To revisit that, let’s travel back to the 1980s.

Malayalam Cinema in the 1980s: A Different Era

The 80s were a time when Malayalam movies were more about stories than stars. It was an era that gave us some of the finest filmmakers and directors who reshaped the very language of cinema. Among them stood Padmarajan, a master storyteller whose works often defied conventions.

In 1986, he released Deshadanakili Karayarilla (The Migratory Birds Don’t Cry). The film was not a commercial success, but over time, it has sparked a quiet debate:

Was this movie about two lesbians?

Audiences remain split. Some argue it was simply about friendship, while others see it as a veiled queer love story. But maybe the real answer lies somewhere in between.

Deshadanakili Karayarilla - The Story in Brief

Deshadanakili Karayarilla tells the story of Sally and Nimmi, two teenage girls who never quite fit into the world around them. They’re rebellious, fragile, and constantly at odds with Devika Teacher, who represents the larger, unforgiving society.

So, they run away.

For a while, they experience freedom—like migratory birds, drifting without direction but clinging to each other for comfort. But their fragile balance is disrupted when Harishankar enters their lives.

Nimmi mistakes his kindness for love, while Sally grows increasingly jealous—not of Harishankar himself, but of the possibility of losing Nimmi. What begins as a youthful escape spirals into something far more complex, leaving behind unanswered questions about love, desire, and identity.

Why Some Say It’s Not a Lesbian Film

There are strong arguments from those who don’t see the movie as queer at all:

• There’s no direct mention of sexual attraction between Sally and Nimmi.

• The film never portrays them falling in love.

• Nowhere are they identified or labeled as lesbians.

• Sally even supports Nimmi’s initial attraction towards Harishankar, which seems contradictory if this were a love story between the two girls.

• Some argue we shouldn’t assign sexual identities just because Sally appears more “masculine” and Nimmi more “feminine.”

Fair points. But here’s another way to look at it.

What If It’s a Queer Film Without Saying It?

Let’s assume for a moment that Deshadanakili Karayarilla isn’t a straightforward lesbian film. What if it’s a film about two closeted teenagers, confused about their identities and searching for belonging in a world that refuses to understand them?

Here are five reasons why that reading might make sense:

1. Because It’s Padmarajan

Padmarajan was never afraid of difficult, unconventional themes.

• Thoovanathumbikal challenged chastity.

• Peruvazhiyambalam redefined masculinity.

• Njan Gandharvan explored erotic fanaticism.

Is it really surprising to think he might have woven queerness—subtly—into one of his stories?

2. The Focus Was on Alienation, Not Labels

The film doesn’t highlight their sexual orientation. Instead, it’s about how these girls relate to the world: their isolation, loneliness, and desperate need for a safe space.

Unlike modern queer films such as Kaathal, Njan Marykutty, or Mumbai Police, this is not a “coming out” story. It’s about existence itself.

3. The Time Period Matters

In the 1980s, homosexuality wasn’t even part of public discourse in India. If Padmarajan had explicitly made a “lesbian” movie, it would likely have been banned, ignored, or erased.

By keeping the queerness implied rather than explicit, he ensured the story lived on.

4. Masculine & Feminine Roles as Hints

Yes, Sally is tomboyish while Nimmi is more traditionally feminine. While it may seem like stereotyping today, perhaps in the 80s, this was Padmarajan’s subtle way of hinting at the girls’ possible sexual orientation—without ever naming it.

5. A Story Beyond Labels

Whether queer or not, what makes Deshadanakili Karayarilla extraordinary is its exploration of individuality. Sally and Nimmi’s alienation, their misfit identities, and their desperate need for belonging transcend labels of sexuality.

Why the Film Still Matters

Even today, with all the progress in LGBTQ+ conversations, many queer individuals continue to face alienation, violence, and silence. In the 1980s, when there were no resources, no visibility, and no conversations, this sense of helplessness must have been unbearable.

This is what Deshadanakili Karayarilla captures so beautifully. It’s not just about queerness—it’s about being misunderstood, unseen, and trapped in a world that doesn’t allow you to simply be yourself.

Padmarajan gave us a story that was way ahead of its time. And decades later, it continues to spark debate, reflection, and meaning.

Final Thoughts

So—was Deshadanakili Karayarilla the first lesbian Malayalam movie? Maybe, maybe not.

But one thing is certain: it was revolutionary. A film about misfits, belonging, and the quiet struggles of identity that still feels relevant today.

What do you think? Was it a queer love story, or simply a tale of friendship and alienation? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your take.

Here are a few key figures to meet before you step into Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra.

 Kalliyankaattu Neeli – Kerala’s Very Own Vampire

For me, Neeli was always that terrifying “yakshi” figure—long hair, white saree, roaming around in the dark, waiting for unsuspecting men. Basically, the Malayali version of a vampire.

Her origins vary depending on the version of the story, but one thing is common: she was both feared and worshipped. For some, she was a goddess. For others, a monster. And in folklore, her story usually ends with her being “tamed” by the priest Kadamattathu Kathanaar. For Gen Z adults like myself, our earliest introduction to their rivalry was through the TV serial titled Kadamattathu Kathanaar. As you can guess, he was the hero and Neeli was the villain.

In Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, though, Neeli isn’t just reduced to a villain. She’s layered, witty, and has her own perspective. Honestly, one of the funniest moments in the film was hearing Kalyani’s Neeli casually say, “We were friends!” about her supposed enemy Kathanaar. Suddenly, centuries of folklore felt like they’d been flipped on their head.

 Kadamattathu Kathanaar – The Miracle-Working Priest

Looking back, the TV serial I spoke about earlier was clearly exaggerated for TRP, but it gave me a sense of his legend.

Kathanaar, in most tales, is the holy priest with divine powers who protects people from evil spirits—including Neeli. Stories differ on how exactly he got his powers, but the role is always the same: he’s the savior, the man who steps in when Neeli is attacking and killing people.

Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, however, gives us a twist. Instead of presenting Kathanaar and Neeli as eternal enemies, it hints at a more complicated relationship. It’s almost mischievous in the way it plays with our expectations—suddenly, the lines between “hero” and “villain” blur.

 Chathan – Mischief, Worship, and Mayhem

Now, this is the part that really excites me: the next installment of Lokah Chapter 1: Chandrais likely going to dive deep into Chathan’s story, with Tovino playing the Chathan named Michael.

According to Kottarathil Sankunni’s Aithihyamala, there are 390 Chathans in this world. Let that sink in—390 spirits, each capable of stirring chaos.

Chathan is no stranger to Indian cinema. From the magical Kuttichathan (Chota Chetan—India’s first 3D movie) to Mammootty’s haunting Bramayugam, Chathan has always been a fascinating figure to explore on screen.

But in folklore, he’s not just mischief for mischief’s sake. Chathans are demi-gods known to love meat and liquor. Even today, there are temples where families worship Chathan with these offerings. In return, he ensures prosperity and protection. But when those offerings stop? That’s when the chaos begins—misfortune, loss, and fear. It’s this mix of devotion and dread that makes Chathan such an electric character to anticipate in Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra.

 Odiyan – The Shape-Shifting Shadows

And then, there are the Odiyans. For those who grew up hearing about them, Odiyan's were always shrouded in mystery—ordinary people by day, but capable of transforming into animals at night. Dogs, bulls, snakes—you name it. Their powers were often used to terrify or to survive. Odiyan is a character once explored (unsuccessfully) in Malayalam cinema with Mohanlal.

In Lokah, we only get a glimpse of Odiyan—a cameo that feels like a teaser for something bigger. And honestly, it works. It leaves you curious, excited, and slightly uneasy. The Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra version of Odiyan already feels promising.

Why This Matters

What Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra is doing is bigger than just making a fantasy film. It’s pulling Kerala’s folklore out of dusty books and campfire stories and putting it on the big screen with scale, style, and a wink of humor.

As a Malayali, there’s something thrilling about seeing these figures—who once lived in half-whispered warnings or late-night serials—suddenly reimagined as complex, powerful, and cinematic. And for non-Malayalis, it’s a chance to enter a world that’s rich, layered, and endlessly fascinating.

So when you walk into Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra, remember: Neeli isn’t just a ghost, Kathanaar isn’t just a priest, Chathan isn’t just mischief, and Odiyan isn’t just myth. They’re part of a cultural universe that’s finally getting its moment in the spotlight.

And trust me—it’s only the beginning.

But when we begin to peel back the layers of these so-called fairy tales, what we often find is not struggle alone, but struggle cushioned by safety nets. Privilege, even in the smallest forms, plays an undeniable role — and it’s time we talk about it.

Act One: The Romanticisation of Struggle

Let’s start with the poster boy of the middle-class dream — Shah Rukh Khan. Often described as the Delhi boy who came to Mumbai with a suitcase full of dreams and nothing else. No godfathers, no connections — just ambition, and 10,000 rupees his mother gave him.

But SRK went to St. Columba’s, one of Delhi’s most elite schools, followed by Hansraj College and Jamia Millia Islamia. He grew up in Lutyens' Delhi, surrounded by the capital’s political and intellectual circles. His father wasn’t super wealthy, but the cultural capital was immense. Exposure, education, confidence — all the invisible tools that prepare one for the big leagues. And the 10,000 rupees his mother gave him, which is equivalent to 3 Lac back in the day.

Then there’s Kartik Aaryan. Much has been said about how he lived with 12 flatmates in Mumbai, cooked his own meals, and juggled auditions with engineering classes. Admirable, no doubt. But Kartik's parents are both doctors — a stable, financially secure background. He had the luxury to pursue a dream without the looming fear of economic ruin.

Even Akshay Kumar — the action star who once flipped parathas in Bangkok — is hailed as the ultimate "outsider makes it big" story. But let's not ignore the nuance: he was able to travel abroad, pay for martial arts training, and had a safety net back home. A chef in Bangkok is still a person with choices — not a migrant worker stuck in bonded labour.

Act Two: What Does “Self-Made” Even Mean?

There’s a strange way in which the industry — and its fan culture — defines success. The term “self-made” has been diluted to the point where having no filmi parent automatically qualifies someone for it.

But what about:

• Financial security?

• Quality education?

• Freedom to fail?

Someone working three jobs to feed a family in a tier-3 town cannot afford a two-year unpaid hustle in Mumbai. For them, dreams have an expiry date. The idea of “just work hard and it’ll all come true” is not just naive — it’s dangerously incomplete.

This doesn’t mean SRK, Kartik, or Akshay didn’t work hard. They did — tremendously so. But hard work alone doesn't level the playing field. It’s easier to leap when there’s a net below.

Act Three: The Stories That Don't Get Told

Here’s what’s missing from the mainstream lens — the stories of those who never made it because they couldn’t afford to try.

• The aspiring actor from a small village who couldn't afford rent in Mumbai.

• The talented theatre performer who had to take a bank job because their family needed financial support.

• The countless artists who fade into anonymity, not because they lacked passion or skill, but because they lacked privilege.

And for those who do make it without those nets — people like Nawazuddin Siddiqui or Rajpal Yadav — the journey is far longer, rougher, and lonelier. Their struggles are real, ongoing, and rarely romantic.

Act Four: Women Have It Harder — Always

If privilege affects men, it strangles women.

Female actors from privileged backgrounds — think Alia Bhatt, Janhvi Kapoor, or even those without filmi roots but with elite upbringings — have a level of agency that others don’t. Compare that to someone like Richa Chadha, who has spoken about surviving on ₹10,000 a month in Mumbai, or Seema Pahwa, who spent decades in theatre before being noticed on screen.

For women, safety nets don’t just offer a cushion — they provide protection. Against predators, against burnout, against being forgotten.

Act Five: Why This Conversation Matters

This isn’t about “cancelling” anyone. SRK is still a cultural icon. Kartik is still charming. Akshay still delivers blockbuster hits (Ok fine, I might have gotten ahead of myself here!).

But we need to redefine inspiration.

Hard work is essential — but it’s not the only thing that gets you there. We need to stop measuring success only by where people end up and start paying attention to where they started from.

Until we begin talking about privilege, access, and support systems, we will keep telling half-truths. And worse, we’ll keep setting unrealistic expectations for young dreamers who are made to believe that hustle is all it takes.

Curtain Call: Let’s Dream — But Let’s Also Be Honest

Cinema has always been about dreams — onscreen and off. But real change, real empowerment, comes from acknowledging who gets to dream without fear, and who never had the chance.

The stories we glorify matter. The success narratives we repeat matter. Because somewhere, someone is shaping their sense of self-worth based on these myths.

Let’s keep dreaming — but let’s also start telling the full story.

One of those films is Badnam Basti.

Also Read: Indian Cinema at Cannes - Story so Far

Long before queer characters found space in mainstream scripts, before Pride Month posts and rainbow capitalism became the norm, there was this one black-and-white film made in 1971 — a year when same-sex desire was not just taboo, it was unthinkable.

And yet, Badnam Basti existed. Bold, poetic, and completely uninterested in fitting into society’s boxes. It premiered. It vanished. For decades, it was forgotten—whispered about in film circles, never fully seen. Until one day, it was found. In Berlin.

What was it doing there? How did it end up in a German film archive? And more importantly, why aren’t more of us talking about it?

Because this isn’t just a story about a lost film. It’s a story about how queer desire has always been part of our culture, our stories, our screen — even when the world refused to see it.

Let’s go back to Badnam Basti — not just as a cinema, but as time capsule, protest, and love letter all in one.

Adapted from Kamleshwar’s 1957 novella A Street with 57 Lanes, the film arrived the same year as Sunday Bloody Sunday and Death in Venice — yet its sensuality was unmistakably desi: folk songs, truck horns, split‑screens, freeze‑frames, and a line that still sizzles 54 years later — “Main tumhari pyaas hoon… I thirst for you.”

Badnam Basti slipped into cinemas with an adults‑only certificate, scandalised the censors, then vanished. Critics called it “a welcome step toward new cinema” even as distributors ran from its taboo‑bending gaze. Prints evaporated; by the ’80s, it was a rumour whispered between archivists.

Then — plot twist worthy of a film magazine cover shoot — a single 35 mm print was stumbled upon in 2019 inside Berlin’s Arsenal Institute for Film & Video Art, filed under “Indian New Wave”. Two curators were hunting for another Kapoor when those seductive stills of Nitin Sethi and Amar Kakkad flickered in their hands. The reel was digitised, restored, and by the pandemic’s lonely summer we were streaming India’s first queer film on laptops across the globe.

Watching it in 2025 is a revelation. Long before Article 377 was struck down, before Bollywood discovered multicolored pride montages, Badnam Basti served queerness the way couture serves rebellion — cut on the bias, draped just so, with seams that dare you to look closer. It’s messy, melancholic, unapologetically sexy, and utterly modern in its refusal to moralise. No tragic violins, no comic relief — just yearning that shimmers like sweat on a summer night.

Why Badnam Basti Still Matters

Today, queer stories are finally finding their place on Indian screens — from the gentle romance of Cobalt Blue to the bittersweet mainstream attempts like Shubh Mangal Zyada Saavdhan. Streaming platforms have opened new doors, young creators are claiming space, and characters once reduced to stereotypes are now beginning to live, breathe, and take centre stage.

But the road to this moment wasn’t paved overnight. It was built quietly, piece by piece, by films like Badnam Basti that dared to exist in silence.

What makes Badnam Basti so striking today isn’t just its queerness — it’s the fact that it didn’t try to justify it. It didn’t ‘explain’ desire. It didn’t plead for acceptance. It simply presented a story, full of yearning, contradiction, and emotion — the kind of story we’re still fighting to tell with honesty.

In rediscovering Badnam Basti, we’re reminded that queer love has always existed in our stories — sometimes hidden, sometimes erased, but always there. And as Indian cinema slowly embraces this truth, it owes a quiet nod to that dusty little town, to those unsaid feelings, and to a black-and-white film that was never really lost, just waiting to be seen with new eyes.

Here’s to stories that were ahead of their time — and to a future where they don’t have to be.

But fast forward a few years… and something has changed. Massively.

Recently, Netflix Co-CEO Ted Sarandos said something surprising —

“We probably shouldn’t have started in India with Sacred Games. We should’ve started with something more commercial.”

Let that sink in. Sacred Games. The show that put Indian OTT storytelling on the global map. The show that said — "We’re not going to dumb things down. We’re here for the long game."

And now? The message from the top is that they maybe shouldn’t have bothered.

What Netflix seems to want now isn’t storytelling with soul. It’s algorithmic virality. And what that usually means is: don’t make it too smart. Just make it loud. Make it trend.

So here we are — in the middle of a shift where Netflix India seems to be leaning away from content that challenges, and toward content that numbs.

The Trolling Doesn’t Matter Anymore — Only Numbers Do

Let’s talk about the recent Netflix India lineup.

Here are three shows and films that were absolutely torn apart online:
Mismatched, The Royal Treatment, Nadaaniyan.

Absurd. Shallow. Outdated storytelling. People weren’t just disappointed — they were furious. Memes flooded timelines. Reels mocked scenes. Twitter rants dissected every cringy moment.

And yet... two of them have been renewed for another season. And Nadaaniyan, a movie that got brutally trolled, clocked in 5.3 million views in its first week, as opposed to Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, a sensitive, well-made movie that got just 2.8 million views.

Let that number sit with you for a second. We’ll come back to it.

Netflix x Ekta Kapoor — This Is Not a Joke

But the final sign — the one that confirmed everything — was the announcement of the partnership with Alt Balaji.

Yes. Netflix is teaming up with Ekta Kapoor.

Ekta Kapoor, who — let’s be honest — didn’t just change Indian television, she flattened it. She gave us a decade of emotionally manipulative, intelligence-insulting content: women crying endlessly, reincarnated snakes, plastic surgery face swaps, and patriarchy packaged in designer sarees.

And now, she’s entering the Netflix universe.

It almost feels poetic. What Ekta Kapoor did to the older generation of women through daily soaps — Netflix seems ready to do to the younger generation with algorithm-friendly, emotionally hollow shows.

Why challenge your audience, when you can just hook them — and leave them slightly more numb?

But Why Is Netflix Doing This?

Here’s where that Nadaaniyan number — 5.3 million — makes sense.
It didn’t get there because people loved it.
It got there because of something far more 2025: hate-watching.

You see someone post a reel bashing a show. It’s funny. You’re curious. You hate it too. You post your own take. Then your friend watches it — just to know what everyone’s talking about.

And suddenly, the most mocked show on the platform is also its most watched.

That’s hate-watching.
And Netflix knows it works.

Because Netflix isn’t a film school. It’s a corporation.
It doesn’t survive on critical acclaim. It survives on numbers.

It doesn’t matter if you’re praising or roasting — if you’re watching and sharing, you’re still boosting the algorithm. And the algorithm doesn’t care about quality. It cares about traction.

It’s Not Just Hate — It’s Also About Being Numb

And that’s not all.

Let’s talk about something a lot more subtle. Something even more dangerous in the long run. Netflix is also investing in what creators call “second screen content.” Shows that don’t need your full attention. Something you can have on while you cook, scroll, eat, or clean. Basically, content that’s meant to be consumed in the background — not engaged with deeply.

There’s no demand for silence. No emotional weight. No narrative patience. It’s fast-food storytelling.

Because here’s the thing: unlike theatres, where every ticket is a cost, streaming feels free. You’ve already paid for it. So even if something’s bad, you let it play. You sit through it. You scroll while watching. You forget about it 30 minutes later.

And Netflix loves that. They just want you to stay.

So Who’s to Blame?

Let’s be honest. Netflix isn’t doing anything to us. It’s simply responding to what we’re already doing.

We make a show trend through our memes.
We hate-watch it out of FOMO.
We joke about it, quote it, and boost its presence.

Netflix just listens to the noise. And the truth is, outrage travels faster than art.

That’s what they’re leveraging.
That’s what’s winning.

But Is There a Way Out?

This sounds bleak — and yes, in some ways, it is. But I don’t want to end on cynicism. Because, despite everything — the shallow content, the hatewatch loops, the second-screen traps — the platform still holds some incredible stories.

You won’t find them in the “Top 10 Today” tab.
You won’t see them in meme pages or reels.

But they’re there.

Sir, Ajji, Miniaturist of Junagadh, Jaane Jaana, Chopsticks — small, sensitive, surprising films. All waiting for someone who’s willing to look beyond the algorithm.

So no — Netflix can’t make us dumb.
But it can profit off our distraction.

The question is: do we click on what’s trending… or go looking for what’s worth watching?

If you’re someone who wrote him off a few years ago — maybe post-B Tech fatigue or the rom-com rut he was stuck in — it’s time for a rewatch. Because when Asif Ali does pick the right story, magic happens.

Here’s my definitive ranking of his best performances — the ones that prove he’s more than just a pretty face with great comic timing.

1. Level Cross (2024)

Asif Ali in Level Cross is something else. This is him operating in a whole different zone — quiet, internal, haunting. The film, structured around memory and grief, lets him shed every cinematic crutch he’s leaned on before. No stylized dialogues. No hero posturing. Just a deeply mysterious man with a haunting body language, which only Asif Ali can pull off. Easily his most nuanced performance till date and one that hasn’t gotten enough credit too. If you watch just one Asif Ali film this year, let it be this one.

2. Kishkindha Kandam (2023)

This is Asif Ali, like we’ve started to like seeing him as — in a raw, lived-in performance that walks the line between surreal and grounded. Kishkindha Kandam is a layered film set in a theatrical universe filled with performers, metaphors, and mysteries. Asif plays a man caught between performance, illusion, and reality. There’s a constant tension simmering under the surface, and he never lets it explode — instead, he internalizes everything, making you feel every flicker of confusion, guilt, and vulnerability. It’s one of those roles where the acting isn’t loud, but the impact definitely is.

3. Virus (2019)

In Virus, a film already packed with powerhouse actors, Asif Ali holds his ground. Playing the role of Vishnu, a husband struggling with the emotional and logistical horrors of the Nipah outbreak, he adds weight to every frame he’s in. It’s a supporting role, yes, but one that sticks with you long after.

4. Kettiyolaanu Ente Malakha (2019)

This is the film where everyone stopped underestimating Asif Ali. As Sleevachan, a naive, socially awkward man trying to navigate a new marriage, he brings both innocence and quiet tension to the screen. It's a sensitive, slow-burning performance — and a rare Malayalam film that talks about male vulnerability without melodrama and, most importantly, about the lack of sexual education in our society. We really need to give him the credit for taking up a role as challenging as Sleevachan and a story as nuanced as Kettiyolaanu Ente Malakha. Easily one of his career-defining roles.

5. Uyare (2019)

He wasn’t the hero here. In fact, he was the very opposite. Asif played the possessive, emotionally abusive boyfriend with terrifying believability. You hate his character — and that’s exactly the point. To take on such a role, knowing it would be controversial and unlikeable, shows guts. And Asif didn’t flinch.

6. Anuraga Karikkin Vellam (2016)

One of those quiet, well-made films that somehow finds its way into your heart. Asif as Abhi — the struggling architect and reluctant son — is endearing, flawed, and extremely relatable. His chemistry with Rajisha Vijayan is effortless, and the film gave him room to do something more grounded than his usual boy-next-door template. One scene from the film is enough to define his capacity as an actor – the one where he is tightly slapped by his father and emotions rush into his face. A very ‘real’ performance, in the best way.

7. Traffic (2011)

It’s wild how young Asif was here — and yet he matched the energy of a stacked ensemble cast. Traffic is often credited for changing Malayalam cinema’s storytelling grammar, and Asif’s character was integral to that narrative. He brought in youthful urgency, emotional depth, and a certain stillness that was rare for actors his age back then.

8. Ritu (2009)

His debut. And what a debut it was. In Ritu, Asif Ali played Sunny — ambitious, passionate, a little arrogant, and very real. He didn’t try to be the typical ‘hero’. You could sense an actor in the making — someone who wasn’t afraid of messy, complicated emotions. Looking back, it’s fascinating to see the seeds of his later performances right here.

9. Ordinary (2012)

Not the deepest role on this list, but undeniably one of the most entertaining. As Bhadran, the lovable rogue in this village-based thriller, Asif had terrific timing and screen presence. He brought warmth and mischief to the story, and the film’s success owes a lot to that charm.

10. Apothecary (2014)

Apothecary didn’t get the mainstream buzz it deserved, but Asif’s performance as Subin Joseph — a patient grappling with corporate cruelty in healthcare — is worth revisiting. He played it raw, with none of the polish or filters we sometimes expect from him. It was one of his earliest attempts to dig deeper, and he succeeded.

So, what makes Asif Ali interesting?

He’s not a method actor. He’s not loud or theatrical. What he brings instead is texture. A sensitivity that doesn’t scream for attention but slowly pulls you in. His best roles — like Level Cross or Kettiyolaanu Ente Malakha — remind you that internal conflicts can be just as cinematic as external ones.

And let’s be real — in an industry where image often overpowers intent, Asif Ali choosing to play a controlling abuser in Uyare or a naive young man in Kishkindha Kandam is no small deal.

So here’s hoping the best is yet to come.

Every May, the French Riviera transforms into the epicenter of world cinema as the Cannes Film Festival — one of the most prestigious and influential film festivals globally — rolls out its iconic red carpet. And while Instagram is flooded with dazzling fashion moments and star-studded arrivals, Cannes is, at its core, a celebration of storytelling, vision, and cinematic brilliance.

For Indian cinema, Cannes has been more than just a photo opportunity. It's been a stage for historic wins, powerful debuts, and emotional ovations that have shaped our global cinematic identity. This year, the spotlight turned to Neeraj Ghaywan, whose film Homebound received a nine-minute standing ovation, and the visual of him holding back tears became a defining image of the festival. It wasn’t just about applause — it was about arrival, recognition, and legacy.

Even before India’s independence, our films have made their mark here. Over the decades, Indian cinema has carved a space at Cannes not with spectacle, but with soul. Here’s a look at the milestones that brought us here — moments that went beyond the red carpet and into the heart of world cinema:

1946 – Neecha Nagar by Chetan Anand

At the very first edition of Cannes, an Indian film made history. Neecha Nagar, a powerful social realist drama about class divide, won the Grand Prix (now the Palme d'Or). Inspired by Russian cinema and grounded in Indian realities, this debut moment was a bold declaration: Indian cinema had arrived.

Also Read: A Guide to All The Major Film Festivals in India

1955 – Baby Naaz in Boot Polish

Baby Naaz received a Special Mention for her poignant performance in Boot Polish, portraying a slum child’s struggle with incredible emotional depth. Directed by Prakash Arora and backed by Raj Kapoor, the film offered a moving narrative on poverty and hope.

1956 – Pather Panchali by Satyajit Ray

A seismic moment in Indian cinematic history. Ray’s debut film, Pather Panchali, won the Best Human Document award. Its lyrical realism and empathy introduced Indian art cinema to the world. That same year, Rajbans Khanna’s Gotoma the Buddha won a Special Mention in the short film category — a double win for Indian storytelling.

1983 – Kharij by Mrinal Sen

Mrinal Sen’s critique of urban indifference in Kharij won the Jury Prize. Through the story of a young domestic worker’s death in a middle-class household, the film held a mirror to our collective conscience.

1988 – Salaam Bombay! by Mira Nair

Mira Nair’s debut feature brought the harsh reality of Mumbai’s street children to global attention. It won the Caméra d'Or (Best First Feature) and later earned an Academy Award nomination, marking a landmark moment for Indian independent cinema.

1989 – Piravi by Shaji N. Karun

A haunting Malayalam film about a father searching for his missing son, Piravi, won a Special Mention in the Caméra d'Or category. Quiet and devastating, it brought Malayalam cinema into global focus.

1999 – Marana Simhasanam by Murali Nair

A stark political satire on capital punishment and systemic absurdity, Marana Simhasanam (Throne of Death) won the Caméra d'Or. Its raw storytelling and surreal undertones made it unforgettable.

2015 – Masaan by Neeraj Ghaywan

Set in Varanasi, Masaan explored caste, love, and grief with rare sensitivity. It received two major awards in the Un Certain Regard section — the FIPRESCI Prize and the Promising Future Prize — and a standing ovation that marked Ghaywan as a major new voice in Indian cinema.

2021 – A Night of Knowing Nothing by Payal Kapadia

A poetic documentary woven from love letters and student protest, Kapadia’s film won the Golden Eye for Best Documentary. Its dreamlike form and political edge made it a standout piece of contemporary nonfiction.

2022 – All That Breathes by Shaunak Sen

This meditative documentary followed two brothers rescuing birds in Delhi’s smog-choked skies. It won the Golden Eye award and was later nominated for an Oscar, continuing India’s documentary excellence at Cannes.

2024 – A Defining Year for India at Cannes Film Festival

• Payal Kapadia became the first Indian filmmaker to win the Grand Prix — the festival’s second-highest honour — for her debut fiction feature All We Imagine As Light. A quiet, complex portrayal of female friendship and longing in Mumbai, it cemented her place as a major auteur.

• Chidananda S Naik, a student from FTII, won the La Cinef Award for best short film for Sunflowers Were the First Ones to Know…, a surreal adaptation of a Kannada folktale.

• Anasuya Sengupta, the first Indian actor to receive the honor, won Best Actress in the Un Certain Regard section for her role in The Shameless. Her performance was fierce, vulnerable, and unforgettable.

• Santosh Sivan, one of India’s most celebrated cinematographers, was honoured with the Pierre Angénieux Tribute — a global acknowledgment of his visual genius.

Looking Ahead

From the neorealism of Pather Panchali to the experimental intimacy of All We Imagine As Light, Cannes has witnessed the evolution of Indian cinema — not as a single movement, but as a multitude of voices, styles, and regional identities. The journey continues, powered by storytellers who dare to dream beyond borders.

Indian cinema doesn’t just walk the red carpet at Cannes. It speaks. It moves. And increasingly, the world is listening.

Even our biggest “hits” are only managing a 2% footfall. That’s not just disappointing—it’s alarming.

Sure, mediocre storytelling is part of the problem. We’ve all sat through films that felt like recycled templates with no spark. And yes, audiences have become more discerning, tired of paying a premium for bland stories.

But here’s the kicker: even the good films—the ones we rave about online, the ones that critics and cinephiles love—aren’t bringing people back to theatres.

I watched Ponman—one of the most striking Malayalam films this year—in an almost-empty theatre. There were five of us in the audience. Just five.

Superboys of Malegaon? A delightful film that should’ve pulled in crowds with its charm and wit. It barely managed to break even.

So no, it’s not just about “make better films and they’ll come.” We’re dealing with a bigger shift.

Streaming Changed the Game—But the Business Model Broke It

OTT platforms didn’t just offer convenience. They rewired our relationship with movie-watching.

At the Waves Summit, actor Aamir Khan put it bluntly: the current distribution model is hurting Indian cinema. When a film lands on OTT two or three weeks after release, what incentive do people have to go to a theatre?

Why bother with traffic, parking, and pricey tickets when you can wait a fortnight and watch it on your couch?

This shortened theatrical window is part of a bigger problem—it’s made theatrical release feel optional. It’s turned cinema into content.

Aamir called for a relook at this “funny business” model. He’s right. If we don’t protect the exclusivity of theatres, we’ll lose the space entirely.

But What About Towns That Don’t Even Have Theatres?

Shah Rukh Khan, also speaking at the summit, brought up something equally crucial: access.

India has a severe theatre scarcity in smaller towns and rural areas. Many regions simply don’t have any screens nearby. Even when they do, the number of shows, the quality of facilities, and the variety of films shown are incredibly limited.

This isn’t just a gap in infrastructure—it’s a cultural disconnect. We’re denying a massive segment of the country the right to participate in cinema the way it was meant to be experienced.

We can’t talk about “bringing audiences back” without first acknowledging that many never had access in the first place.

What India needs is not just more screens, but smaller, affordable, decentralized theatres that reach every part of the country. Cinema has to go to the people, not just expect them to come to us.

Watching Movies Today Is a Luxury Experience. And Not in a Good Way

Even in the cities, where screens are plenty, theatres have slowly turned into gated experiences.

Let’s be honest: going to the movies has become a privilege. You walk into a multiplex, and it feels more like a high-end mall than a space for community entertainment.

It’s sleek, shiny, and—let’s say it—wildly overpriced.

And while we blame the middle class for “waiting for OTT,” look at the economics of going to the movies today.

A single ticket? ₹400.
A tub of popcorn? ₹350-400.
A cold drink? Add another ₹250.

Now, imagine a family of four going out for a weekend movie. You’re looking at ₹2,500–₹3,000 for a single outing. For that price, you could literally take a short vacation, or pay for several months of every major OTT subscription combined.

The economics of going to the theatre have stopped making sense. It’s no longer an accessible form of entertainment. It’s an expensive night out.

And that changes the psychology entirely. People begin asking:

“Is this movie worth going to the theatre for?”

And if the answer isn’t a resounding yes? They skip. They stream. They move on.

The Bigger Question: What Do We Want Theatres to Be in India?

This isn’t just a crisis of box office numbers. It’s a cultural turning point.

Do we want theatres to be exclusive lounges for the affluent?
Or do we want them to be shared spaces—affordable, accessible, inclusive?

If we want to protect the theatre experience, we need to do more than make “better films.” We need to rethink the entire ecosystem:

• Rethink the OTT window: Give theatres time to breathe before digital.

• Build theatres where none exist: Especially in tier 2 and 3 towns.

• Subsidize community cinema halls: Low-cost, high-volume, no-frills spaces.

• Reprice for the real India: Not everyone can pay ₹400 for a single ticket.

• Bring back the joy of watching films together: Make it feel like a celebration, not a transaction.

Because if we don’t act now, we won’t just lose footfall.
We’ll lose the soul of Indian cinema itself.

Here’s a look at some standout Indian films that are based on, inspired by, or set inside the magical (and sometimes maddening) world of the film industry.

1. Harishchandrachi Factory (2009, Marathi)

The joy and chaos of being the first.

Paresh Mokashi’s delightful biopic takes us all the way back to 1913 — when Dadasaheb Phalke was struggling to make India’s very first feature film, Raja Harishchandra. What makes this film special is its tone — instead of a dry, reverent history lesson, Harishchandrachi Factory is brimming with humor, imagination, and wide-eyed optimism. It’s not just about making a film, but about a man infected with a dream and willing to risk it all.

2. Superboys of Malegaon (2025, Hindi)

Low budget. High passion.

Few films celebrate pure love for cinema like Superboys of Malegaon (directed by Rima Kagti) does. Set in the small town of Malegaon in Maharashtra, where locals make hilarious, low-budget spoofs of Bollywood blockbusters, Superboys of Malegaon is a heartwarming tribute to grassroots creativity. It is based on real-life people from Malegaon, who have a deep passion for cinema. Despite technical limitations, the joy and ingenuity of these amateur filmmakers shine through. It’s a reminder that cinema doesn’t need a massive budget — just a massive heart.

3. Om Shanti Om (2007, Hindi)

Bollywood, but make it meta.

Farah Khan’s glitzy reincarnation drama is part love letter, part spoof, and part inside joke. Om Shanti Om has everything — 70s nostalgia, item numbers, over-the-top villains, and self-aware humor about the film industry’s obsession with fame and legacy. With Shah Rukh Khan in dual roles, it pokes fun at stardom even as it celebrates it, and the film’s iconic dialogue — "Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost!" — has become a symbol of cinematic resilience.

Also Read: 10 Movies Like Rekhachitram (Malayalam Movie)

4. Celluloid (2013, Malayalam)

Film history meets personal sacrifice.

If Harishchandrachi Factory is the Marathi tribute to India’s cinematic origins, Celluloid is its Malayalam counterpart. Directed by Kamal, this poignant biopic traces the life of J.C. Daniel, the maker of Kerala’s first film, Vigathakumaran. What unfolds is a tragic tale of erasure, caste discrimination, and forgotten legacy. It’s not just about making movies — it’s about how history chooses whose stories to remember.

5. Kaagaz Ke Phool (1959, Hindi)

Guru Dutt’s haunting farewell.

This is arguably Indian cinema’s most iconic film about the cost of filmmaking itself. In Kaagaz Ke Phool, Guru Dutt plays a once-successful director whose life and career spiral downward. Gorgeously shot in black-and-white, the film is both a cinematic marvel and a deeply personal reflection on fame, loneliness, and artistic despair. Ironically, it was a box-office failure when released, only to be celebrated decades later as a masterpiece.

6. Udayananu Tharam (2005, Malayalam)

Satire at its sharpest.

Before Jigarthanda, there was Udayananu Tharam — a film that took a scalpel to the hypocrisies and opportunism of the movie industry. Starring Mohanlal as an aspiring director whose script is stolen by his backstabbing friend, the film is filled with black comedy and biting wit. The narrative moves briskly between humor and critique, and for anyone who’s ever dreamed of making a film, it’s both a warning and a wink.

7. Varshangalkku Shesham (2024, Malayalam)

The film industry, filtered through friendship.

Vineeth Sreenivasan’s latest addition to Malayalam cinema’s metaverse takes us on a nostalgic journey through decades of movie magic. Following the bond between two friends — one a writer, the other an actor — Varshangalkku Shesham is a love letter to cinema and the people behind it. It has moments of laughter, heartbreak, and familiar echoes for anyone who has grown up watching or dreaming about movies.

8. Luck by Chance (2009, Hindi)

Where ambition meets harsh reality.

Zoya Akhtar’s debut is among the most honest portrayals of the Bollywood dream machine. Through the eyes of a struggling actor (Farhan Akhtar) and a hopeful actress (Konkona Sen Sharma), the film peels back the glitter to reveal the hustle, compromises, and chance encounters that shape careers. Smartly written and brilliantly cast, Luck by Chance doesn’t villainize the industry, but it does question the illusion it sells.

9. Jigarthanda (2014, Tamil)

A gangster film inside a film about gangsters.

Karthik Subbaraj’s wildly inventive Jigarthanda blurs the line between art and reality. When a young filmmaker decides to base his next movie on a real-life gangster, he finds himself caught in a dangerous, unpredictable game. Equal parts thriller and satire, Jigarthanda is layered, self-aware, and wickedly entertaining. It’s not just a film about filmmaking — it’s a film about how the process itself can change the creator.

10. Filmistaan (2012, Hindi)

Where cinema unites, across borders.

Set against the backdrop of Indo-Pak relations, Filmistaan follows a Bollywood-obsessed assistant director who is kidnapped and taken across the border. What unfolds is a touching tale of shared pop culture, love for Hindi films, and the absurdity of borders when it comes to fandom. With plenty of laughs and an even bigger heart, Filmistaan is a reminder that cinema has the power to transcend even the deepest divides.

From nostalgic tributes to sharp satires, Indian cinema has often turned the camera on itself, and the results have been rich, layered, and unforgettable. These films aren’t just about the glamour of movie-making; they explore the sacrifices, heartbreaks, absurdities, and absurd dreams that come with it. In doing so, they help us understand the film industry and the people and passions that keep it alive.

And maybe, in the end, all of us — movie buffs, makers, or mere spectators — are part of this sprawling, unfinished script.

Spoiler: it’s already here. And it's not just about fan art or face-swapping tools.

Globally, AI has already started playing a serious supporting role in cinema—de-aging actors (The Irishman), bringing back legacy characters (Star Wars), helping with script drafts, storyboarding, and even editing. Studios in South Korea and China are experimenting with AI-powered dubbing and marketing strategies. It’s efficient, scalable, and often surprisingly seamless.

But what about India?

What AI Could Mean for Indian Filmmaking

We’re still in the early stages—but that’s where the excitement lies. The possibilities are huge, especially in a multilingual, culturally rich industry like ours. Here are just a few areas where AI could make a real difference:

1. AI Dubbing Across Languages

India makes movies in over 20 languages. Traditionally, dubbing is time-consuming, expensive, and often lacks emotional sync. With AI-powered voice cloning and lip-syncing, a film shot in Malayalam could be released in Hindi, Tamil, or Bengali without re-recording or major editing. We’ve already seen this in action—Amitabh Bachchan’s voice in Vettaiyan was dubbed using AI to match his iconic tone in the Tamil language.

2. Better VFX & CGI at Lower Costs

AI can accelerate and simplify visual effects pipelines. Imagine indie sci-fi films that don’t need Marvel-sized budgets but still look stunning. Case in point: Gaganachari, a Malayalam indie movie, used AI tools to create visual imagery that added depth to its futuristic world. For small teams with big dreams, AI levels the playing field.

3. AI-Guided Drones & Cinematography Tools

Precision camera work with AI-guided drones could give cinematographers more flexibility, tracking shots, automated angle adjustments, and smoother movements. It could open doors to new visual styles and production efficiencies, especially in high-action or outdoor scenes.

4. Faster, Smarter Subtitling

Subtitling isn’t just about translation—it’s about tone, emotion, and context. AI can help generate more culturally aware subtitles, improving the viewing experience for both Indian and global audiences.

5. Predicting Box Office Success

Imagine feeding trailer engagement, pre-booking data, and past performance into an AI model that helps studios forecast opening numbers or identify the right cities for promotional tours. It sounds futuristic, but it’s already in the testing phase at major studios around the world.

6. Targeted Marketing, Made Smarter

AI could personalize trailers, social ads, and promotional content based on audience data—showing different versions to Gen Z on Instagram and family audiences on YouTube. It’s not just efficient, it’s incredibly strategic.

The Challenges: Walking the Tightrope Between Tech and Soul

As AI slowly enters the Indian filmmaking space, there's excitement—but also hesitation. The reason? The same tech that promises efficiency can also blur ethical lines.

Just two years ago, Hollywood came to a halt. Writers and actors went on strike, demanding protections from the rising influence of AI—concerns ranged from studios using AI to recreate actors' likenesses without consent to scripts being churned out by machines instead of storytellers. It wasn’t a subplot; it was the main story. The strikes highlighted a growing anxiety in creative communities across the world: What happens when creativity becomes code?

Even at the Oscars, AI wasn’t sidelined. Two award-winning films proudly spoke about how they integrated AI in their creative process—proving that the genie is out of the bottle, and there’s no putting it back.

In India, while the adoption is still early, the ethical and creative dilemmas remain just as relevant:

• If AI starts writing screenplays or dubbing actors' voices, where does that leave real writers or voice artists?

• If AI can predict what “works” at the box office, does it mean more formulaic, data-driven storytelling and fewer risks?

• Can AI ever replicate the emotional nuances of human direction, performance, or writing?

At its best, AI should be a creative partner—not a replacement. Filmmakers have the chance to use it as a tool to enhance stories, not erase their soul. The challenge lies in drawing that line—and defending it.

The Road Ahead

We’re not heading toward a future where AI replaces storytellers. But we are heading into a space where storytellers who understand AI will have a serious edge—faster production cycles, smarter distribution, and the freedom to experiment without burning a hole in the budget.

In the hands of a good director or writer, AI isn’t the star. It’s just another crew member—quiet, efficient, and incredibly powerful.

And in a country as diverse and dynamic as India, that’s a pretty exciting place to be.

I walked into the theatre a little unsure. Would I get all the humour? Would the cultural references fly over my head? Would it be too “local” for me to fully enjoy? But within the first 10 minutes, I knew — this movie wasn’t just made for a Tamil-speaking audience. It was made with warmth, universality, and soul.

A Story with Heart, Not Hype

Tourist Family tells the story of a Sri Lankan family who move to Chennai post-COVID, trying to escape the economic crisis back home. What follows is a heartwarming ride through the everyday trials of adjusting to a new city, finding a new home, handling family tensions, and slowly building a life — one small moment at a time.

Now, if you’re looking for earth-shattering plot twists or high-octane drama, this isn’t that film. But that’s exactly its charm. It doesn’t pretend to be anything else. It embraces its simplicity with confidence — and that sincerity makes it special.

Also Read: Best Tamil Romantic Movies of All Time

The Laughs Are Real. And Relatable.

Let’s talk humour. I was honestly worried I might miss the jokes — my Tamil isn’t great and I wasn’t sure if I’d get the nuances. But nope! The comedy is so well done, so rooted in emotion and character, that it just clicks. There’s a kind of universal humour in awkward family moments, unexpected one-liners, and lovable chaos — and Tourist Family nails it.

Also Read: 10 Best Tamil Comedy Movies of All Time

A lot of the credit goes to the performances, especially the adorable youngest child in the family, Mulli, played by Kamalesh. He’s just a little mischief magnet, and every time he appears, he steals the scene without trying too hard.

Songs That Wrap You in a Hug

Each track by Sean Roland fits beautifully into the narrative — never forced, never out of place. They lift the emotional scenes, make the funny moments even better, and stay with you long after you leave the theatre. You’ll find yourself humming along without even realizing it.

Performances That Feel Just Right

Simran and Sasikumar — oh my heart! The two play a middle-aged couple as a middle-aged couple. No unnecessary de-aging, no pretending to be college sweethearts. They are 50, and they play characters who are 50 — parents to grown-up kids, and yet full of charm, chemistry, and screen presence.

Also Read: Best Comedy Malayalam Movies That Will Live For Ages!

Honestly, it’s so refreshing to see age-appropriate casting done right. It’s empowering in a way — a reminder that actors don’t need to chase youth to stay relevant or magnetic on screen. The pairing of Simran and Shashikumar works so well, and I love that we’re seeing them together at this stage in their careers.

Relationships, Not Just Roles

What touched me the most about Tourist Family is how it handles relationships. Not just within the central family, but with the people around them — neighbours, new friends, strangers who help out. The film makes a quiet but powerful point: kindness matters. And connection matters. In every little scene, that message shines through.

It’s Not a Serious Film. And That’s Its Strength.

Some might argue that Tourist Family doesn’t dive deep into the real struggles of Sri Lankan immigrants — and that’s true. This isn’t a hard-hitting, issue-driven film. It’s not trying to be. What it is, is a warm, generous, feel-good story about family, adjustment, and the joy of small things.

It’s the kind of movie that reminds you why you love going to the movies in the first place — to laugh, to feel, to relate, to remember that there’s good in the world.

Final Thoughts

When the director Abishan Jeevinth said he wanted Tourist Family to be about kindness and love, he wasn’t kidding. That’s exactly what it delivers. I don’t remember laughing this much in a theatre in a long, long time. It was the perfect palate cleanser from the usual action-packed blockbusters — and I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction to Tamil cinema on the big screen.

So if you’re looking for a break from loud plots, from life, from the algorithm — go watch Tourist Family. Go for the laughs. Stay for the heart. Leave with a smile.

A Director’s Vision Realized

During Empuraan release, Prithviraj promised to present Lalettan in a way that fans love, but it’s Tharun Moorthy who has truly delivered on that promise. Tharun understands the delicate balance between Mohanlal the actor and Mohanlal the superstar, crafting a film that highlights both aspects with finesse. It’s not about pushing Mohanlal out of his comfort zone with experimental roles; it’s about enhancing his strengths and showing them off in the best possible light.

The Mohanlal Magic

Mohanlal’s performance in Thudarum is nothing short of masterful. He breathes life into the character effortlessly. What’s remarkable is how the film celebrates his stardom while keeping his performance grounded in authenticity.

A Stellar Supporting Cast

While Mohanlal commands the screen, the supporting cast deserves its share of praise. Prakash Varma, as the main antagonist, makes an unforgettable debut, embodying a character you love to hate. Binu Pappu delivers his career-best performance, while Shobhana brings her unique charm to the story. Her chemistry with Mohanlal is endearing, and though she could have been given a stronger “mass” angle, her presence is delightful.

Storytelling That Stays With You

The brilliance of Thudarum lies in its storytelling. The first half is a heartwarming family drama peppered with self-aware humor and nostalgic meta moments from Mohanlal. However, the tone shifts dramatically in the second half, evolving into a thrilling revenge drama packed with emotional depth. This balance keeps the audience hooked, delivering a wholesome cinematic experience.

The script is sharp, the dialogues resonate, and the "Ottakomban" references spark instant excitement. Jakes Bejoy’s music amplifies the film’s emotional beats, while Tharun Moorthy’s visuals provide a cinematic richness that lingers in your mind.

A Perfect Film? Not Exactly, But Who Cares?

Thudarum isn’t a flawless film, but it doesn’t need to be. It excels where it matters most—delivering an experience that leaves you deeply satisfied. This is the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll, the kind you want to discuss, revisit, and celebrate.

Thudarum isn’t just a movie; it’s a reminder of why we go to the theater—to feel joy, nostalgia, and the thrill of watching a star like Mohanlal in his element. For every Mohanlal fan and anyone who loves great cinema, Thudarum is a must-watch.

You’ll leave the theater smiling, replaying scenes in your head, and probably planning your next viewing. This is the Lalettan experience we’ve been missing, and Tharun Moorthy has given it to us in spades.

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1. Michael Madana Kama Rajan (1990)

Directed by Singeetam Srinivasa Rao, this cult classic is a landmark in Tamil funny movies. Kamal Haasan plays quadruplets separated at birth, each growing up in different circumstances. The film’s brilliance lies in its screenplay, which intertwines multiple storylines with humorous coincidences and confusion. With hilarious performances, impeccable comic timing, and a well-crafted script, this movie remains a must-watch for anyone who loves Tamil comedy movies. The scene where all four characters end up in the same house, causing chaos, is an iconic moment in Tamil cinema.

2. Thillu Mullu (1981)

One of Rajinikanth’s finest comedy films, Thillu Mullu is a Tamil adaptation of Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Gol Maal. Rajinikanth plays a fun-loving young man who is forced to lead a double life to impress his boss, played by Thengai Srinivasan. The movie is filled with hilarious situations, clever dialogue, and unforgettable moments, including the famous scene where Rajini fakes having a twin brother. This film is a benchmark in Tamil comedy, showcasing Rajinikanth’s comedic versatility beyond his usual action-packed roles.

3. Sathi Leelavathi (1995)

This hilarious family drama, starring Ramesh Aravind, Kalpana, and Kamal Haasan in a supporting role, revolves around a woman’s suspicion of her husband’s extramarital affair. The film’s comedy is driven by misunderstandings, witty dialogues, and an engaging storyline. Kamal Haasan’s character adds a comedic touch, while Kalpana delivers a stellar performance as the suspicious wife. With its mix of family emotions and humor, this funny Tamil movie remains a fan favorite.

4. Avvai Shanmugi (1996)

Inspired by Mrs. Doubtfire, this film features Kamal Haasan in one of his most memorable roles. He plays a father who disguises himself as an elderly woman, Avvai Shanmugi, to be close to his daughter after a bitter divorce. The film’s humor comes from his interactions with his ex-wife, boss, and nosy neighbors, who have no idea about his real identity. The movie’s makeup and performance were highly praised, making it one of the most iconic Tamil funny movies of all time.

5. Kadhala Kadhala (1998)

Directed by Singeetam Srinivasa Rao, Kadhala Kadhala is a comedy of errors that revolves around two friends, played by Kamal Haasan and Prabhu Deva, who find themselves entangled in a web of misunderstandings. With mistaken identities, hilarious chaos, and laugh-out-loud moments, this film is one of the best examples of Tamil comedy movies. Vadivelu’s performance as a frustrated bystander caught in the madness adds another layer of humor to the film.

6. Panchathanthiram (2002)

A full-fledged comedy riot, Panchathanthiram features Kamal Haasan as a man whose friends drag him into a crazy misadventure. When a one-night stand turns into a murder investigation, the group of friends tries everything to cover it up, leading to side-splitting moments. The film is filled with witty dialogue, brilliant performances, and a fast-paced screenplay that keeps the audience engaged. With a stellar supporting cast including Jayaram, Ramesh Aravind, and Yugi Sethu, this film is a must-watch for fans of Tamil comedy movies.

7. Vasool Raja MBBS (2004)

A Tamil remake of Munnabhai MBBS, this film stars Kamal Haasan as a gangster who pretends to be a doctor. The movie is packed with humor, emotional moments, and a heartwarming story. Kamal Haasan’s comic timing and Prakash Raj’s serious-yet-funny portrayal of the strict dean make this film an unforgettable, funny movie in Tamil. The bond between Vasool Raja and his sidekick, played by Crazy Mohan, provides plenty of laugh-out-loud moments.

8. Boss Engira Bhaskaran (2010)

This film, starring Arya and Santhanam, is a modern take on comedy. Arya plays a lazy and carefree youth who eventually tries to prove himself to win his love interest, played by Nayanthara. The film’s humor comes from Santhanam’s hilarious one-liners and the duo’s comic chemistry. With engaging storytelling and witty dialogues, this movie is a fantastic addition to the Tamil comedy genre.

9. Naduvula Konjam Pakkatha Kaanom (2012)

A unique comedy based on a true story, this film follows a man who loses his short-term memory just before his wedding. Vijay Sethupathi’s natural performance, combined with the film’s unconventional screenplay, makes it one of the most talked-about Tamil funny movies. The recurring phrase “Enna achu?” (What happened?) became a viral sensation, cementing the film’s place in Tamil pop culture.

10. Super Deluxe (2019)

Although not a traditional comedy, Super Deluxe blends dark humor with an engaging narrative. The film features multiple storylines, each exploring different shades of human nature in a satirical manner. With Vijay Sethupathi’s unforgettable role as a transgender woman, Fahadh Faasil’s quirky character, and Yuvan Shankar Raja’s unique background score, this film is a fresh take on comedy. The unpredictable plot and unconventional humor make it a must-watch.

Khalid Rahman’s latest outing is many things: a visual feast, a comedy at heart, and a spirited subversion of the sports drama formula. But it is also something rare—a film that deliberately refuses emotional manipulation. This is not the kind of story that lingers in your thoughts days later. It’s more like a flashy, confident performance that ends with a bow and a wink.

From the very first frame, Alappuzha Gymkhana is bursting with energy. The visuals are stunning—however, not as ambitious as his previous directorial Thallumala. Whether it’s the interiors of the gym, the alleyways of Alappuzha, or the slow-motion punches in the ring, every frame is meticulously crafted. You can see the deliberate intent behind the lighting, the colour palette, and the transitions. He’s operating in a stylized register here, closer to the grammar of music videos and video games than gritty realism. And it works, because the film never promises realism to begin with.

Naslen plays Jojo Johnson—a name that already hints at the film’s playful tone. Jojo is no prodigy. He’s not the best boxer. He doesn’t have a tragic backstory. He’s just... average. And that’s what makes his presence interesting. He’s a vehicle through which we view the world of Alappuzha Gymkhana, but the story doesn’t revolve around him alone. It’s a team story, an ensemble piece. Everyone gets their moment, their lines, their quirks. There’s no single hero here, which is a refreshing departure from the usual underdog narrative.

Most sports dramas in Indian cinema—especially regional ones—tend to lean heavily on tropes. You know the arc: the struggling athlete, the doubting coach, the dramatic injury, the last-minute win. Alappuzha Gymkhana knows that playbook too well—and chooses not to follow it. There’s no triumphant climax where the team defies all odds and wins the final match. In fact, the film barely concerns itself with the idea of winning at all. The real victory here is in the camaraderie, the humour, and the ability to look good doing what you love.

And this is where Khalid’s direction stands out. After films like Anuraga Karikkin Vellam, Unda, and Love, we’ve seen his range—he’s someone who can handle nuance, tension, and deeply human moments. But with Alappuzha Gymkhana, he seems to take a step back from depth to double down on delight. The film is airy, light-hearted, and almost unapologetically surface-level. But that doesn’t mean it lacks craft—quite the opposite. It takes a lot of control to make something feel this casual and effortless.

The film’s humour works in small, scattered bursts—situational comedy, quirky one-liners, and oddball character traits. The writing never tries too hard to be funny, which keeps the laughs coming organically. This isn't slapstick or satire; it's the kind of humour that emerges from how weird and wonderful people can be when they’re passionate about something... even if that something is losing boxing matches in style.

However, if you're someone who walks into a film expecting narrative heft or emotional payoff, Alappuzha Gymkhana might leave you wanting more. There’s a curious emptiness at its core. You laugh, you’re dazzled, but when it’s over, there’s nothing to unpack. There are no deeper revelations, no inner journeys. The film ends the moment you step out of the theatre. And that feels entirely intentional. It’s a movie built to entertain in the now.

The music, unfortunately, doesn’t quite match the visual swagger. It does its job in the background but never rises to the occasion. In a film that’s so reliant on rhythm and energy, stronger music could’ve elevated some moments even more. That said, the background score does manage to create enough momentum to keep things flowing.

One thing that deserves praise is how Alapuzha Gymkhana contributes to the largely underexplored world of sports dramas in Malayalam cinema. We haven’t had many films in this genre, and even fewer that break the mold like this. It’s not just a sports drama—it’s a genre remix. It tells us that not every sports film needs to be a journey of hardship and redemption. Sometimes, it can just be a playful, well-shot, chaotic ride through the boxing rings of a small-town club.

Final Verdict?

Alapuzha Gymkhana is not a film you carry home in your heart. It’s a film you wear like a cool jacket for a night out—stylish, sharp, and gone by morning. It’s visually slick, confidently made, and full of good laughs. Don’t go in expecting emotional resonance or a life-changing climax. Go in for the vibe, the punches, the style, and the small joys of a story that doesn’t pretend to be more than what it is.

It’s not about who wins. It’s about how cool you look when you throw the punch.

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A Story Too Scattered

Empuraan excels in many aspects, which I’ll get to towards the end. However, the film sometimes loses itself in its own ambition and expansive scale. The storytelling feels scattered, jumping between multiple locations—Gujarat, Iraq, London, and Kerala—all in quick succession. The constant shift in settings and the introduction of numerous new characters demand immense attention from the audience. And I’m not mincing words when I say that, at times, it actually gets quite tedious.

With so many subplots unfolding, the narrative struggles to maintain cohesion. The emotional connection, which was a strong element in Lucifer, feels largely absent here, except for the initial riot sequence, which is truly heartbreaking. Beyond that, the film fails to evoke much emotional engagement.

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Where Are the Goosebump Moments?

One of the biggest letdowns of Empuraan is the lack of powerful, mass moments. Think about Lucifer—who can forget the electrifying “Ninde thantha alla, ende thantha” scene or Jathin Ramdas’ goosebump-inducing speech? And of course, Mohanlal’s stunning action sequences left the audience in awe. Empuraan lacks such moments, except for Mohanlal’s grand entry scenes—one as Khureshi Abram and another as Stephen Nedumbally.

However, the problem here is that we see more of Khureshi than Stephen. While Lucifer presented Stephen Nedumbally as an enigmatic yet charismatic leader, Khureshi in Empuraan comes off as mysterious but not nearly as appealing. This shift in focus feels a little unfair, especially for fans who were eagerly waiting to see more of Stephen’s character arc.

Similarly, Manju Warrier’s role attempts to recreate the impact of Jathin Ramdas’ speech from Lucifer, but unfortunately, it falls flat.

What Works in Empuraan?

Despite its flaws, Empuraan does deliver in certain areas.

1. Mohanlal’s Star Aura – While Khureshi’s character may not be as compelling as Stephen’s, the film ensures that Mohanlal shines in his most massiest and classiest form. His two entry scenes are magnificently shot and capture his superstar presence brilliantly.

2. Prithviraj’s Direction – The real star of Empuraan is Prithviraj, the director. Handling a project of this magnitude is no easy feat, and he pulls it off with impressive precision. The film’s scale, its ambitious vision, and the sheer challenge of executing such a grand spectacle are commendable.

3. Setting a New Benchmark – Empuraan has undeniably taken Malayalam cinema to new heights. It has pushed the boundaries of what the industry can achieve, both technically and narratively.

Final Thoughts

While Empuraan may not match the theatrical experience of Lucifer (at least for me), it’s important to recognize that it is attempting something new. Expecting it to tick all the familiar boxes might not be the fairest expectation. We must give it room to evolve, especially since the story is not yet complete. With a third installment confirmed, I’m excited to see how it all comes together in the end.

If you’re planning to watch Empuraan, do so in the theatres. The scale and visual grandeur demand a big-screen experience. And for now, let’s wait and see where this ambitious saga takes us next!

A Weak and Inconsistent Storyline

The plot of Officer on Duty revolves around a gang of drug addicts who cheat women, kill their families, and even murder police officers with shocking ease—yet the authorities struggle to trace them. The believability factor here is incredibly low.

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How is it that a group of criminals with no significant political backing manages to execute multiple killings so efficiently while leaving behind little to no trace? The police, despite their resources, remain clueless until several innocent lives are lost. The entire setup feels contrived for convenience rather than built on a solid narrative foundation.

Additionally, every female victim in the film meets the same fate—suicide by hanging—except for one, Inspector Joseph’s daughter. While her reasoning is somewhat explained (believing her secret is safe), the repetition of the same tragic end for multiple victims feels like lazy storytelling. More variation and depth in character arcs would have made the plot stronger.

Poorly Written Characters

From the very first scene, the film introduces us to its lead character, Harishankar in a jarring manner. He aggressively knees a woman in the crotch—an act meant to establish his hot-headed and ruthless personality. While Officer on Duty does not necessarily glorify this moment, it fails to critique it adequately. The audience is simply expected to accept this act as part of his tough persona without any further exploration of its implications. Compare this to Mumbai Police, where a similar act of misconduct immediately establishes the protagonist’s misogynistic tendencies through strong visual storytelling. Here, however, the moment lacks the depth necessary to convey a flawed yet introspective character.

The villains, a group of drug addicts, are similarly underdeveloped. They are reduced to one-dimensional stereotypes—tattoos, eccentric hairstyles, and exaggerated accents. But what is their backstory? Harishankar, the film's lead, has some depth, but the criminals are left unexplored. How did they escape from prison? How did they rise to such a level of notoriety without significant connections? There’s a throwaway line from a nurse about two of the girls being brought in for de-addiction, but the film never follows up on it. This lack of backstory makes them feel more like caricatures than compelling antagonists.

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The Problematic Use of “Revenge Rape” as a Plot Device

This might be an uncomfortable discussion, but it needs to be addressed.

The villains in Officer on Duty were subjected to sexual violence by a corrupt police officer. In response, their form of revenge is to sexually violate the daughters of everyone who had a hand in their misery. This includes the daughter of the officer who arrested them fairly and those who merely stood in their way. Their default mode of retribution is sexual violence, which is deeply disturbing and problematic.

Using sexual violence against women as a form of revenge in storytelling is not new, but it’s a trope that needs to be critically examined—especially in a society where gender-based violence is still a major issue. The idea that revenge is best served through sexual violence, particularly against innocent women, reinforces a toxic narrative. It perpetuates the notion that women’s bodies are battlegrounds, reducing sexual violence to a transactional act rather than addressing it as the horrifying crime that it is.

Some might argue that the antagonists are drug addicts and their depravity justifies this behavior within the story. However, the issue is not just the characters’ actions but the broader cultural messaging that normalizes rape as a form of narrative retribution. This kind of storytelling has real-world consequences, shaping societal perceptions of gender and justice in harmful ways.

A Missed Opportunity in Storytelling

Shahi Kabir, the writer of Officer on Duty, has previously crafted narratives with flawed yet realistic police characters, as seen in Nayattu. His experience as a former police officer often lends authenticity to his stories. In Officer on Duty, the protagonist Harishankar is a dynamic officer weighed down by his own traumatic past. Such portrayals break away from the hyper-masculine hero archetype and add layers of realism.

That being said, while the film successfully delivers thrilling action and has been a commercial success, its storytelling remains limited. The weak plot, underdeveloped characters, and problematic narrative choices prevent Officer on Duty from being truly great.

These are just my thoughts—what did you think about Officer on Duty? Let me know in the comments below.

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The Padmarajan Signature: Love, Longing, and the Forbidden

From Thoovanathumbikal to Namukku Parkkan Munthiri Thoppukal, Padmarajan explored love that defied conventions. His characters longed for something just out of reach, be it an unattainable romance, a forbidden attraction, or a mysterious stranger who turns one’s world upside down. In Njan Gandharvan, this longing transcends mortality itself—Bhama’s love for the Gandharvan is doomed from the very start, yet she embraces it anyway. It’s as if Padmarajan was telling us that love, in its purest form, is never about permanence but about experience.

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A Shift from Realism to Mythical Romance

Padmarajan was a master of grounded, human stories. So why did he suddenly turn to mythology and fantasy? Some believe Njan Gandharvan was his personal exploration of storytelling beyond reality. It wasn’t just about a Gandharva falling in love with a woman—it was about emotions that transcend time and space, just like the mythological beings who exist beyond our mortal world. The movie was his most ambitious project, breaking away from the realism that defined his earlier films. Yet, at its core, it was still unmistakably Padmarajan—melancholic, deeply intimate, and layered with meaning.

The Tragic Timing: An Unfinished Conversation

Did Padmarajan say everything he wanted to?

That question looms over Njan Gandharvan like a shadow. Just a week after its release, he passed away unexpectedly, leaving behind a film that many believe was only half the story. There have been long-standing rumors that Padmarajan had ideas for a sequel—one that would explore the consequences of Bhama’s actions and Gandharvan’s fate. While there is no documented script or official confirmation, many believe that the story was left incomplete, making the film’s mysterious aura even stronger. Would it have answered all the questions? Or would it have remained as enigmatic as the first film? We’ll never know, and perhaps that’s the film’s greatest mystery.

The Gandharva Curse: A Myth or a Tragic Reality?

No discussion about Njan Gandharvan is complete without mentioning the eerie legends surrounding its production. According to those involved in the film and Padmarajan’s wife Radhalakshmi Padmarajan, the shoot was plagued with unexplained difficulties right from the beginning – unexpected production delays, non-fatal accidents and so on. The most chilling rumor? The so-called Gandharva Curse.

Mythology states that Gandharvas do not like their secrets being revealed to mortals. Many believe that attempting to depict their world on screen angered these celestial beings, resulting in a string of misfortunes. The most unsettling theory? That the curse claimed Padmarajan himself. His untimely death, just months after the movie’s release, is still whispered about in hushed tones. Coincidence, or something more? We may never know, but the legend only adds to the film’s haunting aura.

The Film’s Legacy: A Cult Classic, Misunderstood in Its Time

Like many great works, Njan Gandharvan wasn’t fully appreciated when it was first released, something that had really upset Padmarajan. It had a mixed critical reception and wasn’t a commercial success. But over the years, it has achieved cult status. Newer generations have embraced it as a poetic, one-of-a-kind film that stands apart in Malayalam cinema. Today, it is not just remembered as Padmarajan’s last film but as one of his most unique, ambitious, and enigmatic works.

A Love Story That Echoes Beyond Time

Much like Bhama waiting for her celestial lover, audiences of Njan Gandharvan are left yearning—for answers, for closure, for a sequel that will never come. Perhaps that was Padmarajan’s intention all along—to leave us with a love story that feels as transient and eternal as a Gandharvan’s touch.

So, was Njan Gandharvan Padmarajan’s final masterpiece, or an unfinished dream? Maybe it was both. And maybe, just like all great love stories, it is meant to remain beautifully incomplete.

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A Performance for the Ages – Athish as Mithya

It’s rare for a child actor to outshine a seasoned cast, but Athish, in his role as Mithya, delivers a performance that lingers long after the credits roll. Unlike conventional portrayals of grief, Mithya does not break down or express his sorrow in dramatic bursts. Instead, his pain is internalized—manifesting in his distant stares, hesitant interactions, and moments of quiet rebellion. His performance is one of subtlety and restraint, allowing the audience to feel his emotional weight rather than being explicitly shown it.

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Mithya is a Story of Duality and Displacement

Mithya, an 11-year-old boy, arrives in Udupi from Mumbai after a tragic event upends his life. He is sent to live with his mother’s sister, a transition that is as disorienting emotionally as it is geographically. The film slowly unveils the haunting backstory—his mother allegedly poisoned his father and then took her own life. This revelation is handled with immense sensitivity, unfolding in fragments that allow the audience to process the tragedy alongside the protagonist.

Mithya is torn between two homes, two families, and two languages. The cultural and linguistic shift from Mumbai to Udupi adds another layer to his alienation. He struggles to adjust to the new environment, unfamiliar customs, and relationships that feel both warm and distant. As the film progresses, we witness his gradual loss of innocence—every interaction, every small moment contributing to the emotional burden he carries.

Character-Driven Storytelling and the Power of Restraint

Mithya thrives on character development, making us deeply invested in the protagonist’s journey. It does not rely on melodrama or exaggerated plot twists but instead chooses a more organic and immersive approach. Every conversation, every glance, and every silence carries meaning, shaping Mithya’s transformation. The slow-burning narrative ensures that the emotional weight of the story is never rushed or forced.

The supporting characters, particularly Mithya’s aunt, play crucial roles in his emotional journey. They provide warmth, yet they also unknowingly contribute to his sense of displacement, as their attempts to comfort him fail to bridge the emotional chasm he feels inside.

A Longing for Healing

By the time the film reaches its conclusion, we are left with an aching hope—for Mithya to find peace, for him to emerge stronger, calmer, and happier. The film does not offer an easy resolution, which makes it all the more poignant. Instead, it leaves us with an understanding of grief’s lingering presence and the resilience required to move forward.

Mithya is a deeply moving cinematic experience that explores loss, identity, and the struggles of a child caught between worlds. Athish delivers an unforgettable performance, carrying the film with maturity beyond his years. The film’s measured pacing and emphasis on character-driven storytelling may not cater to all audiences, but for those willing to immerse themselves in its emotional depths, Mithya is a profoundly rewarding watch.

A haunting yet hopeful tale, Mithya is one of the most powerful Indian films of the year—a testament to the strength of cinema in portraying the quiet, painful, yet ultimately resilient human experience.

If Rekhachitram intrigued you with its layered narrative, psychological depth, and self-referential style, here are 10 other films that offer a similar experience—movies that mix mystery, cinema, and the human psyche in fascinating ways.

1. Yavanika (1982) – A Disappearance, a Mystery, and the World of Theater

One of K.G. George’s finest works, Yavanika is a gripping investigative thriller set within a traveling theater troupe. When a tabla player, Ayyappan (Bharath Gopy), mysteriously disappears, an inspector begins unraveling the secrets of the troupe. The film is more than a mere police procedural; it’s an exploration of power, abuse, and the hidden lives of performers. Much like Rekhachitram, it questions the dual lives people lead—on stage and off stage.

2. Lekhayude Maranam Oru Flashback (1983) – A Fictionalized Real-Life Tragedy

Loosely inspired by the tragic suicide of actress Shoba, this film peels back the glamour of cinema to reveal its dark, exploitative side. It follows a young actress, Lekha, whose rise to stardom is accompanied by intense pressures from the industry, leading to her untimely death. Director KG George creates a haunting, semi-documentary-like narrative that makes us wonder: how much of what we see in cinema is real, and how much is fabricated?

3. Crime File (1999) – A Murder Mystery with Real-Life Parallels

Based on the infamous Sister Abhaya murder case, Crime File is a suspenseful investigative thriller. When a young nun is found dead under suspicious circumstances, the case unfolds through the eyes of two investigating officers. The film keeps audiences guessing, offering multiple perspectives on the crime. Like Rekhachitram, it thrives on ambiguity, challenging us to differentiate between fact and manipulated narratives.

4. Uttaram (1989) – A Writer, a Secret, and the Ghosts of the Past

A celebrated writer, Malathi Menon, dies by suicide, and journalist Balachandran (Mammootty) is drawn into uncovering the truth behind her death. As he digs deeper, he discovers shocking secrets about her life and relationships. What starts as a simple investigation turns into an existential exploration of identity, morality, and the pressures faced by women in male-dominated spaces. If Rekhachitram intrigued you with its layers of deception and personal demons, Uttaram will do the same.

5. Om Shanti Om (2007) – Cinema, Stardom, and Reincarnation

A Bollywood masala film might seem like an odd addition to this list, but Om Shanti Om plays with the same themes of illusion and reality. The story follows Om (Shah Rukh Khan), a junior artist in the 1970s, who is murdered and reincarnated as a superstar. As he remembers his past life, the film cleverly critiques the superficiality of stardom and the dark underbelly of the film industry. Beneath the song-and-dance spectacle, it’s a self-aware movie about movies, just like Rekhachitram.

6. Aattam (2023) – A Stage, a Performance, and Hidden Truths

Set entirely in a theater, Aattam is an intimate drama about a group of actors confronting an uncomfortable truth about one of their own. As accusations fly and friendships strain, the boundaries between performance and reality start to blur. The film’s claustrophobic setting and intense dialogues make it feel like a psychological experiment in human behavior. If Rekhachitram fascinated you with its play on perception, Aattam will keep you hooked.

7. Kooman (2022) – A Thriller Where the Protagonist Is the Mystery

From Drishyam director Jeethu Joseph, Kooman is a psychological thriller that keeps you guessing. It follows a police officer (Asif Ali) with a troubled past, whose actions make him both a hero and a suspect. The film masterfully manipulates audience perception, making you question whether he is solving a crime—or hiding one. Like Rekhachitram, it thrives on an unreliable protagonist, where every revelation forces you to rethink the story.

8. Luca (2019) – Art, Mystery, and a Hidden Story

A young police officer discovers the journal of a reclusive artist named Luca, and as he reads through its pages, a love story unfolds—one filled with secrets, pain, and a hidden tragedy. The film switches between past and present, using art as a medium to unravel emotions. Much like Rekhachitram, it blends mystery with deeply personal storytelling, showing how art and real life intertwine in unexpected ways.

9. Joseph (2018) – A Man’s Past, a Mystery, and an Emotional Journey

A retired police officer with an extraordinary ability to solve crimes finds himself investigating a case that strikes close to home. As he digs deeper, he is forced to confront his own past, leading to a heartbreaking revelation. Joseph streaming on Amazon Prime isn’t just a thriller—it’s a poignant look at loss, guilt, and redemption. If you liked Rekhachitram for its introspective approach to crime and personal demons, Joseph will leave a similar impact.

10. Kishkindhakandam (2024) – Myth, Meta-Narratives, and the Power of Stories

One of the most unique Malayalam films in recent years, Kishkindhakandam weaves together elements of mythology, literature, and crime. The film follows a writer investigating a missing-person case, but the deeper he digs, the more he realizes he is part of the very story he is trying to tell. The film breaks conventional storytelling methods, much like Rekhachitram, leaving audiences questioning what is real and what is fiction.

Movies like Rekhachitram challenge the way we engage with cinema. They break the fourth wall, twist narratives, and force us to see films as more than just entertainment. They make us think.

Which of these have you watched? Do you have any other films that belong on this list? Let’s talk in the comments.