Thudarum
I managed to hold on. Somehow. Even when Mr. Botox started making choices so categorically dumb. Then came the coup de grâce. He drives a vintage car into a fucking hill. Not as metaphor. Not as commentary. Just... because. And I gave up. I couldn't care less after.
I meant to care about what’s in the trunk? The big mystery. The weighty reveal. I’ve got a pretty good idea. Everyone does. And I couldn’t give a shit. The only person worth watching was Shobana. Elegant and understated. She can talk with her eyes, and in a ‘mystery’ narrative, those eyes should have been a weapon. Instead, the director left that weapon holstered and sidelined her in favor of tragic wax sculpture man.
Malayalam cinema usually carries this quiet groundedness. A sense of realness. But this one? With all its star, Botox and glycerine power, it just comes off dull, uninspired, and downright lazy. The film had countless chances to build genuine emotion, but you can feel the indifference oozing through. What is so hard about showing a montage of his actual stunt career on a proper film set? Instead, we get slow-motion, syrupy, overcooked nonsense designed to tug at your heartstrings. Fuck off with that shit!
A quick look at the reaction reveals the audience and critics alike are foaming up cum, though not for Mr. Botox, but over a ‘new villain in town’. And all I could think of was that classic Senthil-Gounder comedy: அந்த Angle-ல பார்த்தா எப்படி தெரியும்? இந்த Angle-ல பாருங்க! Which only proves the audience is in such a dry spell they’ll swallow any garbage served up and slap meaning onto it. Desperation dressed as devotion.