Thandakaaranyam: A Gritty Spiral into Systemic Shadows, But Does It Emerge from the Thicket?In the dense undergrowth of Tamil cinema's socio-political dramas, where films like Viduthalai and Jai Bhim hack through the vines of injustice, Thandakaaranyam emerges as a thorny contender. Directed by Athiyan Athirai—whose debut Irandam Ulaga Porin Kadaisi Gundu (2020) blended raw poetry with unflinching realism—this sophomore effort clocks in at 130 minutes and hit screens on September 19, 2025, under Pa. Ranjith's Neelam Productions banner. Billed as a drama-thriller inspired by the 2014 fake Naxal surrender scam in Chhattisgarh's tribal belts, it intertwines the dreams of forest-dwellers with the brutal machinery of state oppression. Starring V.R. Dinesh and Kalaiyarasan in dual-lead roles, the film probes how the "jungle" of bureaucracy devours the innocent. But in a year craving bold narratives, does Thandakaaranyam carve a path worth treading, or does it get lost in its own foliage? Let's venture in.
The film unfurls in the eponymous "Thandakaaranyam"—a metaphorical and literal thicket of tribal lands where the air hums with unspoken grievances. We meet the brothers: Sadaiyan (Dinesh), a fiery rebel branded "anti-social" by authorities for protesting land encroachments, and Murugan (Kalaiyarasan), the idealistic younger sibling clinging to a forest ranger job that's more curse than calling. When Murugan loses his post amid corrupt evictions—echoing real headlines of Adivasi displacements—the duo's worlds collide. Sadaiyan, ever the protector, pushes Murugan toward a lifeline: enlisting in a special anti-Naxal commando unit.
What follows is a harrowing odyssey through military training camps, where patriotism is peddled like snake oil, and "encounters" blur into executions. Athirai's screenplay, coiling around dual timelines, masterfully contrasts the brothers' arcs: Sadaiyan's descent into defiance against exploitative officials, and Murugan's ascent into a system that chews up its foot soldiers. The opening montage, shot amid Chhattisgarh's sal forests, sets a visceral tone—rustling leaves masking the crack of rifles, tribal chants underscoring eviction raids. It's a prelude that grips like a noose, reminding us that in these "dark forests," survival is rebellion.
Athirai, drawing from Pa. Ranjith's ethos of amplifying marginalized voices, doesn't shy from the scam's ugliness: fake surrenders staged for promotions, where innocents are branded militants, "killed," and claimed as trophies. Murugan's training sequences pulse with authenticity—grueling drills under monsoons, ideological indoctrination via propaganda reels—exposing the military's underbelly without demonizing it outright. Kalaiyarasan's Murugan evolves from wide-eyed recruit to shattered survivor, his physical transformation (bulked-up frame etched with scars) mirroring the emotional toll. A standout scene sees him reciting tribal lore during a drill, only for it to be mocked as "Naxal propaganda," a poignant jab at cultural erasure. Dinesh's Sadaiyan, meanwhile, is a powder keg of quiet fury; his confrontations with sleazy bureaucrats (led by a menacing Shabeer Kallarakkal) crackle with restrained rage, evoking Kaala's underdog spirit. Supporting players flesh out the ecosystem: Rithvika as Murugan's resilient partner adds emotional anchors, while Bala Saravanan dials back his comic flair for a sincere turn as a jaded comrade, injecting levity without undercutting the gravity. Vettai Muthukumar and Vinsu round out the ensemble, their vignettes painting a lived-in portrait of tribal life—feasts amid famine, songs silenced by sirens.
Visually, Thandakaaranyam is a triumph of immersion. Cinematographer Pratheep Kaliraja wields the lens like a machete, carving through mist-shrouded jungles and stark barracks with earthy palettes—ochres and greens bleeding into gunmetal grays. Handheld shots during raids evoke the chaos of Beasts Clawing at Straws, while wide lenses capture the forests' oppressive vastness, symbolizing isolation. Editing by Selva R.K. maintains a taut rhythm in the first half, intercutting brotherly banter with escalating threats, though the post-interval sprawl occasionally loosens the grip. Justin Prabhakaran's score is the film's heartbeat: folk-infused strings swell during rituals, morphing into dissonant percussion for ambushes, with the title track—a haunting Adivasi melody—lingering like smoke. Action, choreographed by Stunner Sam and team, favors realism over spectacle; no balletic slow-mo here, just brutal, bone-crunching realism that leaves bruises on the audience. Production design by T. Ramalingam nails the dichotomy—rustic thatched homes versus sterile camps—grounding the allegory in tangible grit.
Yet, for all its thematic heft, Thandakaaranyam stumbles in the thicket of execution. The second half, ambitious in layering the scam's revelations, buckles under melodramatic excess. Lengthy monologues on oppression—while intellectually potent—harden into sermons, diluting the narrative's propulsion. Murugan's arc, promising a deconstruction of "heroic" militarism, veers into trope-laden redemption, with contrived twists (a last-minute alliance feels shoehorned) undermining the authenticity. Sadaiyan's rebellion, potent in theory, lacks the nuanced fallout one expects from Athirai's pen; resolutions arrive neatly, glossing over the scam's systemic rot. At 130 minutes, it could trim 15 for sharper impact—echoing critiques of overreach in similar fare like Soorarai Pottru. The film name-drops real events but skimps on specifics, risking superficiality amid its didactic lean. Athirai's vision—fierce and unapologetic—clashes with uneven pacing, turning potential gut-punches into glancing blows.
Users lauded Kalaiyarasan's "career-best" intensity and Prabhakaran's BGM as "extraordinary," with hashtags like #ThandakaaranyamReview trending for its "unflinching honesty." Letterboxd and Reddit threads echo acclaim for the "raw chapter" on Adivasi struggles, dubbing it "essential viewing" akin to Kaala, though some flagged "scattered narratives." Critics are split: The Hindu hails it as an "arresting spiral of systemic oppression," with Kalaiyarasan and Shabeer "shining" in the "emotionally heavy" drama (4/5). Times of India notes "steady performances" but mixed signals (3/5), while Cinema Express laments "right ingredients in wrong proportions," citing melodrama (2.5/5). IMDb's early 7.2/10 reflects enthusiasm, buoyed by word-of-mouth for its relevance amid ongoing tribal rights debates. Box office buzz suggests a steady opener in Tamil Nadu, with multiplexes reporting 60% occupancy on day one, though mass circuits await weekend traction.
In the end, Thandakaaranyam is a valiant foray into cinema's thorniest terrains—a film that roars against the machine but occasionally snarls at its own tail. Athirai cements his promise as a voice for the voiceless, blending Pa. Ranjith's fire with personal poetry, while Dinesh and Kalaiyarasan deliver turns that haunt. It's not seamless; the sprawl saps some sting, and preachiness preempts provocation. Yet, in an industry often entangled in escapism, this is a clarion call worth heeding—a reminder that true heroism blooms not in uniforms, but in the shadows they cast. Venture into the thicket; just brace for the brambles.
Verdict: 3.25/5
The film unfurls in the eponymous "Thandakaaranyam"—a metaphorical and literal thicket of tribal lands where the air hums with unspoken grievances. We meet the brothers: Sadaiyan (Dinesh), a fiery rebel branded "anti-social" by authorities for protesting land encroachments, and Murugan (Kalaiyarasan), the idealistic younger sibling clinging to a forest ranger job that's more curse than calling. When Murugan loses his post amid corrupt evictions—echoing real headlines of Adivasi displacements—the duo's worlds collide. Sadaiyan, ever the protector, pushes Murugan toward a lifeline: enlisting in a special anti-Naxal commando unit.
What follows is a harrowing odyssey through military training camps, where patriotism is peddled like snake oil, and "encounters" blur into executions. Athirai's screenplay, coiling around dual timelines, masterfully contrasts the brothers' arcs: Sadaiyan's descent into defiance against exploitative officials, and Murugan's ascent into a system that chews up its foot soldiers. The opening montage, shot amid Chhattisgarh's sal forests, sets a visceral tone—rustling leaves masking the crack of rifles, tribal chants underscoring eviction raids. It's a prelude that grips like a noose, reminding us that in these "dark forests," survival is rebellion.
Athirai, drawing from Pa. Ranjith's ethos of amplifying marginalized voices, doesn't shy from the scam's ugliness: fake surrenders staged for promotions, where innocents are branded militants, "killed," and claimed as trophies. Murugan's training sequences pulse with authenticity—grueling drills under monsoons, ideological indoctrination via propaganda reels—exposing the military's underbelly without demonizing it outright. Kalaiyarasan's Murugan evolves from wide-eyed recruit to shattered survivor, his physical transformation (bulked-up frame etched with scars) mirroring the emotional toll. A standout scene sees him reciting tribal lore during a drill, only for it to be mocked as "Naxal propaganda," a poignant jab at cultural erasure. Dinesh's Sadaiyan, meanwhile, is a powder keg of quiet fury; his confrontations with sleazy bureaucrats (led by a menacing Shabeer Kallarakkal) crackle with restrained rage, evoking Kaala's underdog spirit. Supporting players flesh out the ecosystem: Rithvika as Murugan's resilient partner adds emotional anchors, while Bala Saravanan dials back his comic flair for a sincere turn as a jaded comrade, injecting levity without undercutting the gravity. Vettai Muthukumar and Vinsu round out the ensemble, their vignettes painting a lived-in portrait of tribal life—feasts amid famine, songs silenced by sirens.
Visually, Thandakaaranyam is a triumph of immersion. Cinematographer Pratheep Kaliraja wields the lens like a machete, carving through mist-shrouded jungles and stark barracks with earthy palettes—ochres and greens bleeding into gunmetal grays. Handheld shots during raids evoke the chaos of Beasts Clawing at Straws, while wide lenses capture the forests' oppressive vastness, symbolizing isolation. Editing by Selva R.K. maintains a taut rhythm in the first half, intercutting brotherly banter with escalating threats, though the post-interval sprawl occasionally loosens the grip. Justin Prabhakaran's score is the film's heartbeat: folk-infused strings swell during rituals, morphing into dissonant percussion for ambushes, with the title track—a haunting Adivasi melody—lingering like smoke. Action, choreographed by Stunner Sam and team, favors realism over spectacle; no balletic slow-mo here, just brutal, bone-crunching realism that leaves bruises on the audience. Production design by T. Ramalingam nails the dichotomy—rustic thatched homes versus sterile camps—grounding the allegory in tangible grit.
Yet, for all its thematic heft, Thandakaaranyam stumbles in the thicket of execution. The second half, ambitious in layering the scam's revelations, buckles under melodramatic excess. Lengthy monologues on oppression—while intellectually potent—harden into sermons, diluting the narrative's propulsion. Murugan's arc, promising a deconstruction of "heroic" militarism, veers into trope-laden redemption, with contrived twists (a last-minute alliance feels shoehorned) undermining the authenticity. Sadaiyan's rebellion, potent in theory, lacks the nuanced fallout one expects from Athirai's pen; resolutions arrive neatly, glossing over the scam's systemic rot. At 130 minutes, it could trim 15 for sharper impact—echoing critiques of overreach in similar fare like Soorarai Pottru. The film name-drops real events but skimps on specifics, risking superficiality amid its didactic lean. Athirai's vision—fierce and unapologetic—clashes with uneven pacing, turning potential gut-punches into glancing blows.
Users lauded Kalaiyarasan's "career-best" intensity and Prabhakaran's BGM as "extraordinary," with hashtags like #ThandakaaranyamReview trending for its "unflinching honesty." Letterboxd and Reddit threads echo acclaim for the "raw chapter" on Adivasi struggles, dubbing it "essential viewing" akin to Kaala, though some flagged "scattered narratives." Critics are split: The Hindu hails it as an "arresting spiral of systemic oppression," with Kalaiyarasan and Shabeer "shining" in the "emotionally heavy" drama (4/5). Times of India notes "steady performances" but mixed signals (3/5), while Cinema Express laments "right ingredients in wrong proportions," citing melodrama (2.5/5). IMDb's early 7.2/10 reflects enthusiasm, buoyed by word-of-mouth for its relevance amid ongoing tribal rights debates. Box office buzz suggests a steady opener in Tamil Nadu, with multiplexes reporting 60% occupancy on day one, though mass circuits await weekend traction.
In the end, Thandakaaranyam is a valiant foray into cinema's thorniest terrains—a film that roars against the machine but occasionally snarls at its own tail. Athirai cements his promise as a voice for the voiceless, blending Pa. Ranjith's fire with personal poetry, while Dinesh and Kalaiyarasan deliver turns that haunt. It's not seamless; the sprawl saps some sting, and preachiness preempts provocation. Yet, in an industry often entangled in escapism, this is a clarion call worth heeding—a reminder that true heroism blooms not in uniforms, but in the shadows they cast. Venture into the thicket; just brace for the brambles.
Verdict: 3.25/5