Sarangadhariya review: A formulaic drama with some interesting things to say

In Sarangadhariya, Sai (Mohit Pedada), a middle-class college boy who loves Fatima, does something radical to convince her father. After being rejected for being ‘inherently different,’ Sai returns to Fatima's father and tells him that he has gotten rid of the one thing that differentiates them—through a circumcision. It might read laughable on paper, but Sai is too young to think rationally and make wise decisions. He is desperate to prove a point, even if it comes at the cost of being foolishly naive.

Strangely enough, Sarangadhariya too has a similar trajectory. Even though its execution is often shabby, the film deserves some recognition for how it attempts to explore a few subjects, which are rarely touched upon in mainstream Telugu cinema, with dignity.

Director: Padmarao Abbisetti

Cast: Raja Ravindra, Yashaswini Srinivas, Moin, Mohit Peddada, Neela Priya Devulapalli

Directed by Padmarao Abbisetti, the film revolves around Krishna (Raja Ravindra) and his family, primarily around the trials and tribulations of his three children, Arjuna, Sai, and Anupama. Each of them is struggling in their own way. While Sai is a fumbling college student, Arjun (Moin) is an alcoholic and unemployed man, who is drowning in self-pity and unable to recover from a tragic incident in the past. Anupama (Yashaswini Srinivas), meanwhile, strives to pursue a life of ambition and independence, even as she finds herself the unwilling centre of attention in her neighbourhood.

In the first half, Sarangadhariya has an interesting, albeit somewhat dully-paced, slice-of-life quality. Even later on, once the audience is familiar with the core storyline, the director uses a light-handed touch for the secondary plot points. Most impressively, Sarangadhariya makes space for a transgender character and shows a mirror to a society that urgently needs to get rid of these taboos. The film makes a conscious effort to explore the subject of LGBTQIA community in a way that’s both respectful and educational. It’s hard to talk about the film without giving away too many spoilers, but director Padmarao Abbisetti leaves many clues early on, slyly hinting at the big reveal that forms the crux of the second half. 

Krishna (Raja Ravindra), the family patriarch, is an interesting character. He might seem dismissive of his children at first glance, like most conventional father figures in our cinema, but there is also this underlying resilience to his persona. He has a no-nonsense quality to him and is quick to give a rebuttal to all his naysayers, while maintaining a composed demeanour. And yet, there is a certain burden that Krishna carries, which Raja Ravindra brings out beautifully, and that can only come with facing some real hardships in life, even as we see him having made peace with the melancholic present. 

But despite such a strong protagonist and its overarching themes, the film often falls prey to the ‘commercial potboiler’ elements. There are more than a handful of dialogues that objectify women (even if they are coming from henchmen prototypes), leaving a bad taste in the mouth. The use of melodramatic background music in many scenes becomes overkill.

Anupama’s character has an admirable goal but very little depth. More often than not, we see Anupama cower in front of the many barriers that face her in the form of lecherous men. It makes it easy for the film’s three leading male characters to turn saviours—a convenient trope, to say the least. Sarangadhariya also suffers because of ineffectual production values and weak direction that dampen the emotional charge of the narrative. The pre-climactic segment, too, is put together incoherently.

And yet, there are moments where Sarangadhariya tugs at your heartstrings with its sensitivity. There is a great hand-held sequence where Arjun (Moinuddin) wakes up from a nightmare, desperate in search of a cigarette while being equally aware of his crumbling self. Arjun’s desperation reaches out to you, and Moin succeeds in capturing the plight of this self-destructive underachiever. (Special mention goes to music director Ebenezer Paul, whose songs elevate some of the dramatic sequences in the film.). The film also has the cleverness to deal with its commentary on the caste system with both heft and humour. At a crucial point, a character hilariously refrains from giving blood to an upper-caste man, having been familiar with his bigoted side and his preference to ‘mingle’ only with ‘his caste’.

And then, there’s my favourite line in the film that casually arrives in a throwaway scene. While giving a pep talk to his class, Krishna reflects on how, among all the addictions in life, failure stands the tallest. "It keeps pulling you down, and hence becomes the easiest to get used to," he says. That touches a chord. We have heard of failure being described as a weakness, as something to consistently avoid in life, but in this brief snippet, screenplay writer Vinaykotti brings a new perspective on something that all of us struggle with.

Sarangadhariya is abundant with these minor surprises. And through a 150-minute runtime that’s largely familiar and formulaic, the film makes you sit up and reflect quite a few times about the nature of life. That's accomplishment enough.