The Girlfriend: Rashmika Mandanna's Raw Triumph in a Mirror to Toxic LoveIn the crowded pantheon of 2025's Telugu cinema, where mass entertainers dominate the discourse, The Girlfriend slips in like a quiet confession—intimate, unflinching, and achingly real. Directed by Rahul Ravindran, who pens the script with the precision of a therapist's notebook, this 138-minute romantic drama (pan-India release in Telugu, Tamil, Hindi, Kannada, and Malayalam) arrives on November 7 under the banners of Geetha Arts and Dheeraj Mogilineni Entertainment. Starring Rashmika Mandanna as the titular Bhooma Devi alongside newcomer Dheekshith Shetty as the enigmatic Vikram, the film isn't here to dazzle with spectacle but to dissect the suffocating undercurrents of modern relationships. Backed by Allu Aravind's production savvy, The Girlfriend clocks in as a timely gut-punch, urging viewers to question if love should ever feel like a cage. For those weary of fairy-tale romances, this is essential viewing—raw, relevant, and riveting, even if its deliberate pace tests patience.
The narrative unfolds in the sun-dappled corridors of a Hyderabad engineering college, where Bhooma (Rashmika), a postgraduate in English Literature, navigates the thrill of newfound independence. She's vibrant, bookish, and unguarded—until Vikram (Dheekshith), a charismatic senior with a poet's charm, sweeps her into a whirlwind courtship. What begins as butterflies and late-night poetry readings soon curdles into possession: unsolicited check-ins, jealousy-fueled interrogations, and a creeping erosion of her autonomy. Ravindran masterfully charts this descent, drawing parallels to real-life dynamics where "caring" masks control. Flashbacks to Bhooma's childhood—marked by her father Rao Ramesh's volatile temper—layer in generational trauma, illustrating how unhealed wounds perpetuate cycles of toxicity. A pivotal subplot involving her confidante Maya (Anu Emmanuel) adds sisterly solidarity, while Rohini's maternal warmth provides fleeting respite. The film's core isn't villainy but vulnerability: Vikram's insecurity stems from his own fractured past, forcing audiences to grapple with empathy amid outrage.
At 2 hours 18 minutes, The Girlfriend is a slow-burn character study, prioritizing emotional authenticity over plot pyrotechnics. Ravindran, known for lighter fare like Andala Rakshasi, evolves here into a bold chronicler of gender imbalances, echoing Sukumar's Arya in its college-set unease but subverting it with feminist clarity. Scenes like a theatre rehearsal turning cathartic or a mangalsutra debate laced with cultural critique pulse with discomforting truth—reminders that consent isn't just physical but emotional. The climax, a masterstroke of restraint and release, transforms heartbreak into empowerment, positioning the film as a companion to Hi Nanna in Telugu cinema's maturing emotional lexicon. It's not preachy; the message—that relationships thrive on space, not surveillance—emerges organically, making it timeless yet urgently contemporary in an era of digital stalking and performative love.
Rashmika Mandanna doesn't just lead; she owns The Girlfriend, delivering what critics unanimously hail as her career-best turn. As Bhooma, she morphs from effervescent ingenue to shattered survivor with visceral grace—her wide-eyed wonder fracturing into quiet defiance, every micro-expression a testament to her range. The interval block, where she confronts Vikram's grip, is a tour de force: tears streaming, voice cracking, yet unbowed. It's National Award-caliber work, elevating a script's sincerity to soul-stirring heights. Dheekshith Shetty, in his debut, matches her intensity as Vikram—a brooding blend of allure and menace that avoids cartoonish evil, humanizing his flaws without excusing them. His subtle shifts from affectionate to authoritarian are chillingly credible, earning praise for lived-in authenticity. Anu Emmanuel shines in limited screen time as the voice of reason, her banter a breath of levity, while Rao Ramesh and Rohini ground the family arcs with understated pathos—Ramesh's patriarchal regret hits like a delayed thunderclap.
Technically, the film hums with understated elegance. Krishnan Vasant's cinematography bathes Hyderabad's urban sprawl in warm golds and shadowed blues, capturing the intimacy of stolen glances and the isolation of crowded rooms. Hesham Abdul Wahab's score is a delicate thread—melancholic piano underscoring Bhooma's unraveling, with Prashanth R Vihari's background swells amplifying peaks without overwhelming. Chota K Prasad's editing maintains a meditative rhythm, though it occasionally meanders in the first half's setup, lingering on static shots that test viewer investment. Production design by Ramakrishna and Monica evokes lived-in realism: cluttered hostels, rain-slicked cafes, all evoking the mundane menace of everyday entrapment. Ravindran's writing falters only in subplots—like Bhooma's father's arc, which feels underexplored—but the core remains unyieldingly sharp, a mirror to patriarchal underbellies that persist despite "woke" facades.
Flaws? The deliberate pacing borders on languid, with repetitive relational tugs that might alienate thrill-seekers, and some dialogues veer into overt moralizing. Music integration is hit-or-miss, occasionally underscoring when silence would suffice. Yet these are quibbles in a film that dares to be uncomfortable, prioritizing healing over heroics. It's not for popcorn munching; it's for post-screening reflections, perhaps over coffee with a friend who's endured similar shadows.
Reception has been electric yet polarized, mirroring its themes. BookMyShow averages 4.2/5 from 1.3K+ ratings, with fans gushing over the "emotional journey" and Rashmika's "pure magic." "Rashmika's peaks here; every girl should watch," one user raves—while others decry it as a "painful, slow watch" or even call for boycotts over perceived agendas. Critics lean positive: The Hindu dubs it a "brave slow-burn" asking "uncomfortable questions," Cinema Express calls it "gripping and relevant," and Times of India awards 3.5/5 for its "layered relatability." 123Telugu's 2.75/5 notes Rashmika's standout amid "repetitive sequences," while Reddit threads hail it as a "breath of fresh air" with award whispers. Consensus: A Rashmika vehicle that's divisive by design, sparking debates on love's darker edges.
The Girlfriend isn't escapism; it's excavation—unearthing the quiet tyrannies we normalize in the name of romance. Rahul Ravindran crafts a clarion call for boundaries, but it's Rashmika who makes it unforgettable, her Bhooma a beacon for anyone who's whispered "it's fine" when it wasn't. In a year of bombast, this whisper roars. Watch it, then talk about it—your relationships might thank you. Rating: 3.5/5. Love shouldn't bind; it should set free.
The narrative unfolds in the sun-dappled corridors of a Hyderabad engineering college, where Bhooma (Rashmika), a postgraduate in English Literature, navigates the thrill of newfound independence. She's vibrant, bookish, and unguarded—until Vikram (Dheekshith), a charismatic senior with a poet's charm, sweeps her into a whirlwind courtship. What begins as butterflies and late-night poetry readings soon curdles into possession: unsolicited check-ins, jealousy-fueled interrogations, and a creeping erosion of her autonomy. Ravindran masterfully charts this descent, drawing parallels to real-life dynamics where "caring" masks control. Flashbacks to Bhooma's childhood—marked by her father Rao Ramesh's volatile temper—layer in generational trauma, illustrating how unhealed wounds perpetuate cycles of toxicity. A pivotal subplot involving her confidante Maya (Anu Emmanuel) adds sisterly solidarity, while Rohini's maternal warmth provides fleeting respite. The film's core isn't villainy but vulnerability: Vikram's insecurity stems from his own fractured past, forcing audiences to grapple with empathy amid outrage.
At 2 hours 18 minutes, The Girlfriend is a slow-burn character study, prioritizing emotional authenticity over plot pyrotechnics. Ravindran, known for lighter fare like Andala Rakshasi, evolves here into a bold chronicler of gender imbalances, echoing Sukumar's Arya in its college-set unease but subverting it with feminist clarity. Scenes like a theatre rehearsal turning cathartic or a mangalsutra debate laced with cultural critique pulse with discomforting truth—reminders that consent isn't just physical but emotional. The climax, a masterstroke of restraint and release, transforms heartbreak into empowerment, positioning the film as a companion to Hi Nanna in Telugu cinema's maturing emotional lexicon. It's not preachy; the message—that relationships thrive on space, not surveillance—emerges organically, making it timeless yet urgently contemporary in an era of digital stalking and performative love.
Rashmika Mandanna doesn't just lead; she owns The Girlfriend, delivering what critics unanimously hail as her career-best turn. As Bhooma, she morphs from effervescent ingenue to shattered survivor with visceral grace—her wide-eyed wonder fracturing into quiet defiance, every micro-expression a testament to her range. The interval block, where she confronts Vikram's grip, is a tour de force: tears streaming, voice cracking, yet unbowed. It's National Award-caliber work, elevating a script's sincerity to soul-stirring heights. Dheekshith Shetty, in his debut, matches her intensity as Vikram—a brooding blend of allure and menace that avoids cartoonish evil, humanizing his flaws without excusing them. His subtle shifts from affectionate to authoritarian are chillingly credible, earning praise for lived-in authenticity. Anu Emmanuel shines in limited screen time as the voice of reason, her banter a breath of levity, while Rao Ramesh and Rohini ground the family arcs with understated pathos—Ramesh's patriarchal regret hits like a delayed thunderclap.
Technically, the film hums with understated elegance. Krishnan Vasant's cinematography bathes Hyderabad's urban sprawl in warm golds and shadowed blues, capturing the intimacy of stolen glances and the isolation of crowded rooms. Hesham Abdul Wahab's score is a delicate thread—melancholic piano underscoring Bhooma's unraveling, with Prashanth R Vihari's background swells amplifying peaks without overwhelming. Chota K Prasad's editing maintains a meditative rhythm, though it occasionally meanders in the first half's setup, lingering on static shots that test viewer investment. Production design by Ramakrishna and Monica evokes lived-in realism: cluttered hostels, rain-slicked cafes, all evoking the mundane menace of everyday entrapment. Ravindran's writing falters only in subplots—like Bhooma's father's arc, which feels underexplored—but the core remains unyieldingly sharp, a mirror to patriarchal underbellies that persist despite "woke" facades.
Flaws? The deliberate pacing borders on languid, with repetitive relational tugs that might alienate thrill-seekers, and some dialogues veer into overt moralizing. Music integration is hit-or-miss, occasionally underscoring when silence would suffice. Yet these are quibbles in a film that dares to be uncomfortable, prioritizing healing over heroics. It's not for popcorn munching; it's for post-screening reflections, perhaps over coffee with a friend who's endured similar shadows.
Reception has been electric yet polarized, mirroring its themes. BookMyShow averages 4.2/5 from 1.3K+ ratings, with fans gushing over the "emotional journey" and Rashmika's "pure magic." "Rashmika's peaks here; every girl should watch," one user raves—while others decry it as a "painful, slow watch" or even call for boycotts over perceived agendas. Critics lean positive: The Hindu dubs it a "brave slow-burn" asking "uncomfortable questions," Cinema Express calls it "gripping and relevant," and Times of India awards 3.5/5 for its "layered relatability." 123Telugu's 2.75/5 notes Rashmika's standout amid "repetitive sequences," while Reddit threads hail it as a "breath of fresh air" with award whispers. Consensus: A Rashmika vehicle that's divisive by design, sparking debates on love's darker edges.
The Girlfriend isn't escapism; it's excavation—unearthing the quiet tyrannies we normalize in the name of romance. Rahul Ravindran crafts a clarion call for boundaries, but it's Rashmika who makes it unforgettable, her Bhooma a beacon for anyone who's whispered "it's fine" when it wasn't. In a year of bombast, this whisper roars. Watch it, then talk about it—your relationships might thank you. Rating: 3.5/5. Love shouldn't bind; it should set free.