Prathyush Parasuraman
As in, like a door swinging without its hinges, lubrication, or jamb; directionless, reckless, without design, only gravity (maybe not even that) and the propulsive force of its splintered wood.
It is writer-director Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s revenge-bod after Arjun Reddy (2017) and Kabir Singh (2019), his rebound that is designed to make this ex look smaller, frailer. At the feminists, he is smirking.Let me make a film where sexism is the least abrasive lashing.
You don’t. It works as scenes strung together. Your lunge towards one scene having little or no provocation on your receding from the next. The film flashes as discrete images of masculine rupture.
In the midst of this much-ness, if you breathe and pause, you sense something uncanny, that the story is actually very small and feeble. That it was yanked and stretched and peppered and lathered and screwed with and over till it resembles a much-ness.
but Vanga wants to layer it till the very foundation collapses. So a revenge begets a counter revenge, wiggled by some internal conspiracy, all of which flowers a mute Bobby Deol in the second half.
Every time you think you have pinned him to an intention, he will swerve around you. The scene’s intention flip to twist our ideological arms into ambivalence. It is constantly playing games with you, toying with your perceptions, never letting anything sink its teeth.