Prathyush Parasuraman
Ganapath is in the running for one of the ugliest films of our time. Sand doesn’t look like sand, wire mesh doesn’t look like wire mesh, cities don’t look like cities, houses don’t look like houses
Ganapath besides being a visual aberration is also a narrative nail-on-the-chalkboard — screeching, loud, and after a point, unbearable. Fights pile on fights which have neither narrative direction nor emotional texture.
a tapestry of acrobatics reverse-engineered from his puzzle-pieced abs, his martial arts training, his apan-tapan playfulness, and an impossibly dull and misguided conviction that action is enough.
His filmography is defined by that chasm, the way he was unable to lift Shaandaar (2015) into the campy shriek, Super 30 (2019) into a masala pourri, and the web series Sunflower into a deadpan upper.
Ganapath is trying constantly to be sleek, camp, to produce futurism and dystopia, to produce both romance and action, to infuse masala in muscle, and raunch in romance.