Udaala Movie Review: A chaotic, youthful ride through Bijapur’s streets and soul

Udaala Movie Review:

What hits you first in Amol Patil’s Udaala is the sense that Bijapur itself is alive. Not just as a backdrop, not as something to be admired from a distance, but as a breathing, bustling, occasionally chaotic presence. The fast-paced dialect, the noisy lanes, the roadside eateries, and the way people lean back, argue, or laugh—they all feel observed, not constructed. Every frame seems soaked in the humour and rhythm of North Karnataka. You don’t just watch the city; you live in it.

Cast: Pruthvi Shamanur, Hrithika Srinivas and Raja Balawadi, Vadiraj Babaladi, and Biradar

Director: Amol Patil

Pakkya (Pruthvi Shamanur) navigates this world with a mix of swagger, innocence, and mischief. An orphan, his life begins and ends with Gol Gumbaz, a monument he worships almost as a deity. His devotion to Bijapur is both comic and touching, like a child who has nowhere else to belong.

A small surprise surrounding the plot of Udaala is how Amol Patil introduces the gun factory owned by the don Marthand Saate (Bala Rajawadi). It isn’t a typical mass-cinema backdrop; it serves as an odd, ironic center around which the story revolves. In a film that is largely playful, it reminds us that violence, whether accidental or intentional, always leaves an impact.

The story gathers momentum with Pakkya's childhood friend Paapya (Vadiraj Babaladi). Pakkya enters college with fake certificates and shaky English skills, but his wit is sharp. He may not speak elegantly, but he knows Bijapur’s history, its rhythms, and its streets better than anyone, and speaks seven langauges.

Then there is Pinky Patil (Hrithika Srinivas), the spark and chaos-maker. Loud, fearless, and unapologetically herself, Pinky is fascinated by guns and adrenaline in a way that turns Pakkya’s cautious nature on its head. Where he flinches at the sound of a gun due to childhood trauma, she laughs and pulls him along into mischief. Their comedy and chemistry drives the film, the push-and-pull between fear and daring forming the core of Udaala.

Chaos erupts when Pinky uses a homemade gun to scare seniors during a revenge caper. However, the youthful fun spirals into farce when they mistakenly target Marthand Saate (Bala Rajawadi), a local don. In a twist soaked in North Karnataka irony, Saate ends up hurt by his own weapon. The mistaken-identity track fuels the comedy, sometimes frantic, sometimes genuinely funny, always grounded in the loud, messy humour of the region.

Amol Patil threads quieter emotional strands too. A subplot about a childless couple, where the husband hides a fragile ego beneath a calm exterior, mirrors Pakkya’s own yearning for connection. Even amid chaos, these small human truths add weight, making the story feel lived-in and layered. The gun factory, which could have been a mere prop, becomes almost a character itself, highlighting the dangers and consequences of violence in contrast to youthful recklessness. Pruthvi Shamanur brings Pakkya to life with effortless charm, energy, and grounded innocence, convincingly embodying a local youth. His dances, fights, romances, and humour feel spontaneous and natural, making him both entertaining and authentically rooted in his character and to the place. Hrithika Srinivas as Pinky Patil matches him scene for scene, fearless, unpredictable, and utterly captivating. The supporting cast, with their fast chatter, street-smart moves, and chaos-inducing antics, adds further North Karnataka flavour. The music, laced with the land’s rhythm, and the cinematography, which places Gol Gumbaz at the heart of the visual narrative, make Bijapur not just a location but a character.

Udaala belongs to a lineage of films that make locality as compelling as story—like Thithi, Sairat, Angamaly Diaries, and Fandry. The region’s heat, dialect, and texture become inseparable from the narrative. In this, Gol Gumbaz towers stands not just as a monument but as a pulse, giving the film both visual and emotional grounding.

At times, Udaala leans too heavily into chaos, letting energy overshadow nuance. But the film’s spirit never falters. Patil captures North Karnataka’s soul—the dust, the laughter, the tongue—and his leads navigate it effortlessly.

Udaala is messy, vibrant, and unapologetically local. Love clashes with ego, humour meets fear, and youth faces unexpected consequences. For anyone craving a taste of pucca North Karnataka, this ride delivers fully.