Written, directed, and headlined by Aryan Tejas, Naanu Karunakara unfolds in Bengaluru, a city of traffic signals, rented houses, and days built on showing up to work. It follows Karunakara (Aryan Tejas), his wife, and their young son. They are a middle-class family navigating a life that constantly feels paused. Their world feels lived in: bike rides through traffic, sudden stops due to empty fuel tanks, and small arguments that carry the weight of larger frustrations. It feels more like observation than storytelling, though at times it relies too heavily on observation.
Karunakara is instantly recognisable. He is well-meaning, slightly careless, and caught between who he is and who he wants to be. He shifts between being an assistant director, picking up film and ad shoots when available, and taking on painting jobs when they aren't. The instability is constant. What keeps him grounded is home, a wife, Mamtha (Radha Bhagavati), who endures more than she shows, and a son (Bhavish Gowda) who still sees him without judgment. Money is uncertain, but there is warmth and a quiet hope that things might somehow improve. The film trusts this hope a bit too easily.
His wife, however, faces reality. She depends on the house owner's phone to stay connected and carries the burden of stability. Her desire is simple: a better home, a car, and a life that feels secure. The film understands her but doesn’t always let her voice be heard. It all comes down to their son (Bhavish Gowda) and a toy car. Not just any toy, but one of those pricey, battery-operated mini cars that now cost more than they should. What started as a simple plaything has turned into a luxury. The child wants it. The father wants to give it. That small object represents love, dignity, and self-worth.
Cast: Aryan Tejas, Radha Bhagavati, Bhavish Gowda, M K Mutt, Kari Subbu, Apoorva Shri, and B M Venkatesh
Director : Aryan Tejas
The film taps into something deeply human: for many middle-class parents, love often shows through what they can’t afford. It presents a quietly unsettling idea. By the time parents finally save enough to buy a child’s wish, has the child already outgrown it? The film explores this discomfort but stops short of fully addressing it. Karunakara’s journey becomes less about purchasing a toy and more about proving something to himself. He avoids shortcuts and wants to earn enough to buy the car. Even when he tries alternatives, like having a wooden version made, it fails to meet the child’s expectations. The gap between what he intends to do and reality widens. The film stays with this idea but circles it rather than deepening it.
There’s also a subtle examination of ambition. The film strips away the glamour of becoming a director and shows the price: instability, delayed responsibilities, and the risk of drifting away from family. It asks whether a dream can coexist with duty and sincerity, without making it dramatic. It’s a strong question, even if the film hesitates to explore it further. The bond between father and son stands out. The child sees a hero. The father sees his flaws. A silent understanding grows in between. The film builds through moments replete with conversations, compromise, and hesitation. Even the wife’s frustration stems from exhaustion, not anger, though conflicts that could have been more intense often get resolved too easily.
The writing isn’t always tight. Some scenes drag on and take longer than they should, occasionally slipping into a familiar, almost television-like pattern. But the feeling at the heart of the film carries it through these rough patches. Performances do much of the heavy lifting. Aryan Tejas, as director and actor, understands his material. He plays Karunakara with restraint, allowing doubt, stubbornness, and family connection to quietly surface. Radha Bhagavati matches that tone, and together they feel less like characters and more like a couple you might know. Bhavish Gowda serves as the emotional anchor, while Kari Subbu, Apoorva Shri, BM Venkatesh, and MK Mutt populate the world naturally.
Naanu Karunakara remains a modest, emotion-driven film. It has rough edges, and even if it lingers a bit too long on its idea, its sincerity remains. What lasts is the ache of timing, small dreams, and a life where, by the time you can afford something, the need for it has already passed. It is a simple story, told with honesty, but one that could have trusted its own conflicts more.
