In a scene from Mahesh Babu’s Guntur Kaaram, our protagonist tells a persevering assistant that all he wants from his mother, is to know if the love between them is one-sided or mutual. It’s the crux of a film that plays around the unacknowledged bond between a mother and her estranged son, without actually probing it with the toolbox of curiosity. It’s a film that wants to marry a family feud to the high-decibel antics of a masala entertainer, and though it tries in parts to clutch onto humour and conflict, it’s really salvaged by the charms of the megastar who makes you want to forget it all. The fiery redness of Guntur Chilli is both central and symbolic to this story that though adept at mining fandom can’t quite fashion a story worth investing in.
The film begins with a flashback. A family feud, and an accident concludes with the young Ramana’s (Mahesh Babu) father going to jail while also separating him from his doting mother Vasundhara (Ramya Krishnan). The mother returns to Hyderabad where she climbs to power by becoming the state’s law minister. Ramana, instead, grows up alongside his paternal family in Guntur, where he masters the chilli business. Vasundhara’s family, led by an excellent Prakash Raj, seeks her son’s signature on a piece of paper that declares the severance of his legacy from the mothership. It’s cynical, but a necessary step to ensure the exiled son, his firebrand personality doesn’t come in the way of something that has been cautiously and delicately manufactured.
On the face of it at least, there is heft to the knotty emotional pivot at the centre of the film. There is sufficient mystery to the silences, the unsaid bond between the mother and son, played with affecting grace by both actors, whenever they face (or don’t) each other. Unfortunately, this undefinable chemistry is only occasionally utilised by a script that time and again refocuses on the wattage that Babu is ought to supply to the dimming light of the rest of its world. The slow-motion action sequences, the dizzying dance numbers, the attitude, the bodily cocksureness are all on display in a film that gets too busy trying to impress rather than converse with its audience. There are moments of tenderness, a pre-interval sequence where Babu exhibits a welcome streak of vulnerability. It’s sadly far too scarce in a story that could have introduced more drama as opposed to screeching moments of forgettable bravado.
Directed and written by Trivikram Srinivas, Guntur Kaaram does at least clear the low bar of elevating its superstar. Babu is in his element, effortlessly transforming between poise and controlled rage. There is an agreeable dreaminess about him that writers in Telugu cinema can’t help but self-reference within the film. There is more than one comment about his cherry-like complexion; beyond a point, it feels a bit gratuitous. Especially since it consigns a man’s magnetism to the superficiality of colour rather than the raw, material nature of his performances. The latter is quite watchable and enjoyable as well, for Babu can command the screen with ease and centralise its energy. But like any half-decent actor, he needed a script and focused direction worth sweating for. At almost three hours long, much of this film feels like the schlock someone is desperately trying to gather so the film’s most identifiable asset can look affable, rummaging through it for useable scraps.
The writing, the plot itself dulls the energy of a film that though reddened (almost every frame shows some) by the symbolism of hot chillis, feels shallow and lukewarm. Babu’s romantic interest played by Sreeleela is given little to do except look the part that entitled men would write for her. It’s not the worst but it doesn’t exactly fill the room with promise. Though women are in some sense crucial to the central conflict – including Ramana’s aunt – they don’t really get to participate in the film as much as watch from the sidelines. As much as there is this unsettling, but fascinating, cold war between a mother and son, the father’s emotional escalation rarely features as a matter of consideration. Almost as if the writers have forgotten the lip-smacking cast they have managed to put together for the project. Skinned to its bare bones, even the machismo feels stale, the grammar borrowed.
Guntur Kaaram isn’t the most riveting film you’ll see at the cinema this year, but it just about does what it sets out to do. It has the makings of a rollicking family feud that, had it been written better, could have extracted thrill without having to charitably throw punches, ignite fire without blowing a whole lot of hollow smoke and shed sweat without the pretence of pining for blood. There is a story worth exploring here, but unfortunately it gets walloped by the usual spiel of machismo. There is nothing wrong with witnessing Babu light up the screen with his seductive form of apathy. But it’s in the rare moments when he is asked to embody someone weaker, ‘fair and lovely on the outside, unfair and lonely on the inside’ that this film becomes something else. That else is maybe the film someone should try making as well.
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