CC Nithin and Gautham Thaniyil's Athi Bheekara Kaamukan arrives with the confidence of a profound, tragic romance, yet what unfolds feels as worn out as the tropes it clings to. The core story is so outdated that it recalls the deliberately stale love plot narrated by the hackneyed writer Ambujakshan (Sreenivasan) in the Mammootty-starrer Azhagiya Ravanan (1996) for a fictional story titled 'Chirakodinja Kinaavukal'. In that spoof, a tailor and a woodcutter’s nineteen-year-old daughter are in love against all the odds, and every twist is unintentionally funny despite Ambujakshan’s passionate narration. Athi Bheekara Kaamukan feels cut from the same cloth. What the characters in Azhagiya Ravanan dismissed as too silly and too old-fashioned is not the same story we see here, but the stale quality of that spoofed romance hangs heavily over this film too, because Athi Bheekara Kaamukan feels just as dated and unimaginative.
Directors: CC Nithin and Gautham Thaniyil
Cast: Lukman Avaran, Drishya Raghunath, Manohari Joy, Ashwin, Karthik
The similarities go beyond tone and structure. One is reminded of Ambujakshan’s amusing instruction in Azhagiya Ravanan about repeatedly cutting between two unrelated events like 'kalyanam' and 'paalukaachal' to heighten drama as the hero prepares to end his life. Athi Bheekara Kaamukan employs a strikingly similar bit of visual staging in its final stretch. Whether this is meant as a tribute or merely an accidental echo, it only reinforces how unimaginative the film is in its attempts to build emotional high points.
Athi Bheekara Kaamukan revolves around Arjun (Lukman Avaran), a directionless 25-year-old man or rather, a man-child pushed into college by his mother. There, he meets Anu (Drishya Raghunath), whose friendliness he misreads as love. He grows fixated on her, mistaking casual warmth for a future with her and letting that obsession steer his life in increasingly unhealthy ways. Lukman Avaran attempts to bring some shape to Arjun, yet the writing leaves him with a character devoid of real development or responsibility. Scene after scene positions him as someone to be felt sorry for, even when his choices are plainly harmful or thoughtless. A story like this could have held weight if the narrative had been willing to question his behaviour. Instead, it presents his emotional turmoil as fate rather than the result of his own actions.
In sharp contrast, Drishya Raghunath’s Anu comes across as the only character who warrants some amount of empathy. She has done nothing wrong, yet she becomes a vessel for Arjun’s projections and insecurities. At times, the narrative even tilts in a way that makes her seem unfairly positioned as the obstructing force in his story. Manohari Joy fares quite well as Arjun’s mother, although her character is written in an almost absurdly naive manner for someone who has single-handedly raised a child after her husband’s death.
Bibin Ashok’s songs are indeed serviceable when heard on their own, but the director employs them as a lazy shortcut through scenes that should have carried emotional weight. The number of song interludes borders on excessive. Even a pivotal moment where Arjun and Anu finally confront what has happened is undercut by an intrusive background score rather than allowing an honest exchange. The flute-heavy themes designed to heighten sympathy for the protagonist become increasingly grating. There was also potential in the scene involving a clinical psychologist, yet the film chooses to treat mental health as a throwaway joke.
The first hour, despite its flaws, passes without much pain. The second hour is a slog. The narrative repeatedly circles the same emotional beats without adding depth or nuance, which drains any remaining interest. By the time Athi Bheekara Kaamukan reaches its conclusion, it is clear that there is no love lost for this lover's journey.