POPCORN REVIEWSS

Written by Srikanth Odela and Vinay Sagar Jonnala, The Paradise can be viewed as a derivative film in every sense. Its central conflict of identity is straight up borrowed from the Telugu dud Peddi (2026); the setting and world building is a cinematic baby of films like KGF (2018) and Salaar (2023). Even in a scene when a derogatory tattoo is imprinted on hand of a character – the scene instantly reminded me of the film Deewaar (1975), with a character suffering from a similar tattooed trauma of ‘Mera Baap Chor Hai’. In between, the drama remains a derivative of ‘The Chosen One’ template – the latter being a part of so many films now that every major star is a chosen one in his own world. And on any given day, these issues would have formed the core criticism of the film, simply given how it is the same format recycled over and over again. But in that case, The Paradise is an exception – it brings to the fore another major issue of detachment that has a main character energy in the wake of some newfound criticism.

A specific sequence in the cold open is enough to establish this point – even as a rebellious pregnant character is electrocuted to the point of delivering her babies – one of them that would go onto live, and bear the looks of his sister too. This potentially emotional moment is never fully realised even from a writing stand point (I will get to the technical aspects in a bit), often wanting to rush across from point A to point B in a matter of a montage comprising of a collection of sequences.

In the midst, even the women are looked down upon all in the name of sympathy – even as the child protagonist gets to know that his mother Sammakka (Sonali Kulkarni) has sold her body at one point. In a separate instance in a different timeline, the grown-up protagonist Jadal (Nani) also gets to know that the love of his life Subbu (Kayadu Lohar) is actually an ‘adult’ actress – using her body to survive and repay her deceased father’s loan. In another action sequence, a female character’s clothes are ripped apart by a sword, only for her to take shelter by submerging her body inside a water puddle. There is a fine line in evoking a sense of empathy and objectifying women with a ‘logical’ reason – just with a gaze to titillate the viewers.

It is ironic on how the core conflict of identity is never fully tapped into, briefly being ‘referred’ to during the protagonists’ tryst with the villains cut out of a cardboard. Both the villains namely Shikanja (Mohan Babu) and Vikram (Raghav Juyal) feel increasingly sketchy – the latter in particular modelled on the lines of his own identity crisis of wanting step out of his father’s shadow, while the viewers know nothing more about him. His appearance also felt like Ranga from Aavesham (2024) – from his white attire to a moustache, all making him a resounding caricature.

The only silver lining for me was the interval block, wherein the sentiments around the action set piece came to life – culminating in a stylized end to a particular character. But outside that, the writing just felt like switching from one gory action set-piece to another – with limbs slashed and body-parts sliced like a game of fruit slasher, ironically also laced with a raspberry syrup with an idea of the battle to appear more bloodier than ever. The objective of the film was totally lost in translation, even in moments when the emphasis was a lot on the central character as opposed to the central conflict in question – a criticism that could easily be shared with the recently released travesty Toxic (2026). It was torture p*rn and how!

I could sense a few potential plot-points – be it a scene involving the Savaris holding an incense stick given how the illusion created by the oppressors on how they ‘stink’ – something that was a direct and relevant commentary on marginalization. Or lore of the tribe being equated as crows. Or even the potentially emotional bond between the mother-son duo, particularly hinted at in a scene wherein Jadal after hearing about his mother’s sacrifices also sheds a tear. Or the relevance of the twin-ponies donned by the protagonist in the memory of his late sister. These moments are scattered and often fleeting in their stay, even as the emphasis remains on blood, gore, and violence without a purpose.

The second half completely goes for a toss completely leaning on torture p*rn, with random characters going in and out of the narrative. For instance, Subbu is there in one scene but disappears at will in another. The main antagonist also follows a similar trope, even while introducing a lawyer and a Punjabi cop as allies – even as these characters don’t have any identity or purpose of their own in the narrative. There is an intercutting dance-fight face-off, a subplot involving the survival of a newborn, some guest appearances of heads separated from the bodies, sliced limbs having no identity of their own, and a sea of blood erupting out of an insipid finale. It was exhausting, repetitive and quite honestly frustrating.