Rebels, Matriarchs, and Monsters

Set in the backwaters of Kerala, the film follows Anju (the always lovely Parvathy Thiruvothu), who lives with her husband, Thomaskutty, and his mother, Leelamma (veteran actress Urvashi). Thomaskutty is chronically ill and Anju spends almost all her married life tending to him. As his condition worsens, Anju finds comfort in the arms of her former lover, Rajeev. Complications arise when Anju discovers that she is pregnant with Rajeev’s child. And to make it more complicated, Thomaskutty passes away. Anju is now at a crossroads—will she finally be able to leave with Rajeev and enjoy a fulfilling relationship she always craved, or will she stay back to support the grieving Leelamma? A devastating story unfolds on the day of Thomaskutty’s funeral, which is marred by floods and a tense standoff between Anju and her family members. The film’s disquieting atmosphere and deliberate, restrained storytelling, free of melodrama, make it a compelling watch. The recurring presence of floodwaters becomes a striking leitmotif, with everyday life, mourning, and ritual unfolding knee-deep in water, heightening the sense of emotional and moral stagnation. Urvashi’s performance stands out, layered with deep sorrow over the loss of her beloved son and a simmering anger at Anju’s choices.

If Ullozhukku is about emotional pressure, The Great Shamsuddin Family is about emotional chaos. Over one packed day in a Delhi apartment, Bani (Kritika Kamra), a disciplined writer with a ticking clock, learns that nothing ruins productivity quite like family. A sister shows up with a bag full of money under not-so-ideal circumstances, another is summoned for her forgery skills, a cousin wants to elope, and a gaggle of aunts descends, sniffing out trouble and adding to the noise.

Directed by Anusha Rizvi, whose PeepliLivewas a path-breaking satire when it came out, the film has a similar eye for everyday absurdity, but with a gentler, more intimate touch. The humor comes from sharp observations and family banter, not punchlines, and the chaos feels comfortable and light rather than exaggerated. What works especially well is how naturally the film portrays its Muslim characters. Faith is present, but so are cigarettes, tea breaks, arguments, and quiet moments of affection. These are people dealing with work, money, relationships and expectations, not symbols or statements. The ensemble cast is a big part of the film’s charm. Farida Jalal is a joy as the formidable matriarch, while Sheeba Chaddha and Dolly Ahluwalia bring impeccable comic timing and warmth. It’s the perfect comfort watch.

Bad Girl, meanwhile, is about emotional rebellion—messy, loud, confusing, and deeply personal. Directed by Varsha Bharath, the film follows Ramya (Anjali Sivaraman) from her school years into adulthood as she repeatedly clashes with family rules, social expectations, and her own impulsive choices. The film works best in its early stretch, capturing the thrill of first love and first rebellion. Ramya’s teenage world feels bright and alive, but only until the adults pull the plug, replacing romance with restrictions. School transfers, tighter rules, and watchful parents follow, and Ramya responds the only way she knows how: by pushing back harder.

As Ramya grows older, the rebellion becomes messier. College brings a difficult relationship, followed by heartbreak, self-doubt, and the growing pressure to “settle down” as friends move on. The film loses some of its early spark here, leaning into more familiar territory, but Sivaraman keeps Ramya engaging, whether she’s defiant, confused, or emotionally exhausted. A delightfully honest, fiercely feminist film that deserves all the love and eyeballs it can get.

This film, also directed by Vetrimaaran, is based on Lock Up, a novel by M. Chandrakumar. Visaranaifollows a group of Tamil migrant workers whose lives unravel after they are picked up by police and tortured into confessing to a crime they did not commit. What begins as a routine arrest quickly turns into prolonged abuse inside a police station, where power operates without accountability. The men are beaten, coerced, and used as convenient scapegoats, revealing how easily ordinary lives can be caught in the machinery of law enforcement and politics.

The film is stark and unsparing in its approach. Violence is shown plainly, without dramatic build-up or relief, making the experience deeply unsettling. Vetrimaaran, known for films such as Polladhavan, Aadukalam, and Asuran, has built a reputation for hard-hitting stories rooted in social realism, and Visaranai fits squarely within that body of work. The film premiered at the Venice Film Festival and went on to win multiple national awards, cementing its place as one of Tamil cinema’s most talked-about films of the decade.

Set in early 2000s Kerala, Kalamkaval opens with what appears to be a routine police investigation following the disappearance of a young woman. As more cases surface—all linked by eerily similar patterns and stretching across the Kerala-Tamil Nadu border—the inquiry slowly reveals a serial chain of violence hiding in plain sight. The film unfolds at a measured pace, leaning more on mood and psychological tension than on flashy twists. Much of the film’s pull lies in Mammootty, one of the most instinctive performers of his generation. As Stanley Das—a seemingly affable, womanizing police officer—he is both quietly menacing and disarmingly ordinary. The film reveals his role early on, shifting the tension away from who did it to how long he can remain unseen. Mammootty plays the part without excess—calm, watchful, and unsettling precisely because he never signals danger outright.


Baisakhi Roy is the editor of Canadian Immigrant. Her work has appeared in leading Canadian media outlets, including The Globe and Mail, Toronto Star, and CBC. She specializes in stories at the intersection of immigrant life and culture in Canada, with a strong focus on workplace issues and diversity.


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