Vidaamuyarchi Movie Review: A star vehicle that refuses to play by rules

There’s a scene at a petrol bunk where a group of rowdies, led by Arav, really get under Arjun’s (Ajith Kumar) skin. We’ve already seen them rile him up earlier, rattling his wife, Kayal (Trisha), as well. But this time, Arjun stands alone—Kayal is inside the store, unaware of what's happening outside. And we—trained, conditioned—know exactly what’s coming, don’t we? The first fight, the first moment of heroism. The stage is set, the antagonists are circling, the tension is ripe.

Director: Magizh Thirumeni

Cast: Ajith Kumar, Trisha, Regina Cassandra, Arjun, Arav

Because isn’t that how this moment always plays out in star vehicles? We are addicts to this ritual, twitching in anticipation, desperate hands reaching for the first glass at dawn. And yet, Magizh Thirumeni has already whispered that this isn’t that kind of film—more than once. Remember? He did give us Ajith Kumar's introduction visual without any hype, a moment so muted that a fan beside me seemed totally confused. Magizh has also already shown us that even Arjun’s wife isn’t particularly taken by him, that she is contemplating walking away. And yet, despite all this evidence, we refuse to believe. Because these films have a certain grammar, and surely, surely, a fight must be near.

Magizh, again, unusually, refuses to bite. Arjun even says it aloud to drum in this sentiment—“I don’t want to fight.” But we don’t believe him. Surely, it’s a feint. Surely, Anirudh is about to go wild, and Ajith Kumar is about to go berserk. The fans can throw up whatever remains of the confetti. Surely, this is just a trick, a tease to make the release even better. Magizh must have been smiling in his head when he penned Arjun’s final words in that scene: “They are young; that’s why they want a fight.”

Is he talking about the rowdies? Or is he talking about us?

“Live a long, healthy, peaceful life,” he advises, and the scene ends.

What a beautiful, damning moment. We are so addicted to tropes that we no longer trust a film to simply tell a story, to nurture its protagonist with patience, to let him exist as a person rather than a collection of manufactured mass moments. This is why I adored the first half of Vidaamuyarchi so much.

Through it all, Magizh Thirumeni paints Azerbaijan with sweeping, cinematic strokes. We don’t just see the vast, empty land—we feel its loneliness. We don’t just admire the long roads—we sense their danger, their quiet invitation to fate. In lesser films, foreign locations exist merely for postcard aesthetics. But here, they serve the story. How are the bad people getting away? Because there’s no police station for 30 kilometers. Why are the couple stranded? Because the tow truck will take two hours to arrive. And Jabbar Cafe, a seemingly ordinary location, becomes so tangible that it feels like a place we have been uncomfortable in.

It also helps that the foreign actors do not stumble through their lines, do not stand out awkwardly, do not break the illusion. And all this—every careful stitch of world-building—serves to highlight Arjun’s isolation. He is a man alienated not just from his wife, but from the world itself. Vidaamuyarchi refuses to accelerate, refuses to spoon-feed. When Arjun struggles to communicate in an Azerbaijani bar, we feel his frustration because the scene is repetitive, lingering. But isn’t that the point? If we are this impatient watching it, imagine how exhausting it must be to live it. Can we ignore our twitching hands and process these moments for what they are? Can we appreciate the aesthetics and the meaning of the top-angle shot which captures two vehicles moving away from Arjun, leaving him stranded without help?

Even when humiliation comes in the bar, Arjun does not fight back. The whole bar laughs at him, but there is no cathartic revenge. Not until his world is invaded again. Not until it becomes truly personal. And through all of this, Anirudh remains a largely quiet observer. He does not intervene in ways that draw attention to his work. He does not rush to sell the film as a different one. He waits, letting the score murmur and simmer, experimenting with variations of the wonderfully addictive Vidaamuyarchi theme, reserving his explosions for the second half. He knows his moment will come, and when he gets the first chance in the second half, he lets go.

And yet, if I had one reservation about this first half, it would be the opening fragments of Arjun and Kayal’s romance. There’s something about a vacation, something about Arjun climbing into a balcony (?), something about a ring that embarrasses Kayal. It feels… unconvincing. In a film so deliberate, so methodical in its storytelling, this portion—and 'Sawadeeka'—feel like strange beginnings. Still, once Arjun embarks on his ill-fated final journey, the film finds rhythm, refusing to succumb to the predictable beats of lesser films. Even a conveniently placed, random stranger, who brings Arjun answers, is not quite who he seems to be. At every turn, Magizh Thirumeni smiles—gently, knowingly—as we anticipate the film to fit into our expectations.

With the first half, the seeds of a genuinely good film are sown. But in the second half, the film settles for a combination of standard action beats, a road that is more familiar, a road not so full of narrative joys or surprises. And as is often the case with such films and perhaps life itself, the real intrigue is in considering unanswered questions, in curiosity, in the puzzle—not in the answers that diffuse it all. Also, something about a random Azerbaijani woman taking her own life doesn’t quite land. The tone of humour feels… misplaced, out of sync with the film’s serious pulse.

Regina Cassandra is fantastic as Deepika, a character that echoes Harley Quinn in her chaos, her allure. But perhaps we needed a bit more of her, a deeper understanding of her manipulations. During portions in the second half, her deceit feels so tangled, that we, too, struggle to piece it together. But this is not a flaw. This is Deepika herself—a strange force of nature, and as it seemed to me, a personification of the doubt and venom that eats into relationships.

And that is the central truth of Vidaamuyarchi: Belief in the other.

Rakshith (Arjun) hates himself; Deepika doesn't seem to be capable of belief in anyone. Arjun and Kayal, on the other hand, do not yield to fear, to suspicion. Vidaamuyarchi is not a film about a hero who smashes his enemies into dust. It is a film about a man and a woman who refuse to turn on each other. And in that unwavering faith, they defeat their demons—not with bullets, not with fists, but with something far rarer in the world today: conviction. 

Yes, there is a thrill in watching a superhuman figure sit atop a pile of bodies, basking in the glory of Anirudh’s electrifying score. We see a glimpse of this when a beautiful top-angle shot shows us Arjun wrecking carnage in a hummer. But this once, can we admire something different about this protagonist who isn't out to assert his aggression—even if the film itself is not perfect, even if it sags as it moves towards its end? Can we recognise the beauty of a man who won't assert even his moral superiority on his wife, in a matter where he could argue he is the victim? Can we recognise the film's large-heartedness in never judging Kayal, except through the faulty eyes of a mentally disturbed Deepika? Can we recognise the heroism in a desperate, bloodied Arjun, screaming—not in triumph, but in agony... agony not for his wife, but bizarrely, beautifully, for the death of the villain. And if that isn’t heroism…