Entertainment

A protagonist who is almost always cheerful reiterates his desire to make memories — stories he can one day narrate to his children, and look back on fondly when he is 60. But what if this idea of memory, initially lighthearted, later becomes a haunting echo? What if a memory is so deeply hurtful that it renders another character emotionally withdrawn?

Director Radhakrishna Reddy’s Telugu-Kannada bilingual film Junior explores these possibilities through a drama that nods to the mainstream Telugu cinema of a decade or two ago. Some plot points evoke the emotional world and writing style of Trivikram Srinivas, the veteran of family dramas. While several scenes entertain and build intrigue, the film’s contrived moments might also leave seasoned viewers with a nagging sense of déjà vu.

Junior ambitiously attempts to tackle ageism, complex family dynamics, girl child empowerment, digital literacy in rural India, and corporate social responsibility, all while doubling as a launchpad for Kireeti Reddy, son of politician Gali Janardhana Reddy.

The opening campus scenes are loud and glossy, with composer Devi Sri Prasad setting a high-energy tone. Abhi (Kireeti) quite literally leaps into the frame, sprinting through college corridors in what feels like an action hero entry, minus the actual conflict. He is portrayed as the all-rounder who can ace academics, sports, and even parkour stunts, all while his perfectly gelled hair does not move an inch.

A prologue introduces parents who embrace late parenthood and face ageist remarks, setting the stage for a father-son dynamic between Abhi and his doting father (V Ravichandran). Their relationship — marked by the father’s overbearing affection and Abhi’s growing claustrophobia — is played out with humour and warmth.

The light-hearted tone continues into Abhi’s courtship of Spoorthi (Sreeleela), which unfolds in formulaic fashion. The comic relief is largely powered by Abhi’s gang of friends, especially Harsha, who steals the show in a moment that even sparks Spoorthi’s envy.

The plot shifts gears with the arrival of Vijaya (Genelia Deshmukh), making a return to Telugu cinema after 13 years. Her character initially teeters on cliché — the stern, unapproachable boss — until her backstory adds emotional depth. These segments echo the tone of a Trivikram Srinivas family drama, and while the writing attempts nuance, the narrative feels too contrived to truly land.

Kireeti’s breezy presence contrasts sharply with the emotional heft Genelia is tasked with. Known for her bubbly roles in films like Bommarillu, she brings maturity and restraint here. It is a pleasure to watch her on screen, once again. Some of her scenes with Kireeti are thoughtfully written, but both actors are constrained by a plot that becomes increasingly predictable.

There are glimmers of smart storytelling, like a moment involving a photograph, but overall, the film misses the opportunity to explore relationships with a fresher lens.

Cinematographer KK Senthil Kumar and Devi Sri Prasad deliver within the constraints of the material. Meanwhile, Sreeleela’s character vanishes after the early portions, only to resurface for the ‘Viral Vayyari’ dance number, featuring a blink-and-miss cameo by Brahmanandam.

In the end, Junior plays out like an extended showreel for Kireeti Reddy, highlighting his screen presence, dancing chops, aptitude for action, and ability to well up on cue. All while that gelled hair never falters.

About an autistic girl struggling to find her way in a judgmental world, with a spring in her gingerly steps, Tanvi The Great carries the soul of Anupam Kher’s popular play, Kuchh Bhi Ho Sakta Hai (Anything can happen). It cocks a snook at the cynics and naysayers who question the flight of the dreamers. Surrounded by a supportive mother Vidya (Pallavi Joshi), an autism expert, and a grumpy grandfather, Pratap Raina (Kher), who doesn’t understand her condition, the socially awkward Tanvi Raina (debutante Shubhangi Dutt) finds the purpose of her life when she discovers that her soldier father, Samar (Karan Tacker), made the supreme sacrifice for the country.

She steps out of the poetic space that her grandfather envisaged for her under the shadow of his friend Raja Sahab (Boman Irani) and resolves to fulfil her father’s wish by joining the armed forces. But the rules don’t allow an autistic person to enter the troops. Baffled by her guts, the grandfather, who also served in the army, tries to dissuade her but gradually finds that she is different but no less, and is fit to carry forward the family tradition when Major Srinivasan (Arvind Swamy makes a stock character functional) agrees to give shape to Tanvi’s dream. Nursing a guilt, in Tanvi’s dream, Srinivasan sees an opportunity to redeem himself.

Like Kher, the film wears its heart on its sleeve, and the theme offers an interesting battle between one’s will and worth. The story has several strands that reveal the warp and weft of the human spirit and its frailties, but the film stays sweet and safe. Kher and his co-writers treat the subject gently and sensitively, but the possibilities on paper don’t consistently translate to the screen. Some moments feel genuine, but then some passages seem contrived or laboured. Tanvi’s uniqueness either becomes a fodder to evoke humour or an opportunity to put a halo behind her head.

The film, made in collaboration with the NFDC, finds the writers keen on crafting a series of creative responses to a list of FAQs on autism and the Indian armed forces, with a pen that bleeds. There are portions where the writing and form acquire the edifying tone of a public service advertisement. Before the conflict escalates or an obstacle becomes a problem, Kher devises a solution with the background score screaming ‘heartfelt.’

While MM Keeravani’s music and Keiko Nakahara’s cinematography are designed to provide a soothing contrast to the emotional outbursts, the quality of the special effects in the climax undermines the emotional swell.

Anupam Kher in a still from ‘Tanvi The Great’
| Photo Credit:
Anupam Kher Studio/YouTube

Shubhangi makes the stiff and exaggerated body language of Tanvi largely believable. As every autistic person is unique, writers have the liberty to set the contours of Tanvi’s character and her journey, but her struggle with her grandfather when her mother leaves them for work feels sanitised. The mess seems dressed up, very much like Pallavi and Jackie Shroff’s performance.

It goes without saying that Kher is a better actor than director. Amidst all the superficiality, Kher shines as he digs deep to internalise the layers of his character. Much like Aamir Khan’s character inSitaare Zameen Par, Kher’s character undergoes a transformation in his perception of disability and shows us how to evoke tears without drawing attention to it. He is the reason that you remain invested in Tanvi The Great even when the screenplay turns into a tepid visual essay.

Tanvi The Great is currently running in theatres.

“Just before I go on stage, I tell myself, these are my people,” says comedian Shraddha Jain, better known as her Instagram persona Aiyyo Shraddha. It is a quiet ritual that has grounded her through the whirlwind of a global tour, one that has taken her debut stand-up special So Mini Things across 10 countries and 45 cities. Now, as the show prepares to take its final bow in Bengaluru, that sentiment rings truer than ever. After 15 months of laughter, nostalgia and sold-out halls, she returns to home soil to close the tour where it all began. With her people. 

Produced by Livetree Entertainment, So Mini Things has been staged across continents, from Sydney to San Francisco, Dubai to Dublin, becoming an unexpected global hit. Drawing from Shraddha’s lived experiences, the show is a collage of anecdotes rooted in Indian family life: moments of growing up, growing older, and navigating the world with the kind of perspective that comes from looking back at childhood with affection and clarity.

“It started with a story my father and I laughed about, something I had said as a child,” she says. “We couldn’t stop laughing, and I thought, wow, this is still funny so many years later. As children, our ideas about things like religion, career, relationships are much bigger than us. They’re not practical at all. But they’re also beautiful. You might even wonder: What if the world really worked that way? Would it be better?,” she says speaking about the seed that sparked the motivation to put this special together. 

Comedian Shraddha Jain
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Despite the variety of cities and audiences she has encountered, Shraddha rarely tailors the core of her material. “It’s like dal. The base is the same. What changes is the tempering,” she explains, adding how in Mumbai, she speaks in Marathi, and in Bengaluru switches to Kannada. Whether she is performing in Boston, Hyderabad or London, it is her voice, the quirks, her rhythm that holds it together. “If I change the tempering too much, it stops being my story.”

As someone who rose to fame through clean, observational humour online, Shraddha is quick to credit her background in radio for shaping her storytelling instincts. “Radio taught me everything. How to write, present, and respect the mic.”

The Chennai show, she says, will be emotional. “I’ve had the most generous audiences. People don’t just come to laugh, they come to cheer you on. Someone in Sydney once held my hand and said, ‘I was so nervous for you!’ Like I was family. That’s what I’ll carry with me.”

As she prepares to retire So Mini Things, Shraddha is not rushing to write her next hour. “Everyone has one story in them. But if you find a second one, you probably have five more. That’s the scary part. Finding the second one,” she laughs. “But for now, the next big thing is laundry.”

So Mini Things will take place in Chennai on July 26 at Sir Mutha Venkatasubba Rao Concert Hall. Tickets on in.bookmyshow.com starting ₹999.