Kaantha: A Cinematic Powder Keg That Flickers But Doesn't Fully IgniteIn the dim, rain-slicked corridors of 1950s Madras, where the clack of wooden clappers echoes like thunder and the scent of celluloid hangs heavy in the air, Kaantha unfolds like a half-remembered reel from Tamil cinema's golden age. Directed by debutant Selvamani Selvaraj, this period drama-thriller isn't just a film; it's a meta-tribute to the art form itself—a story about making stories, where egos clash like cymbals in a mythological epic, and the line between reel and real blurs into something dangerously intoxicating.
Starring Dulquer Salmaan as the magnetic TK Mahadevan, Samuthirakani as the brooding director Ayya, Bhagyashri Borse as the enigmatic Kumari, and Rana Daggubati as the enigmatic cop Phoenix, Kaantha promises a heady brew of psychological tension, noir intrigue, and nostalgic glamour. Released on November 14, 2025, in Tamil, Telugu, and dubbed versions, it clocks in at a leisurely 163 minutes that test patience as much as they reward immersion. Does it deliver the knockout blow of a classic, or fizzle like a dud prop gun? Let's unspool the reel.The film opens with a bang—or rather, two gunshots that reverberate through Modern Studios, pulling us into a world of shadows and spotlights.
It's a cold open straight out of a Sriram Raghavan playbook, reminiscent of Johnny Gaddar, but laced with the theatricality of 1950s Tamil cinema. We flash back to the heart of the matter: Ayya, a visionary director haunted by a stalled dream project titled Shaantha, reunites with his protégé-turned-superstar, TK Mahadevan. A decade earlier, Ayya plucked Mahadevan from obscurity, molding him into "Nata Chakravarthy," the emperor of the stage. But fame is a fickle guru, and now Mahadevan arrives on set like a conquering hero, rewriting the script, renaming the film Kaantha (evoking the mythical noose of fate), and seizing directorial reins to center himself in the narrative. Caught in this patriarchal tug-of-war is Kumari, the wide-eyed debutante heroine whose quiet allegiance to Ayya's vision ignites the powder keg.
Selvaraj's screenplay, a cocktail of psychological drama and whodunnit, thrives on this central conflict. It's a fascinating dissection of power dynamics in early Indian cinema—mentors betrayed by their muses, stars eclipsing their creators, and the invisible strings of ego that puppet them all. Whispers link Kaantha to the life of M.K. Thyagaraja Bhagavathar, Tamil cinema's first superstar, or even the tragic Balu Mahendra-Shoba saga, but the filmmakers insist it's original fiction. Yet, the authenticity sings: scenes of raw rehearsals, where actors chew scenery with exaggerated flair, capture the era's heightened sensibilities. Mahadevan's monologues, delivered with Dulquer's lyrical cadence, feel like lost verses from a K. Balachander play. And when a real bullet pierces the film's climax shoot—turning the set into a crime scene—the genre pivot to investigation thriller lands with a jolt, probing who pulled the trigger and why.
Visually, Kaantha is a feast, a love letter to the monochrome magic of yesteryear. Cinematographer Dani Sánchez López wields the camera like a time machine, shifting from lush color for the present-day framing to sepia-tinted flashbacks and an anamorphic black-and-white for the film-within-the-film. Every frame drips with period detail: the creak of wooden reels, the haze of cigarette smoke curling around arc lights, the opulent art deco sets of Madras studios that evoke Mahanati or Jubilee. Production designer Ramalingam recreates 1950s Tamil Nadu with meticulous care—bullock carts jostling with Ambassador cars, women in Kanjeevaram saris gliding through monsoon-drenched streets. It's a world that feels alive, almost tactile, making you forget the green-screen sleight-of-hand.
The true spark, however, lies in the performances, which elevate Kaantha from good to unforgettable. Dulquer Salmaan is a revelation, delivering what many call his career-best turn. As Mahadevan, he toggles masterfully between the bombast of on-screen bravado—think wide-eyed anguish in a rain-soaked melodrama—and the subtle narcissism off-camera, where a tilted smile conceals daggers. It's a high-wire act: Dulquer channels Bhagavathar's charisma without caricature, infusing the role with shades of vulnerability that make you ache for the man behind the myth. Samuthirakani, as Ayya, brings a gravitas that's equal parts paternal warmth and simmering malice; his quiet outbursts, born of betrayal, linger like a poorly dubbed line. Bhagyashri Borse, in a stunning Tamil debut (and a comeback after duds like Mr. Bachchan), is the film's emotional core. As Kumari, she embodies fragile ambition—expressive eyes that betray unspoken traumas, a poise that masks the collateral damage of male egos. Her chemistry with Dulquer crackles with ambiguity: Is it love, or just another scene they're playing? Rana Daggubati, as the theatrical cop Phoenix, injects timely relief with his booming presence, though some find his flair stretches credibility into camp. Together, they form a quartet that sells the film's soul, making the interpersonal drama hum even when the plot stutters.
Yet, for all its brilliance, Kaantha is an uneven reel. The first half simmers beautifully, building tension through ego clashes and stolen glances, but the post-interval investigation drags like an unedited rush print. What starts as a taut psychological cage match devolves into a predictable whodunnit, with clues telegraphed and resolutions that feel more procedural than profound. Pacing issues abound—the runtime could shed 20 minutes without losing a frame—and the screenplay's genre mash-up occasionally trips over itself. Songs by Jhanu Chanthar are soothing period pieces, evoking the lilting melodies of MS Subbulakshmi, but they halt momentum rather than propel it. Jakes Bejoy's background score, however, is a triumph: haunting strings that underscore the noir underbelly, swelling to orchestral fury during confrontations. Editor Llewellyn Anthony Gonsalvez trims with restraint, but tighter cuts could have amplified the suspense.
Thematically, Kaantha probes deeper than mere backstage gossip. It's a meditation on art's double edge: How creation devours its creators, how applause can corrupt craft, and how women like Kumari become footnotes in men's legacies. In one meta flourish, Ayya muses about Tamil's first horror film, inspired by his own ghosts—a nod to the era's shift from myth to modernity. Selvaraj draws from masters like Balu Mahendra and Wong Kar-wai, infusing the narrative with a Wong-ian fatalism: Everyone's trapped in their roles, reciting lines they can't escape. It's politically incorrect in its unapologetic gaze at male fragility—Mahadevan's possessiveness borders on toxic, Ayya's resentment on villainy—yet substantiated by the era's historical truths, where stars wielded godlike power and heroines bore the brunt.Social media buzz post-release mirrors this duality.
Praise for Dulquer's "acting masterclass" and Borse's "career-defining debut," with fans calling it "a must-watch for cinephiles." Reddit's r/tollywood hails the "focus-driven" engagement, rating it 3.25/5 for its hit-and-miss thriller beats. Critics are split: India Today laments the "plummeting momentum," while The Hindu applauds its "flashes of brilliance." Box office whispers suggest a strong opening—Rs 35-40 crore net in India—buoyed by Dulquer's pan-India pull and Rana's producer clout.
Ultimately, Kaantha glitters like fool's gold: visually opulent, performatively electric, but narratively flawed. It's not the flawless classic it aspires to be—no Iruvar or Nayakan—but for those who savor slow-burn indulgences, it's a worthy detour into cinema's underbelly. Watch it in a theater with a good screen; the big canvas amplifies its ambitions. In a year of bombast, Kaantha reminds us why we fell for films in the first place: not for the applause, but for the shadows where truth hides.
Rating: 3.25/5. Reel it in—if you've got the patience.
Starring Dulquer Salmaan as the magnetic TK Mahadevan, Samuthirakani as the brooding director Ayya, Bhagyashri Borse as the enigmatic Kumari, and Rana Daggubati as the enigmatic cop Phoenix, Kaantha promises a heady brew of psychological tension, noir intrigue, and nostalgic glamour. Released on November 14, 2025, in Tamil, Telugu, and dubbed versions, it clocks in at a leisurely 163 minutes that test patience as much as they reward immersion. Does it deliver the knockout blow of a classic, or fizzle like a dud prop gun? Let's unspool the reel.The film opens with a bang—or rather, two gunshots that reverberate through Modern Studios, pulling us into a world of shadows and spotlights.
It's a cold open straight out of a Sriram Raghavan playbook, reminiscent of Johnny Gaddar, but laced with the theatricality of 1950s Tamil cinema. We flash back to the heart of the matter: Ayya, a visionary director haunted by a stalled dream project titled Shaantha, reunites with his protégé-turned-superstar, TK Mahadevan. A decade earlier, Ayya plucked Mahadevan from obscurity, molding him into "Nata Chakravarthy," the emperor of the stage. But fame is a fickle guru, and now Mahadevan arrives on set like a conquering hero, rewriting the script, renaming the film Kaantha (evoking the mythical noose of fate), and seizing directorial reins to center himself in the narrative. Caught in this patriarchal tug-of-war is Kumari, the wide-eyed debutante heroine whose quiet allegiance to Ayya's vision ignites the powder keg.
Selvaraj's screenplay, a cocktail of psychological drama and whodunnit, thrives on this central conflict. It's a fascinating dissection of power dynamics in early Indian cinema—mentors betrayed by their muses, stars eclipsing their creators, and the invisible strings of ego that puppet them all. Whispers link Kaantha to the life of M.K. Thyagaraja Bhagavathar, Tamil cinema's first superstar, or even the tragic Balu Mahendra-Shoba saga, but the filmmakers insist it's original fiction. Yet, the authenticity sings: scenes of raw rehearsals, where actors chew scenery with exaggerated flair, capture the era's heightened sensibilities. Mahadevan's monologues, delivered with Dulquer's lyrical cadence, feel like lost verses from a K. Balachander play. And when a real bullet pierces the film's climax shoot—turning the set into a crime scene—the genre pivot to investigation thriller lands with a jolt, probing who pulled the trigger and why.
Visually, Kaantha is a feast, a love letter to the monochrome magic of yesteryear. Cinematographer Dani Sánchez López wields the camera like a time machine, shifting from lush color for the present-day framing to sepia-tinted flashbacks and an anamorphic black-and-white for the film-within-the-film. Every frame drips with period detail: the creak of wooden reels, the haze of cigarette smoke curling around arc lights, the opulent art deco sets of Madras studios that evoke Mahanati or Jubilee. Production designer Ramalingam recreates 1950s Tamil Nadu with meticulous care—bullock carts jostling with Ambassador cars, women in Kanjeevaram saris gliding through monsoon-drenched streets. It's a world that feels alive, almost tactile, making you forget the green-screen sleight-of-hand.
The true spark, however, lies in the performances, which elevate Kaantha from good to unforgettable. Dulquer Salmaan is a revelation, delivering what many call his career-best turn. As Mahadevan, he toggles masterfully between the bombast of on-screen bravado—think wide-eyed anguish in a rain-soaked melodrama—and the subtle narcissism off-camera, where a tilted smile conceals daggers. It's a high-wire act: Dulquer channels Bhagavathar's charisma without caricature, infusing the role with shades of vulnerability that make you ache for the man behind the myth. Samuthirakani, as Ayya, brings a gravitas that's equal parts paternal warmth and simmering malice; his quiet outbursts, born of betrayal, linger like a poorly dubbed line. Bhagyashri Borse, in a stunning Tamil debut (and a comeback after duds like Mr. Bachchan), is the film's emotional core. As Kumari, she embodies fragile ambition—expressive eyes that betray unspoken traumas, a poise that masks the collateral damage of male egos. Her chemistry with Dulquer crackles with ambiguity: Is it love, or just another scene they're playing? Rana Daggubati, as the theatrical cop Phoenix, injects timely relief with his booming presence, though some find his flair stretches credibility into camp. Together, they form a quartet that sells the film's soul, making the interpersonal drama hum even when the plot stutters.
Yet, for all its brilliance, Kaantha is an uneven reel. The first half simmers beautifully, building tension through ego clashes and stolen glances, but the post-interval investigation drags like an unedited rush print. What starts as a taut psychological cage match devolves into a predictable whodunnit, with clues telegraphed and resolutions that feel more procedural than profound. Pacing issues abound—the runtime could shed 20 minutes without losing a frame—and the screenplay's genre mash-up occasionally trips over itself. Songs by Jhanu Chanthar are soothing period pieces, evoking the lilting melodies of MS Subbulakshmi, but they halt momentum rather than propel it. Jakes Bejoy's background score, however, is a triumph: haunting strings that underscore the noir underbelly, swelling to orchestral fury during confrontations. Editor Llewellyn Anthony Gonsalvez trims with restraint, but tighter cuts could have amplified the suspense.
Thematically, Kaantha probes deeper than mere backstage gossip. It's a meditation on art's double edge: How creation devours its creators, how applause can corrupt craft, and how women like Kumari become footnotes in men's legacies. In one meta flourish, Ayya muses about Tamil's first horror film, inspired by his own ghosts—a nod to the era's shift from myth to modernity. Selvaraj draws from masters like Balu Mahendra and Wong Kar-wai, infusing the narrative with a Wong-ian fatalism: Everyone's trapped in their roles, reciting lines they can't escape. It's politically incorrect in its unapologetic gaze at male fragility—Mahadevan's possessiveness borders on toxic, Ayya's resentment on villainy—yet substantiated by the era's historical truths, where stars wielded godlike power and heroines bore the brunt.Social media buzz post-release mirrors this duality.
Praise for Dulquer's "acting masterclass" and Borse's "career-defining debut," with fans calling it "a must-watch for cinephiles." Reddit's r/tollywood hails the "focus-driven" engagement, rating it 3.25/5 for its hit-and-miss thriller beats. Critics are split: India Today laments the "plummeting momentum," while The Hindu applauds its "flashes of brilliance." Box office whispers suggest a strong opening—Rs 35-40 crore net in India—buoyed by Dulquer's pan-India pull and Rana's producer clout.
Ultimately, Kaantha glitters like fool's gold: visually opulent, performatively electric, but narratively flawed. It's not the flawless classic it aspires to be—no Iruvar or Nayakan—but for those who savor slow-burn indulgences, it's a worthy detour into cinema's underbelly. Watch it in a theater with a good screen; the big canvas amplifies its ambitions. In a year of bombast, Kaantha reminds us why we fell for films in the first place: not for the applause, but for the shadows where truth hides.
Rating: 3.25/5. Reel it in—if you've got the patience.