrat also gets an opportunity to break away from his polished screen image, throwing himself convincingly into the physically demanding boxing sequences. The strained relationship between the brothers and their father remains the emotional backbone of the series, and it is easily the strongest material the show has to offer.

The boxing portions themselves are staged effectively. The fights feel raw, exhausting and painful rather than stylized for glamour. There is a physical heaviness to the action that works well within the gritty tone of the series. Some training and ring sequences genuinely capture the emotional desperation attached to the sport, particularly in a world where boxing becomes the only visible escape route from social and economic suffocation.

Unfortunately, Glory repeatedly undermines its own strengths by overcrowding the narrative with unnecessary subplots and exaggerated twists. Every time the series appears ready to settle into a grounded family drama or sports thriller, it abruptly introduces another layer — corrupt cops, trafficking rings, prostitution rackets, honour killings, closeted sexuality, manipulative femme fatales and cartoonishly violent gangsters. The result is a story that constantly loses emotional focus because it refuses to trust its strongest central conflict.

The supporting characters further highlight this inconsistency. Sayani Gupta’s investigative journalist feels oddly inserted into the narrative without enough grounding in the world around her. Ashutosh Rana and Sikandar Kher bring intensity to their eccentric characters, but the writing often pushes them toward exaggerated theatrics rather than believable menace. Meanwhile, Yashpal Sharma stands out largely because he feels organically rooted within the Haryanvi setting, carrying the dialect and social texture far more naturally than many others in the ensemble.

One of the show’s recurring issues is its desperation to constantly shock the audience. Violent moments involving executions, crushed bodies and sudden killings often feel less like narrative necessities and more like deliberate attempts to maintain viewer attention. Instead of deepening tension, this excessive brutality occasionally turns emotionally numbing. The series also struggles with its female characters, frequently reducing them to narrative devices meant to either seduce, suffer or trigger conflict within the male-dominated world.

Still, Glory remains intermittently engaging because of its performances and atmospheric grit. There is a genuinely compelling story buried beneath the clutter — a father whose obsession with victory destroys his relationship with his children, and sons trying to survive the emotional wreckage left behind. Had the series trusted that emotional core instead of constantly layering sensationalism over it, Glory could have become a far sharper and more emotionally devastating drama. Instead, it settles for being watchable, chaotic and occasionally powerful, while never quite becoming the knockout it clearly wanted to be.

Actor Tanishaa S Mukerji delighted fans with a candid and heartwarming moment as she took to social media to share her thoughts on the much-anticipated spy action thriller Dhurandhar The Revenge. Posting a late-night update, she revealed that she had taken her mother, veteran actress Tanuja, to watch the film in theatres. The duo’s genuine reaction quickly caught attention, adding to the growing buzz around the film.

 

In the video, recorded inside their car shortly after the screening, Tanishaa and Tanuja can be seen sharing an honest and enthusiastic review. Tanishaa expressed how the film kept her fully engaged throughout, emphasizing that despite its length, it never felt stretched. Her excitement was evident as she described the experience as immersive and thoroughly entertaining, encouraging audiences to give it a watch.

 

Tanuja, known for her sharp cinematic sensibilities, did not hold back her praise. She described the film as outstanding and highlighted that there were no dull or boring moments. She credited director Aditya Dhar as the true force behind the film’s success, calling him the “real hero” of the project. Her appreciation extended to the performances as well, particularly applauding Ranveer Singh for his dynamic presence and energy on screen.

 

The video also showcased the affectionate bond between the mother-daughter duo, making it more than just a film review. Their natural chemistry and warm interaction added a personal touch that resonated with fans. The clip quickly gained traction online, with viewers enjoying both the genuine feedback and the charming dynamic between the two actors.

 

Dhurandhar The Revenge, positioned as a major 2026 release, has already been generating strong engagement among audiences. Positive word-of-mouth from well-known personalities like Tanishaa and Tanuja further boosts its appeal. With praise for its gripping narrative, strong performances, and tight direction, the film continues to build momentum as a must-watch in theatres.

 

Director: Sriram Raghavan

Cast: Agastya Nanda, Dharmendra, Jaideep Ahlawat, Simar Bhatia

Writers: Sriram Raghavan, Arijit Biswas, Pooja Ladha Surti

Rating: 4.5

Duration: 143 minutes

 

Sriram Raghavan’s Ikkis is a rare war film that resists spectacle in favour of silence, introspection, and emotional truth. Based on the life of Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, India’s youngest Param Vir Chakra awardee, the film is less interested in glorifying battle and more concerned with what courage costs—during war, and long after it ends. The result is a film that feels thoughtful, humane, and quietly powerful.

 

Rather than unfolding as a conventional battlefield chronicle, Ikkis is structured across two timelines. The first is set during the Battle of Basantar in December 1971, where a 21-year-old Arun Khetarpal leads his tank troop through treacherous, mine-laden terrain under relentless enemy fire. These sequences are tense but deliberately grounded. Raghavan avoids operatic war imagery; instead, he focuses on confusion, fear, and split-second decisions that define combat. The emphasis remains firmly on the psychological burden of command rather than on patriotic spectacle.

 

Agastya Nanda steps into the role of Arun Khetarpal with sincerity and restraint. He portrays Arun as idealistic, driven, and deeply committed—sometimes almost recklessly so. Yet the performance never slips into exaggerated heroism. His courage unfolds through action rather than proclamation. Arun’s refusal to abandon his damaged tank, even when ordered to withdraw, feels tragically inevitable, rooted in character rather than cinematic flourish. Nanda’s performance brings an understated rawness that makes the eventual sacrifice deeply affecting.

 

The second timeline, set in 2001, becomes the film’s emotional anchor. Dharmendra plays Brigadier M. L. Khetarpal, Arun’s father, now an aging man carrying the quiet weight of pride and loss. His visit to meet Brigadier Khwaja Mohammad Nasir, a former Pakistani officer portrayed with remarkable composure by Jaideep Ahlawat, shifts the film into profoundly reflective territory. What follows is not a political statement, but a meditation on shared trauma, memory, and the strange fraternity forged by war.

Jaideep Ahlawat delivers one of his most nuanced performances to date. His Brigadier Nasir is thoughtful, restrained, and painfully aware of what history has taken from both sides. The scenes between Ahlawat and Dharmendra are among the film’s finest—unhurried, understated, and deeply moving. Their conversations, silences, and shared walks through memory-laden spaces say more than any dramatic monologue could.

 

Dharmendra, in what is reportedly his final screen appearance, brings immense emotional depth to the role. With minimal dialogue, he conveys grief, dignity, and unresolved longing through gestures and pauses. His presence lends the film a sense of lived experience that cannot be fabricated. The reconciliation-themed moments between the two brigadiers stand out as some of the most sensitive depictions of post-war reflection in recent Indian cinema.

 

Technically, Ikkis is marked by restraint. The visual effects serve realism rather than spectacle, especially in the tank combat sequences, which feel heavy, claustrophobic, and dangerous. The sound design plays a crucial role—metal grinding, distant explosions, and shouted commands often replace music, immersing the viewer in the chaos of war without overwhelming them.

 

The background score is subtle and sparingly used, allowing scenes to breathe. In the 1971 sequences, silence and ambient sound dominate; in the 2001 timeline, the music becomes introspective, gently underlining themes of memory and loss. Dialogue follows the same philosophy—measured, purposeful, and emotionally honest. The lines that linger do so because they feel earned, not because they demand attention.

 

Raghavan’s direction reflects immense confidence in both his material and his audience. Along with writers Arijit Biswas and Pooja Ladha Surti, he crafts a screenplay that balances its dual timelines with clarity and emotional coherence. Each scene either advances the narrative or deepens character, never feeling indulgent or ornamental.

 

Simar Bhatia, in her debut as Kiran, Arun’s love interest, leaves a quiet but meaningful impression. Her limited screen time is used effectively to suggest the life Arun might have lived, adding an emotional layer without diverting focus from the central narrative.

 

Backed by Maddock Films, Ikkis signals a continued commitment to content-driven cinema. The film’s attention to historical detail, emotional nuance, and ethical responsibility reflects a production approach rooted in care rather than commercial calculation.

 

Ultimately, Ikkis is not just a war film—it is a film about people shaped by war. It speaks of sacrifice without glorifying violence, and of patriotism without aggression. By choosing empathy over rhetoric and reflection over triumphalism, Ikkis achieves something rare: it honors history while remaining deeply human.

Writer–Director: Anusha Rizvi

Cast: Kritika Kamra, Shreya Dhanwanthary, Farida Jalal, Sheeba Chaddha, Purab Kohli, Joyeeta Dutta, Dolly Ahluwalia, Juhi Babbar Soni, Nishank Verma, Anushka Bannerjee, Natasha Rastogi, Anup Soni

Platform: JioHotstar

Duration: 97 minutes

Rating: 3

 

Anusha Rizvi returns to direction after Peepli Live with a film that feels like a gentle conversation rather than a loud statement. Set almost entirely within the walls of a Delhi home, the story unfolds over one chaotic day in the life of Bani Ahmad (Kritika Kamra), who is racing against time to finish a presentation that could shape her future. What she doesn’t account for is family—unannounced guests, emotional interruptions, overlapping crises, and the kind of everyday madness that turns even the simplest plan into a marathon.

 

At its heart, the film is about people—messy, loving, frustrating people. The Shamsuddin family isn’t written as a symbol or a statement; they are allowed to simply exist. That in itself feels quietly radical. Anusha Rizvi portrays a comfortably middle-class Muslim household with warmth and normalcy, letting humour, affection, and irritation flow naturally. These are mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, and cousins who argue, worry, gossip, interfere, and love fiercely—just like families everywhere.

 

Kritika Kamra anchors the film beautifully. Her Bani is intelligent, anxious, ambitious, and emotionally pulled in multiple directions. She conveys the exhaustion of someone trying to hold herself together while the world keeps knocking on her door. Shreya Dhanwanthary brings sharp energy and unpredictability, while Farida Jalal and Sheeba Chaddha are absolute pillars—effortlessly commanding the screen with their lived-in performances. Juhi Babbar Soni, Dolly Ahluwalia, and Natasha Rastogi add texture and warmth, making the house feel truly inhabited. Even Anup Soni, in a brief appearance, leaves an impression that lingers.

 

The film gently weaves in heavy themes—identity, fear, generational conflict, divorce, money, and the unspoken anxiety of living as a minority—without turning preachy. Rizvi doesn’t underline her points; she trusts the audience to listen between the lines. The dialogue often sparkles with wit, occasionally stumbles into theatricality, but mostly feels rooted in lived experience. Some subplots could have been tighter, and the single-location setup does show its stage-like constraints at moments, but the emotional honesty carries the film through.

 

What makes the film truly special is its tone. It doesn’t shout, it doesn’t sermonize, and it doesn’t chase easy outrage. Instead, it observes. It smiles. It pauses. It reminds us that ordinary lives—full of interruptions, contradictions, and love—are worthy of being seen. By the time the day winds down, you may not remember every plot detail, but you’ll remember the feeling of being inside that home.

 

This is not a perfect film, but it is a sincere one. And in today’s noisy cinematic landscape, sincerity feels like a gift. Watch it for its humanity, its performances, and for the quiet reassurance that cinema can still be kind, thoughtful, and deeply relatable.

Director: Aditya Sarpotdar 

Writer: Niren Bhatt, Suresh Mathew, Arun Falara, 

Cast: Ayushmann Khurrana, Rashmika Mandanna, Nawazuddin Siddiqui, Paresh Rawal, Sathyaraj, Fasial Malik, Geeta Aggarwal, Rachit Singh, 

Duration: 149 Minutes 

Rating: 4

 

Buckle up, because Thamma isn’t just a movie — it’s a full-on mystical rollercoaster that blends folklore, fantasy, and feelings into one epic ride through the ever-expanding Maddock horror-verse. Directed by Aditya Sarpotdar and written by the sharp trio Niren Bhatt, Suresh Mathew, and Arun Falara, this 149-minute spectacle delivers on its promise: cinematic entertainment that’s strange, smart, and surprisingly heartfelt.

 

At first glance, Thamma may seem like just another supernatural flick, but it's anything but. It takes the familiar beats of horror comedy and flips them into a visually rich, emotionally driven fantasy grounded in Indian myth. Think ancient forests, curses that linger through time, and a world where love might just be the most powerful force against the dark.

 

Ayushmann Khurrana plays a small-town journalist whose ordinary life is flipped upside down after a supernatural brush spirals into something far beyond his comprehension. In classic Khurrana style, he starts off as the guy-next-door you instantly root for but evolves into something deeper — intense, driven, and layered.

 

Rashmika Mandanna matches him beat for beat, delivering a nuanced performance that’s both fierce and gentle. She doesn’t fall into the trap of playing a caricatured horror heroine — she’s real, raw, and refreshingly relatable.

And then, just when you think you’ve figured out the movie’s tone — BAM! — you’re tossed into a visual showdown between Alok and Bhediya (yes, Varun Dhawan is back!). This sequence is chef’s kiss — a beastly brawl soaked in symbolism, hinting at the future of the Maddockverse. It's action-packed, emotional, and surprisingly moving. How are these two even connected? Trust us — it’s deeper than blood.

 

The universe-building is delightfully cheeky. There are Easter eggs, subtle callbacks, and a chilling reappearance of Sar Kata from Stree. Yep, that creepy legend isn’t done haunting us just yet. If you’ve been following the horror-verse, this film screams crossover alert. The connections between Stree 2 and Thamma aren’t just clever — they’re core to what’s coming next.

 

Let’s talk performances. Paresh Rawal is a hoot as the snarky dad with perfect timing, while Nawazuddin Siddiqui brings pure menace to his screen time, hinting that his role is just the beginning of something far bigger. Sathyaraj returns as the enigmatic Elvis, aka the “Hand of God” — and this time, he’s not just comic relief. His cryptic insight about Betaal and Bhediya hints at major storm clouds ahead.

 

Even the much-talked-about Nora Fatehi cameo? Total win. It’s not just a glam fest — her appearance actually adds to the mystery, drawing an unexpected emotional thread back to Stree. A twist fans will absolutely love.

 

And in true Maddock style, the songs? Functional, not filler. Every track serves a narrative purpose — building characters, deepening myths, or heightening emotion. No item-number fluff. Just pure story-driven melody.

 

In a world of recycled jump scares and tired horror tropes, Thamma stands tall. It’s not about being scary — it’s about being sincere, surprising, and soaked in style. It’s a movie with heart, humor, and a whole lot of haunting charm.

 

Thamma is everything genre fans didn’t know they needed — bold, bizarre, and brimming with heart. It’s the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll, not because of fear, but because of fascination.

Director – Keerthiswaran

Cast – Pradeep Ranganathan, Mamitha Baiju, R. Sarathkumar, Hridhu Haroon, Rohini, Aishwarya Sharma, Neha Shetty

Duration – 139 Minutes

Rating – 2

 

There’s something strangely admirable about a film that bites off more than it can chew — not out of ego, but out of genuine ambition. Dude, directed by debutant Keerthiswaran, is one such film. It wants to be about love, family, societal pressure, patriarchy, caste, self-worth, identity, marriage, mental health, and also prank calls, fast cuts, slapstick, TikTok humour, and meta monologues. It swings big. And sometimes, it swings blindfolded.

 

Let’s start with the premise: Agan (Pradeep Ranganathan) and Kural (Mamitha Baiju) are cousins-turned-friends-turned-lovers-turned-exes-turned... yeah, even they’re not sure. Their relationship is a chaotic spreadsheet of affection, guilt, denial, longing, pressure, and passive-aggressive texts. At some point, one of them is pretending to love the other, while the other is pretending not to care. Meanwhile, Sarath Kumar — having the time of his life — looms large as a potential villain and accidental philosopher.

 

Keerthiswaran clearly wants to push boundaries, and he’s got something to say. The problem is, he says everything, all at once. A serious scene about gender roles cuts to a wacky skit. A breakup leads into a bizarre fight choreography involving brooms. One minute Agan is delivering a heartfelt PSA about respecting women’s choices, the next he’s leading a prank montage that undermines his own growth. It's like the film is made by three different writers, all of whom came to the shoot with wildly different screenplays and just decided to roll with it.

 

And yet, in its most disjointed moments, Dude is also curiously magnetic. You can’t look away. Like a meme that starts off cringe but then hits a little too close to home. It’s trying so hard to be funny, woke, sensitive, and silly — sometimes in the same scene — that you sort of respect its audacity. And somewhere buried in all this is a real story. A real pulse. You can feel it. You just wish the camera would stay still long enough for you to connect.

 

Pradeep Ranganathan does his thing — manic energy, expressive face, a phone flip trick you’ll see too many times. His performance is like a Red Bull-fueled improv set, and to his credit, it mostly works. Mamitha Baiju, on the other hand, is the emotional anchor. She’s given very little consistency in terms of writing, but she salvages scenes through sheer sincerity. There’s something incredibly grounded about her presence, even when the film around her seems to be losing grip. And Sarath Kumar, in a welcome and wild detour from his usual stern roles, is electric. Equal parts charming and threatening, he dances on the edge of parody without tipping over.

 

Sai Abhyankkar’s music deserves its own review. Sometimes the score lifts a moment. Sometimes it strangles it. There are instances where you can almost hear the background music arguing with the scene. And while "Oorum Blood" is catchy in that TikTok-earworm way, the overall audio mix feels like it's trying to make up for narrative clarity with sheer volume.

 

If Dude were a person, it would be that friend who wants to have a deep conversation but also keeps making silly faces mid-sentence. You want to take them seriously, but you’re also a little exhausted. The film wants to discuss big, serious, real things, but is terrified of being boring. So it talks fast, moves faster, and in the end, doesn’t let you feel much at all.

 

But here's the thing — this mess isn't meaningless. Keerthiswaran is clearly a director with ideas and intent. You can tell he cares. And while Dude doesn’t always land, it’s punching way above its weight class. That alone makes it more memorable than many polished but passionless films. If this is him finding his footing, we’re in for something special next time — provided he lets his story breathe.

 

Because when Dude is quiet, when it pauses for just a moment, when it lets its characters be people instead of performers, it almost becomes the film it wants to be.

 

Dude is a chaotic cocktail of vibes and values — half coming-of-age, half YouTube sketch. You’ll laugh, you’ll wince, you’ll scroll your brain trying to process what you just watched. But love it or not, you won’t forget it.

 

Director - Shanmugam Muthusamy 

Cast - Harish Kalyan, Athulya Ravi, Vinay Rai, P. Sai Kumar, Ananya, Karunas, Ramesh Thilak, Kaali Venkat, Vivek Prasanna, Sachin Khedekar, Zakir Hussain, Thangadurai, KPY Dheena 

Duration – 144 Minutes

Rating – 2

 

Let’s start with the facts: Diesel is a movie about stolen oil, stolen lives, and a lot of wasted potential. But more than that, it's a film that wants to be both a massy entertainer and a well-oiled political drama — only it can’t seem to decide which gear to stick to.

 

Directed by Shanmugam Muthusamy, Diesel begins with the unmistakable voice of Vetri Maaran, setting the tone like a rallying cry for revolution. For a few precious minutes, you feel like you’ve strapped into something special — something that will explore real issues like environmental damage, caste-class conflict, and the systemic exploitation of coastal communities. You sit up. You lean in. You say, “Okay Diesel, let’s go.”

 

But then... the wheels start wobbling.

 

At the centre of the chaos is Vasudevan aka Diesel Vasu (played by a surprisingly intense Harish Kalyan) — a man raised by a righteous-smuggler-with-a-heart-of-gold (Sai Kumar) in the fishing neighborhoods of Royapuram. The duo, in full Robin Hood mode, steal oil from the government pipeline and sell it on the black market — not for luxury, but to keep the fishermen alive and the community afloat. It’s a great setup. There’s tension. There’s moral ambiguity. There’s even a legitimate reason to root for the criminals.

 

But instead of pressing the pedal, Diesel detours into...romance.

 

Enter Athulya Ravi as a lawyer, because, of course, the revolution must pause for love. What follows are painfully stretched scenes where Harish Kalyan tries to flirt, cry, and flash smiles in a way that feels like deleted reels from a music video audition. There’s even a song that went viral (Beer Song), but in the movie, it looks like someone forgot to turn on the camera lights or hire a choreographer. You can practically hear the script yelling, “We’ll fix it in post!” Spoiler: they didn’t.

 

And just when you're about to give up, the second half slams into action — not gracefully, but like a bus that woke up late. Suddenly, the politics return. The stakes rise. There's blood, betrayal, and very suspiciously placed oil drums. It's uneven, but the pacing improves, and so does Harish Kalyan’s performance. It's like someone finally told him, “Okay, now ACT like the hero,” and he does — and it's not bad at all.

 

There are echoes of Vada Chennai and even Kaththi in how Diesel builds its David-vs-Goliath plotlines. The difference is, those films trusted the audience. Diesel, however, keeps explaining itself to you like a nervous student trying to impress a strict professor. "Did you get the metaphor? Look, the oil = power! And this guy = evil government!" Yes, Diesel. We get it.

 

What keeps the film from completely stalling is its sincerity. Despite the clumsy structure, Muthusamy has clearly done his homework. There’s real anger under the surface — about sea erosion, contaminated water, and what it means to be invisible in a city that pretends to care. These are not just plot points; they feel lived-in. Even if they’re not explored fully, their presence adds depth to an otherwise flat terrain.

 

The supporting cast holds up well — Vinay Rai and Sachin Khedekar are reliably shady. Ananya and Athulya, unfortunately, are written like afterthoughts. There’s one pre-climactic scene where they get to stretch — and it’s lovely — but too little, too late.

 

The irony? For a film called Diesel, it feels electric when it talks politics, but completely stalls when it tries to be... cute.

 

Diesel has something important to say, and sometimes it even says it well. But too often, it gets distracted by detours that no one asked for. If it had trusted its own voice a bit more — and trimmed at least 30 minutes of romance fluff — this could have been a searing, standout film. Instead, we get a well-researched political actioner awkwardly cosplaying as a commercial blockbuster.