Middle-class stories are tailor-made for cinema. They come packed with drama, humour, and heartbreak. Middle Class Ramayana knows this well and sets out to capture the push-and-pull of dreams, insecurities, and relationships. But does it deliver a memorable chronicle of middle-class life, or does it get lost in its own contradictions? The answer lies somewhere in between.
Krishna (Vinu Gowda), a gym trainer nursing childhood trauma and present-day insecurities. His dream of opening a gym could have been the emotional anchor of the film. Instead, it gets buried under subplots and uneven writing. On one hand, you can see the intent: Krishna is meant to embody the frustrations of an ordinary man struggling to rise. On the other, his choices, especially the romantic ones, come across more shallow than layered, leaving viewers wondering if the writing undercut the very character it set out to build.
Director Dhanush Gowda starts off on the right note. Everyday humour, rooted in little frustrations and family quirks, makes the characters instantly relatable. It feels like the director has a good grip on the world he’s building. Yet, as the minutes tick by, the balance slips. The story that began with charm and simplicity grows increasingly muddled. Was the attempt to give the narrative “weight,” or did the film simply lose its grip?
His marriage to Soundarya (Mokshitha Pai, popular among television audiences and known from her Bigg Boss stint), adds another dimension. Soundarya has long endured rejection for her complexion, and marriage seems to offer her a sense of dignity. Mokshitha plays it with grace, giving the role quiet resilience. But here lies the film’s most debated misstep: a fixation with fairness.
The film’s weakest link lies in its flirtation with complexion politics. Instead of allowing Mokshitha Pai to carry her role as is, the makers resort to darkening her skin tone, a dated cosmetic trick that only amplifies the hero’s “fair” desirability. The intent may have been to provoke a conversation, but the artifice overshadows the message. In 2025, when audiences are alert to inclusivity, this feels less like commentary and more like compromise.
To be fair, one could argue that Mokshitha’s popularity ensures visibility, and perhaps the gamble was that her presence would push the debate into the mainstream. Yet, the question remains; does intent excuse execution, or does truth in portrayal matter more than reach?
The ex-girlfriend subplot (Yukta Pervi) adds another wrinkle. For some, this needless detour slows the rhythm and stretches the narrative. For others, it mirrors life’s inconvenient returns; old loves do resurface, uninvited and messy. But realism alone doesn’t rescue predictable beats. Instead of piercing insight into Krishna’s flaws, we get a functional complication, that is far from memorable.
Where the film manages to stay afloat is through its performances. Veena Sunder is compelling as Bhagyamma, Krishna’s mother, anchoring the emotional core of the film. S Narayan, Jagappa, and Shobraj bring credibility to smaller roles, fleshing out the middle-class milieu. These actors remind us of what the film could have been; a more authentic and engaging slice-of-life drama.
By the final stretch, though, the cracks widen. What started as a warm, relatable chronicle turns heavy and uneven. The humour thins, the drama grows forced, and the resolution feels more weary than wise. Still, the film leaves behind fragments of reflections on ambition, insecurities, and the fragile fabric of relationships that linger, even if the whole doesn’t hold.
So what is Middle Class Ramayana finally? A flawed but well-meaning attempt? Or a muddled story that wastes its potential? Perhaps both. It has its sparks, but the flame never fully catches.
A middle-class tale that finds itself in the middle of debates like intent versus execution, and realism versus storytelling... but never gives us a solution or even a complete answer.