Ananthan Kaadu Movie Review:

Ananthan Kaadu begins with an extensive sequence of mass violence, much like writer Murali Gopy's previous film L2: Empuraan. If Empuraan opened with disturbing visuals inspired by the Godhra riots, the lens this time turns towards the brutality inflicted on Tamil civilians during the Sri Lankan Civil War. The camera shows little restraint as helpless people, including children, are lined up and shot at point-blank range, women are assaulted, and makeshift homes are set ablaze. Among the victims is the protagonist's mother.

A few years later, the film presents another act of state-sponsored violence in an entirely different setting. A police crackdown on a ghetto in Thiruvananthapuram leaves several residents brutally attacked, houses vandalised, culminating in the death of another crucial character's mother. What connects these two incidents is systemic oppression, a central theme explored by the film.

Director: Jiyen Krishnakumar

Cast: Arya, Murali Gopy, Indrans, Sunil, Vijayaraghavan, Dev Mohan, Santhy Balachandran, Appani Sarath

Krishnankutty (Indrans), Thankaraj (Murali Gopy), Murali (Dev Mohan), and Jackson (Appani Sarath) are local thugs in 90s-era Thiruvananthapuram who carry out political crimes at the behest of those in power. Though they wish to leave their violent past behind and lead peaceful lives, old habits die hard. Things get interesting when a rebel fighting for a larger cause joins forces with them against a common enemy. However, after showing considerable promise, the narrative soon settles into a familiar revenge drama involving a manipulative political bigshot who turns against his own hitmen and their attempts to resist and retaliate.

While Ananthan Kaadu touches upon broader themes such as the Eelam struggle, the writing rarely delves into their complexities. Beyond a few superficial dialogues about resistance, freedom, and true Tamil identity, the film offers little insight into the movement itself or the larger political machinery surrounding it. As a result, this ends up being one of Murali Gopy's most straightforward commercial scripts, lacking the layered storytelling and ideological depth often associated with his writing.

The film positions Thiruvananthapuram as a crucial character in the narrative, yet the city itself remains largely unexplored beyond the narrow lanes of Choola and the corridors of Cliff House. Capturing the cultural texture of the era was also essential to grounding the story, but the film makes only limited attempts in that direction. What compensates for this, however, is the actors' convincing use of the local dialect, which lends authenticity to the proceedings.

One of the strongest aspects of the film is the dynamic between Krishnankutty, Thankaraj, Murali, and Jackson. Their camaraderie feels lived-in, and their interactions carry much of the film's emotional weight. Indrans is particularly impressive as Krishnankutty. It is an inspired casting that deliberately breaks away from conventional notions of a gang leader. He may not be the most physically imposing or loudest man in the room, but the authority he commands ensures that his word remains final.

Interestingly, the role feels tailor-made for Murali Gopy, who instead chooses to play Thankaraj, the loyal second-in-command, who has no qualms in staying in Krishnankutty's shadow. The actor still gets one of the film's most powerful moments when he barges into a party office and fights rogue communists on campus. When seen out of context, the scene might offend a section, but the key takeaway should be the dialogue calling for every set of beliefs to coexist.

Dev Mohan, often cast in polished, charming roles, brings a welcome earthiness to Murali. His natural likeability helps the character considerably, but his relationship with a college professor, played by Nikhila Vimal, remains severely underdeveloped. In fact, most of the film's female characters lack depth. Santhy Balachandran's Karthi gets relatively more screen presence, but even she frequently functions as a damsel in distress, who is repeatedly subjected to sexual violence.

The screenplay structure of Ananthan Kaadu wastes little time establishing these characters. The audience is dropped directly into the middle of the action, learning about them organically as the story unfolds. An early sequence involving the elimination of two men on a highway, for instance, later returns with significant consequences. The film is also undeniably high on action, with two sequences — one at the college and the pre-interval stretch — that particularly stand out.

The latter is where Arya finally unleashes himself after remaining subdued for much of the narrative. His commanding screen presence and emotionally charged performance elevate a superbly choreographed set piece. Yet, as has often been the case throughout his career, Arya appears less convincing in emotionally demanding scenes and dialogue-heavy moments. Similarly, not all the action lands equally well; the extended Rajasthan sequence, despite its scale, feels unnecessarily stretched.

Beyond its action and political intrigue, Ananthan Kaadu also explores the idea of insiders and outsiders. The Eelam conflict itself is rooted in questions of belonging and exclusion. Similarly, Krishnankutty and his gang represent the insiders of Thiruvananthapuram, while the Chief Minister and the corrupt DIG are portrayed as outsiders (Krishnankutty calls them 'varathanmar'). Thankfully, the film avoids reducing this idea to a simple binary. Arya's character, despite being an outsider, ultimately becomes an ally in the group's fight.

There are flashes of a more ambitious film buried within Ananthan Kaadu, one that could have meaningfully explored questions of identity, displacement, and state violence. Instead, it largely (and strangely) chooses the safer route of a conventional revenge entertainer.