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Thudarum is a gripping Malayalam thriller that once again proves why Mohanlal is regarded as one of the finest actors in Indian cinema. Blending intense emotional drama with elements of suspense and moral complexity, the film follows in the footsteps of the critically acclaimed Drishyam series, while carving a unique identity for itself. With a tightly woven screenplay and stellar performances from its cast-particularly Mohanlal and Prakash Varma-Thudarum is a cinematic experience that stays with you long after the credits roll.

At the heart of Thudarum is Mohanlal, playing the role of Benz, a quiet and unassuming family man with a shadowy past. Mohanlal brings his usual finesse to the character, making Benz both relatable and enigmatic. His ability to portray vulnerability and steely resolve within the same scene is nothing short of masterful. One of the most impressive aspects of his performance is the subtle transformation he undergoes throughout the film-from a protective father and husband to a man willing to take extreme measures for his family's safety. His expressions, body language, and dialogue delivery reflect a deep understanding of the character's inner conflict, echoing the brilliance he displayed in Drishyam.

The screenplay is tightly constructed, with layers of suspense that unfold gradually. Much like Drishyam, Thudarum revolves around a family caught in a web of lies, secrets, and unexpected consequences. However, the film differentiates itself by placing greater emphasis on psychological manipulation and moral ambiguity. The screenplay by Ramesh Nair is filled with clever twists, ensuring that the audience is always one step behind the protagonist. The pacing is deliberate, with every scene contributing to the overarching narrative without dragging the tempo.

One of the standout elements of Thudarum is the villain, portrayed brilliantly by Prakash Varma. He plays ACP Ajay Menon, a cunning and ruthless police officer who stops at nothing to uncover the truth behind a high-profile case linked to Benz's family. Varma delivers a chilling performance, embodying both intelligence and menace. His character is not a one-dimensional antagonist; rather, he is a man driven by his own code of justice, which makes him even more dangerous. His confrontations with Mohanlal's character are some of the most gripping moments in the film, showcasing a battle of wits and willpower that is as cerebral as it is emotional.

The cinematography and background score add significantly to the film's atmosphere. Gritty visuals and a moody color palette complement the themes of secrecy and emotional tension. The music, composed by Bijibal, enhances the emotional weight of several key scenes without overpowering them. Special mention must also be made of the editing, which maintains a tight rhythm and allows the story to unfold organically.

Where Thudarum shines most is in its moral complexity. Much like Drishyam, the film challenges the audience to question their own sense of right and wrong. There are no clear heroes or villains-only people making impossible choices in impossible situations. Mohanlal's character, while sympathetic, operates in moral gray areas, and the film does not offer easy resolutions. It is this ethical ambiguity that elevates Thudarum from a mere thriller to a deeply thought-provoking drama.

In conclusion, Thudarum is a triumph in Malayalam cinema-intelligently written, emotionally charged, and impeccably acted. Mohanlal once again delivers a career-defining performance, and Prakash Varma proves himself as a formidable actor in his role as the antagonist. Fans of Drishyam will find Thudarum to be a worthy spiritual successor, and new viewers will be drawn in by its powerful storytelling and compelling characters. It is a film that deserves to be seen, discussed, and remembered.

When the credits finally rolled on Kousalya Tanaya Ragava, I wasn't sure if I had just watched a film or survived an ancient form of torture repackaged for the modern audience. Either way, one thing was clear: this movie is a masterclass in how not to make cinema.

Let's start with the plot - or rather, the tangled mess pretending to be one. Kousalya Tanaya Ragava seems to be based on a mythological premise, but it quickly devolves into a confusing, directionless expedition into the land of clichés. It's as if the writers took every tired trope from historical dramas, shook them in a bag, and dumped them onto the script without a second thought. The result? A story that moves slower than continental drift but somehow manages to trip over itself at every step.

The characters are cardboard cutouts at best. Our protagonist, Ragava, is presumably meant to be a noble, stoic hero, but thanks to some truly lifeless acting, he comes across more like a slightly bored museum tour guide. You could replace him with a marble statue and nobody would notice. Kousalya, the other half of the title, fares no better. She's supposedly a strong, inspirational figure, but mostly spends the film delivering long, meaningless monologues that feel less like dialogue and more like punishment.

As for the villain - well, I assume there was one? It's hard to tell when every character seems equally confused about what they're doing. Even the background extras look like they're desperately scanning for an exit sign.

Visually, Kousalya Tanaya Ragava is an assault on the senses. The cinematography is so aggressively bright and color-saturated that I genuinely thought I was going blind halfway through. Every scene is bathed in the kind of blinding gold light you usually reserve for dreams, hallucinations, or eye exams. Special mention must be made of the CGI, which looks like it was ripped from a 2003 PC game and then forgotten in a basement for two decades.

But the real crown jewel of incompetence here is the music. In a film that desperately needed any form of emotional engagement, the soundtrack instead offers shrill, over-the-top chanting that kicks in at all the wrong times. Epic battle scene? Cue sleepy flute music. Quiet emotional moment? Hit it with a full-on orchestra like the building's on fire. It's like the composer didn't watch the movie and just guessed.

Pacing? Don't even get me started. The movie moves at such a glacial pace that I'm pretty sure I saw a tree grow to full maturity during the second act. Entire scenes drag on for minutes without anything - and I mean anything - happening. It's not "slow cinema," it's no cinema.

Directorial choices are baffling throughout. There are long, lingering close-ups of feet for no apparent reason. Random slow-motion shots of people blinking. An entire scene dedicated to two characters dramatically picking fruit. It's like the director lost a bet and had to fill two hours without using a coherent script.

By the time Kousalya Tanaya Ragava limps toward its so-called climax, most audience members are either asleep, emotionally broken, or plotting how to sue for damages. The grand finale - if you can call it that - fizzles out with all the energy of a wet campfire, leaving viewers wondering if anything they just endured actually mattered.

In conclusion, Kousalya Tanaya Ragava is not just a bad movie - it's a cautionary tale. It's what happens when ambition meets incompetence and neither bothers to bring a map. If you're looking for entertainment, look elsewhere. If you're looking for a cure for insomnia, however, this might just be the masterpiece you've been waiting for.