by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 4

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 9-Min Read

I remember a night before Joshua, before Kavita, and before I had developed my love for dogs. I was walking back to my PG after dinner with my roommate. It was late, and back then, Bangalore’s streets were quieter, less chaotic. On our way back, just a little over a kilometer from the restaurant, a dog began to follow us. My roommate, uneasy, tried to shoo it away, but the dog kept pace, undeterred. This troubled him to the point where he picked up a stone, ready to throw it. That irked me.

I stopped him, though he was clearly upset. In his mind, he was just protecting himself. But I didn’t buy it. I wasn’t a dog lover at the time, but something in me believed that the dog meant no harm. My roommate, however, didn’t share my conviction. What started as a disagreement quickly escalated into a heated argument—one that nearly ended in a fistfight.

But then, something shifted. I managed to find the words that diffused the tension. I didn’t want to fight him; he was much younger, and I understood his fear. But I also wasn’t willing to back down. So, in that tense moment, I simply said, “If the dog wanted to hurt us, it would have done so long before you picked up that stone. We wouldn’t have stood a chance. But it chose not to. Maybe it was just hungry, maybe all it wanted was a biscuit or some leftovers.”

It was past midnight, but those words seemed to reach him. Nirmal, the boy who had almost punched me just moments earlier, understood. He hugged me and said, “Sid, you say things well. I am sorry.”

And just like that, the tension melted away. That night, a small part of me began to understand something about dogs—their vulnerability, their simple needs. A lesson that would take root, only to bloom fully when Joshua came into my life.

***

There were moments during Joshua’s first year and a half when I hated him for the violence he unleashed out of fear. The mess he created—both mental and physical—took us a long time to clean up. Yet, even in those dark times, when I spat expletives in his direction, I couldn’t overlook the goodness in him. It was there, undeniable, shining through, even if I’d been blind. But my most bitter words were always reserved for the person who had mutilated his tail. Man, woman, transgender, or alien—whoever did that to him, I can never forgive.

This part of his story also must be told, because, just like humans, no animal is purely black or white. We are all driven by the same instinct to survive. And Joshua’s story isn’t only about his trauma. His scars cannot steal the spotlight from who he truly was—the loving, caring, and fiercely loyal companion we came to know.

***

Many of you must be wondering why I thought of Joshua as an alien dog. Well, there were two reasons. First, I always believed he had the most advanced sixth sense when it came to reading human minds. He always knew exactly what we were up to, and if our plans didn’t align with his, he’d somehow find a way to counter them. It was as if he could read our thoughts. Even if he didn’t understand a word we said, he grasped our intentions perfectly.

The second reason was his insatiable appetite. Joshua was the biggest foodie I’ve ever known—not just in how much he could eat, but what he could eat. Burgers, rolls, biryani, kebabs, socks, shoes, toys, even mattresses—he devoured it all. After that terrifying incident as a puppy when he became severely dehydrated, it seemed like his gut became invincible. It felt like he could even eat tungsten and not burp.

In Joshua’s first two years, going out without him felt like playing a game of chess. We had to outthink him, not just fool him. If we changed our clothes, spoke differently, packed bags, or behaved the least bit suspicious, he would instantly sense that we were planning to leave him behind. His final move was always a dash for the door, and no matter how carefully we planned, he’d outsmart us. What followed was always a chase, with the whole neighborhood soon aware that our dog had escaped. That was his way of saying, “Take me with you!”

Back then, we didn’t have a car and ride-hailing services like Ola and Uber didn’t exist. Most auto drivers wouldn’t allow a dog in their vehicle. But we eventually found a few who would. We took their phone numbers and called them whenever we needed a ride. Those were Joshua’s happiest days. He loved feeling the wind in his fur, just like any lab. He adored the tuk-tuks so much that when we went on walks, if he saw one, he’d try to hop in, not realizing that not all autos were for him.

But the mind reader used his super-power for our good as well. Sometimes, I felt Joshua knew us better than we knew ourselves. He had an uncanny ability to sense our pain. Whether it was Kavita, me, or her roommates, he’d never leave our side when we were sad—even if we tried to fake it, he always knew. He wouldn’t be in our face, just quietly nearby, offering silent comfort. And when we finally snapped out of it, he’d pull off something mischievous, instantly lifting our spirits. He wasn’t just a goofy dog; he was clever, almost sneaky, and always seemed to know exactly what we needed.

Joshua the foodie was a worthy rival to Joshua the mind reader. One particular day stands out. Kavita had packed chicken rolls for Aditi and me. I devoured mine the moment she arrived. Aditi, however, decided to take a bath first and enjoy her Kolkata Kathi roll later, at her leisure. The only flaw in that plan was that Joshua had already locked in on his target. By the time she came back, the hot, delicious roll had disappeared. Joshua was sitting there, licking his paws, while we searched for the missing roll—through the kitchen, the packets, everywhere. It took us a while to realize that the reason he was licking his paws was because he had eaten it.

About a month later, Kavita invited some friends over for dinner. She had an elaborate menu planned. A big bag of groceries came home that day, including a kilo of paneer meant to become a rich Palak Paneer dish. Instead, it made its way down Joshua’s throat, the entire block gone in the blink of an eye. It was as if he’d performed a magic trick, one second it was there, the next it was gone.

There were countless more episodes like this over the years. To be honest, we didn’t make too much of them. When we look back now, we laugh, just like we did then—though back then, the laughter often came after a good bit of frustration.

Our marriage was on the horizon, and Joshua had just turned two. Given his history, I was anxious about how our families would react to him. To be honest, he was no saint. If he wanted something, he would find a way to get it. He was stubborn and disciplining him wasn’t for everyone. But in the end, it was all about earning his trust.

In November 2010, we got married. It wasn’t exactly smooth sailing with our parents, who took turns staying with us for months at a time. Neither my in-laws nor my parents were dog lovers. In fact, my parents had an aversion to dogs. But they soon realized Joshua wasn’t just a dog—he held a special place in our home. Over time, they learned to manage their fear and earn his trust. This was laudable. There were minor hiccups along the way, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

The same could be said for some of our friends. A few had a deep-rooted fear of dogs. Inviting them over for house parties often meant locking Joshua in a room. But Joshua had no interest in being shut away. He loved people, and he especially loved food. If we made the mistake of locking him up, he’d bark non-stop until we had no choice but to let him out. After a few drinks, my once-fearful friends could be found petting him, and within a year, they were cuddling, hugging, and even sleeping next to him at parties. By the next morning, their fear of dogs would miraculously return. I’d pull out photos from the previous night if they started putting on a show about being afraid.

In all of this, Joshua was the biggest winner. He got everyone’s attention—and, of course, their food. Many of these friends of mine are now settled elsewhere, but whenever we connect over phone there is always a talk on Joshua. Those are the memories he has left behind.

When we first got married, Kavita and I became pros at packing and moving, thanks to constant job changes. One of those moves landed us in a quiet, two-story villa in a serene little colony. The peace didn’t last long, though—Joshua saw to that.

He arrived after we’d moved most of our things, and the minute he hopped out of the auto, he locked onto a target. A poor little male stray. Before we knew it, Joshua—leashed, freed himself—launched into a full-on chase. The stray dove into a dry ditch, and thank goodness, we managed to drag Joshua back just before things could escalate.

Of course, the whole colony was out by then, stray dogs barking in a chorus that shook the neighborhood. And just like that, we were famous—for all the wrong reasons. The residents weren’t exactly thrilled to meet us.

However, after a few months, things calmed down. The neighbors adjusted to life with our “resident alien.” But there was something else on the way. A baby. Joshua was about to have a kid brother!

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Sector 36: A Gripping Descent into the Mind of a Psychopath and the System that Breed Them

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 3-Min Read

Sector 36 delivers one of the most gripping and unsettling police interrogation scenes in recent Hindi cinema. While Kannada film Shakhahaari featured something similar, Sector 36 manages to manifest itself into something more powerful. The film rests squarely on the shoulders of its lead actors, particularly Vikrant Massey, whose portrayal of the villain is nothing short of transformative. Massey inhabits the despicable character, Prem, with chilling precision, delivering a gut-wrenching, blood-curdling performance that serves as an acting masterclass. It’s the kind of performance that industry heavyweights could learn from. The confrontation between the hero and villain in this scene is intense, raw, and unforgettable.

The film isn’t built on intricate plot twists, grand reveals, or mysteries. From the very start, the film sets the audience’s expectations—it’s not about the story, but about the characters. This is a purely character-driven narrative, and that’s where its real power lies. The writing makes it clear that the plot is secondary, guiding viewers to focus on the complexities of the individuals on screen. We’re drawn in not by what happens, but by who it happens to, and how these deeply flawed characters navigate a corrupt system and each other.

Sector 36 is not just an investigative thriller; it’s a deep dive into the mind of a psychopath and an indictment of the system that fosters such monstrosities. The film paints a picture of a corrupt, decaying society, one that becomes a breeding ground for these individuals to thrive. As Vikrant Massey explained in an interview with Baradwaj Rangan, Ramcharan Pandey (played by an excellent Deepak Dobriyal), the flawed hero of the story, mirrors society itself—he remains passive until the problem lands on his doorstep. This, Massey argues, reflects our collective psyche, where we remain indifferent until the crisis becomes personal.

The film also deftly tackles socio-economic disparity, highlighting how these inequalities fuel the crimes we see. The privileged are conditioned to believe that these problems belong to “others”—until they, too, are forced to confront the reality. This nuanced commentary is skillfully woven into the narrative, conveyed through the film’s rich, layered characters. Sector 36 is as much a character study as it is a societal critique, delivered through powerful performances that elevate the film’s underlying message.

Verdict:

IMDb – 7.5/10
My rating – 4/5

You can watch Sector 36 on Netflix.

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Hail-Tailed Alien – Part 3

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 7-Min Read

Of all the chapters in Joshua’s life, this is the one I’ve dreaded writing. But without it Joshua’s story would be terribly incomplete.

***

At 4 months, Joshua was a ball of energy—wild, playful, and unstoppable. If you’ve seen Marley & Me, you’ll understand. That dog in the movie? That was Joshua. When we watched the film, Joshua was 6 months old, and we couldn’t believe how much he resembled the lead character. By the end of the movie, we were in tears, emotional wrecks.

We got home and hugged Joshua, apologizing for not understanding his boundless energy. He was completely unfazed. I think he knew his parents were the type to get caught up in stories rather than reality. With a ball in his mouth, he snapped us out of our emotions and pulled us back into playtime. That’s who he was—living in the moment, never burdened by our overreactions.

After that rainy night, we realized we needed someone to care for Joshua when we weren’t home. Luckily, our housemaid, Bhagyamma, stepped in. She wasn’t afraid of dogs—in fact, she adored Joshua. It was a perfect arrangement since she lived on the ground floor of our apartment, which made it easy for her to tend to her own matters if needed while still being available for him.

Over the next month, Bhagyamma looked after Joshua as if he were her own child. Every evening when we returned, she would excitedly share stories about his day—what he ate, how he played, and every little thing we might have missed. In those three or four months, if not for her, we wouldn’t have noticed how fast he was growing into an adult dog. She spoiled him without hesitation—massaging him, playing with him, and often hand-feeding him, something I’d scolded her for more than once.

But deep down, I knew Joshua was in good hands, and he loved her for it.

Then came the sly cat that changed everything. She appeared one day in our neighborhood, constantly lingering in Joshua’s line of sight. At first, we didn’t think much of it—just part of his socialization. We figured he’d get bored of barking at her. But one afternoon, everything shifted.

Kavita got a call at work. It was from our maid’s son, saying Joshua had bitten Bhagyamma, on the hand. Kavita rushed home, took her to the hospital, and ensured she got the medical care she needed. Bhagyamma, surprisingly, wasn’t too upset. She told us she had grabbed Joshua by the collar to stop him from barking at the cat. In his frenzy, he bit her without realizing what he was doing.

The guilt on Joshua’s face stayed with him all day. But for us, the event was a wake-up call. Was there something wrong with our dog? Could this have been the result of some hidden trauma? Or was it simply a mistake—an instinctual reaction, exacerbated by the maid’s decision to grab his collar when he was still building trust with her?

At the time, dog psychologists and behaviorists were almost unheard of in Bangalore. In 2008, we were mostly on our own. The little advice we got boiled down to being more vigilant and avoiding unnecessary risks.

That day, Joshua taught us another hard lesson: sometimes, even with love and care, things can go wrong. And it’s not always anyone’s fault. The thing that had me shocked was not the bite. But the violent nature of the act. No dog would bite the hand that fed it.

Taking Joshua for walks became increasingly difficult as he approached his first year. The moment we stepped onto the street, stray dogs would surround us, trailing behind until the walk was over. We couldn’t understand the issue. Joshua, on edge, would either mark territory every few meters or explode in rage if any male dogs got too close. In these fits of anger, he would sometimes snap at us, his frustration turning dangerously inward.

This routine became unbearable, so we sought help from a trainer. That’s when we learned our sixth lesson— a dog’s tail is more than just a part of its body; it’s a vital tool for communication. The way they wag, hold, or tuck their tail tells you everything about their emotions. Joshua’s half tail, which was always stuck in a horizontal position, made him an outcast. Other dogs couldn’t read his signals, which made them see him as a threat.

This was also when we learned our seventh lesson—the importance of understanding a dog’s breed. Every breed was created for a specific purpose. The trainer believed Joshua was a mix of a Labrador and a Boxer. Labs are retrievers, bred for their gentle nature, while Boxers are guard dogs, known for their protective instincts. But Boxers have another defining trait—a docked tail.

Things started to make sense. Joshua’s tail wasn’t lost in an accident with a door. It was docked by human hands in an act of cruelty when he was a puppy. This unnecessary trauma had scarred him for life, and the depth of that wound would become clearer in the months ahead.

Joshua was neutered the same year Kavita moved into a spacious two-story house in Koramangala with her batchmate and sister. The new setup seemed ideal—Joshua had more room and received plenty of attention. After the surgery, we noticed he seemed calmer. He wasn’t marking as much, and his frantic energy during walks had subsided. We thought we were past his behavioral issues, but then something unexpected happened.

One day, Kavita’s mother, seeing him resting on the sofa he now considered his territory, tried to pull him off by the collar. In an instant, Joshua lashed out. The bite was vicious, tearing into her flesh—his boxer instincts and strong jaws making the damage severe. When I arrived, there was blood on the floor, and Joshua was hiding behind the TV cabinet, shaking. I rushed her mother to the hospital, and though her physical wounds healed in a month, the emotional scars were deep. For the first time, I felt afraid of him, unsure if he could do more harm. Yet, we still didn’t fully understand what had triggered this.

A few months later, another incident occurred. I was at Kavita’s place one Saturday, waiting for her to return from work. Her roommates were in their rooms when suddenly, I heard two screams—first Joshua, then Aditi, Kavita’s sister. I ran upstairs and found an all-too-familiar scene: blood on the floor and Joshua looking guilty. Aditi had accidentally stepped on him while he slept beside the bed, and he had bitten her leg in response.

At the hospital, as I sat reflecting on everything, it finally made sense. Joshua’s violent reactions weren’t out of aggression—they were from fear. Something terrible had happened to him as a puppy, likely while he was asleep. I began to suspect that his tail had been cruelly docked during sleep, leaving him traumatized.

In the wild, a fearful animal can be far more dangerous than an angry one. We had to help him, face this fear with him—there was no abandoning him. He had only us.

To be continued …

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 2

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 4-Min Read

“You don’t own a dog. You have a dog. And the dog has you.” – Unknown

Joshua was around 35 days old when we brought him home. At the time, Kavita and I weren’t married yet; that was still two years away. He was my Friendship Day gift to her. Since she had a dog growing up, I was sure she’d be the better pet parent in those early days. Plus, she had a roommate who was just as eager to spoil him.

From the moment he stepped into her flat, Joshua acted like he already knew the place. He sniffed around, explored every corner, used the bathroom for his first pee, then came right back to sit beside us. It was seamless. There was no hesitation, no fear—it felt like he was always meant to be with us.

In the coming weeks Joshua’s bond with Kavita grew stronger. She pampered him, often treating him like a human baby, which led to arguments between us. I always believed in respecting the animal for what it is, but that idea never quite stuck with her. It still doesn’t!

My 25th birthday passed by. We had a gala time. Joshua was the center of attention that day. No surprises there. But our lessons as pet parents were still due.

Three weeks after bringing him home, we faced our first hard lesson as pet parents—puppies may look sturdy, but they can be as fragile as human babies. He ate something bad, and by nightfall, he was vomiting repeatedly. We consulted a vet we knew, but it didn’t help, and somehow, we made it through the night. The next morning, Joshua was barely conscious. We rushed him to the vet and were told that if we had been just half-an-hour late, he wouldn’t have survived. “A dog doesn’t die of hunger, but it can die of dehydration within hours,” the vet explained.

Thankfully, we were just in time. Joshua was put on drips, and after a few hours, he came around. As soon as he recovered, he was back to his usual self, getting into everything he could. That’s when we learned our second lesson—dogs don’t dwell on what happened. They live fully in the moment, no matter what they’ve been through.

A month passed, and Joshua’s vaccinations were complete. He was ready for his first real walks. Until then, we’d only taken him to the terrace of our building, where he smelled the world from afar. Now it was time for him to truly experience it. Feisty as ever, he was eager to explore. But there was a problem. None of the dogs—stray or otherwise—would tolerate him. He’d go into a frenzy at their rejection, and we couldn’t understand why. The truth would reveal itself much later.

But before that, we faced two unforgettable shocks. The first came on a night when the rain refused to stop. Joshua had been staying at my apartment for a few days, as he often did on weekends. I figured he’d be comfortable even when I was at work. But, of course, he was still just a puppy.

Here’s the third lesson we learned as pet parents—dogs have a far better sense of hearing than humans. To Joshua, every thunderclap must have sounded like a bomb. I discovered this the hard way when I returned home late, around 10 p.m. As soon as I opened the door, I was greeted by a terrible stench. I frantically searched for Joshua, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Finally, in the bedroom, I found my king-sized mattress lying on the floor, a large chunk of it chewed to pieces. There were paw prints on the walls, streaked with dog poop—the source of the smell. Great artwork! But where was the little rascal? After a frantic search, I found him hiding beneath the mattress, his mischievous eyes gleaming even as he lay exhausted. It took Kavita and me two hours to clean up the mess he’d caused. That night, we learned our fourth lesson—a three-month-old puppy can cause an astonishing amount of damage, and Labradors suffer from separation anxiety. Joshua needed company when we were out.

We soon found someone to look after him, but that led to our fifth lesson—the psychological scars of his half-tail. We discovered that dogs, too, carry trauma. And sometimes, their wounds run deeper than we can see.

To be continued …

***

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

The Half-Tailed Alien – Part 1

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 3 Min Read

I was convinced that Joshua was an alien dog. From a few months into having him until the day he died, I was sure of it. I even called him that. Before bedtime, I’d often tell my son a story about how a spaceship dropped this odd creature on our planet, and we were the crazy ones who picked him up. Joshua was my ET dog.

But there was something else that made him special—his half tail.

***

We met the “alien dog” at the pet market in Shivajinagar, Bangalore. Puppies were on display in huge baskets, cramped together like soft toys. Back then, our understanding of animal cruelty was still immature. My wife and I were like naive kids, wandering through a candy store, overwhelmed by all the choices. The market was a sensory overload, with cute eyes staring at us from every shop. Each puppy seemed to be desperately looking for a home.

In the midst of it all, we noticed a small cage beside one of the shops. Inside was a little puppy with unforgettable marble-like eyes. When I put my finger through the railing, he eagerly nibbled on it as if it were a treat. He was desperate to get out.

I asked the shopkeeper to take him out of the cage. The moment he was free, he ran all over the place. The other puppies made space for him, wanting nothing to do with his energy. “Which breed?” I asked. “Labrador,” the shopkeeper replied. The puppy had half a tail, and that was impossible to miss. “Why does he have half a tail?” I inquired. “It was an accident. A door slammed on it,” the shopkeeper said. The explanation seemed absurd, but my wife and I exchanged knowing glances. Whether the story was true or not, one thing was clear—this little guy would have a tough time finding a home with that half tail.

We kept looking at each other, silently negotiating. He was the cutest, most spirited dog we had seen. And he had chosen us. Unlike the others, who were all vying for attention, he never left our side. He’d run around, but always came back to settle at our feet. Finally, my wife broke the silence, “Can we take him home?” I was relieved to hear it.

We took him home in a small cardboard box filled with cotton. I remember the date clearly—August 3, 2008, the first Sunday of August. Friendship Day.

Your first dog is always special because nothing prepares you for what is to come. It’s like having your first child. We were on that road of unexpected surprises and this rascal would teach us how to be a pet parent and mad dog lovers.

To be continued …

About the author

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

The Zone of Interest – Movie Review | A Unique Perspective on the Holocaust Horror

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

(Trailer – The Zone of Interest)

I had been eagerly awaiting the release of The Zone of Interest on OTT, since it had a limited theatrical release in India. Now, it’s available on Amazon Prime Video. The film won the Best International Feature and Best Sound Design at the 2023 Oscars. It also won the Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival. Notably, the Indian film All We Imagine as Light, directed by Payal Kapadia, currently holds the same honor.

Jonathan Glazer’s The Zone of Interest is a German historical drama that delves into the lives of Auschwitz commandant Rudolf Höss and his wife, Hedwig. They reside in an opulent house right next to the Auschwitz concentration camp. Shot in a near-documentary style, the film’s camera serves as a silent observer.

The Höss family goes about their daily routines, basking in the comforts of their luxurious existence. The children swim and fish, while Hedwig spends her days gardening and maintaining their household with the help of several servants. Yet, next door, there is a relentless cacophony of shouting, gunshots, roaring furnaces, and arriving trains. Rudolf’s grim task is to oversee the extermination of thousands of Jews, a horrifying job he executes with chilling precision.

The film is a profound meditation on human depravity. It starkly portrays how easily we can desensitize ourselves, transforming into monstrous beings complicit in one of history’s greatest atrocities. The film forces us to confront the banality of evil and the chilling ease with which ordinary lives can coexist with unimaginable horror.

The Zone of Interest has been rightly hailed as a masterpiece for its minimalistic yet novel approach. It presents scenes that are strikingly unique in cinema. How do you depict violence without showing it? How do you convey depravity with a nonchalant, matter-of-fact demeanor? This film is a masterclass in both.

The aesthetics are strikingly contemporary, despite being a period piece. It feels like a window where the past and present gaze at each other, blurring the lines of time.

Please keep in mind that The Zone of Interest is not your typical Holocaust or World War II film. There isn’t a single scene of bloodshed, yet the film is profoundly grotesque. Its screenplay is unlike anything seen before in this genre. At just 1 hour and 45 minutes, it covers a lot of ground at its own deliberate pace, delivering its message with immense power.

The film is as hard-hitting as the classics on the subject. Steven Spielberg even called it the best Holocaust film since his own Schindler’s List (1993). Need I say more?

Verdict –
IMDb rating: 7.4/10
My rating: 4.5/5

*****

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Maharaja | Movie Review | A Non-Linear Thriller That Keeps You Guessing

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

The greatest strength of director Nithilan Swaminathan’s ‘Maharaja’ is its climax, closely followed by its intricate plot. The screenplay masterfully employs timelines to keep the suspense alive until the very end. If told in a linear fashion, the film would have lost much of its impact. By using a non-linear approach, the writer-director offers a masterclass in writing dark, psychological thrillers. However, the film does have its share of flaws that discerning viewers will easily notice.

Plot Overview:

The story unfolds in a complex weave of past and present. Maharaja, played by Vijay Sethupathi, a barber by profession, visits a police station to report a robbery. But what he claims to have lost leaves the police officers astounded.

He says that a gang of thieves raided his house, attacked him, and stole his dustbin which was of much value to him. The police are reluctant to take up the case because the stolen item is a seemingly worthless dustbin. However, they sense there is more to the story than meets the eye.

Its only much later in the film that we discover the value the dustbin had for the protagonist. Maharaja recounts a tragic accident where a truck driver lost control of his vehicle and crashed into the house where his wife and daughter were. His wife perished in the accident, but his daughter survived, saved by a metal dustbin that, as if by divine intervention, fell on her head and shielded her from the direct impact. Since then, Maharaja and his daughter have venerated the dustbin, calling it ‘Lakshmi’.

But things don’t add up for the police. They investigate and the revelations are dark to say the least.

Narrative Style:

The narrative often borders on silliness, employing humor that enhances the intrigue, maintaining an underlying sense of dread until the startling revelations unfold. The brilliance lies in delivering the unexpected and unbelievable. Events that seem like a series of happy coincidences are woven into the screenplay with such skill that they feel anything but.

The non-linear stitching of scenes heightens the impact, especially of the much-talked-about climax. By playing with time, the writer disorients the audience, much like “Parasite” did until the doorbell rang at the halfway point. This clever manipulation of past and present blurs the lines, making the audience lose track of time. The revelations deliver one shocking moment after another, making the film a clear winner in terms of sheer entertainment.

Performances:

In his 50th film, Vijay Sethupathi delivers a performance that showcases his exceptional range. The film plays to his strengths, allowing him to seamlessly embody humor, menace, and introspective silence. The supporting cast, including notable names like Abhirami, Mamta Mohandas, and Bharathiraja, have relatively minor roles. However, Natarajan Subramaniam as the corrupt Inspector Varadharajan, Aruldoss as Sub Inspector Perumalsamy, and Singampuli as the cunning Nallasivam deliver standout performances in their significant parts.

Anurag Kashyap, portraying Maharaja’s formidable foe Selvam, embodies a well-written, layered, and complex character. While his performance is largely nuanced, there are moments where a bit more restraint would have been beneficial. Additionally, his lip sync, especially at the beginning, occasionally made his dialogue seem like gibberish. Despite these minor flaws, the casting team has done an excellent job overall.

Technical Aspects:

The background score by Ajaneesh Loknath is a strong point of the film. It captures all the moods of the film, essential for the emotional roller coaster the story takes the audience on.

Conclusion:

It would have been easy for Maharaja to be just another psychological thriller. But writer-director Nithilan Swaminathan finds a way to be inventive with this revenge story. By playing with time, he keeps the audience on the edge of their seats. Despite its flaws the film’s many subplots tie up beautifully in the end, delivering an ending that lingers in the minds of audiences long after the credits have rolled.

My Verdict:

IMDb rating: 8.7/10

My rating: 4/5

‘Maharaja’ is streaming on Netflix.

*****

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Kill: A Bloody, Genre-Defining Masterpiece that is Groundbreaking for Hindi Cinema

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 6 Min Read

(Note: this piece contains links to the film’s trailer, its making and pre and post release interviews. Click on the blue fonts to view them. Trigger warning – some descriptions of extreme violence)

“Kill” premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival last September, where it was showcased in the ‘Midnight Madness’ section. It received positive reviews from critics worldwide, leading to Lionsgate acquiring the rights for its release in the US and UK—a rare big studio deal for an Indian production. However, the film’s most significant achievement came just days before its India release: the announcement that Chad Stahelski, director of the John Wick franchise, would produce its English remake. This is a big moment for the Hindi film industry, as “Kill” is the first of its kind for not just Hindi cinema but also Indian cinema as a whole.

Much of the conversation around the film before its release in India was centered around its genre. A thin line differentiates a genre film from a film genre. A genre film is one where the narrative is laser-focused on delivering what the genre promises. Anything else risks becoming like an Indian thali, offering a bit of everything. “Kill” is a genre film that promised a blood-soaked, gore-filled brawler mayhem—the kind of brutal action rarely seen in Hindi cinema. Despite this, producers Karan Johar and Guneet Monga were optimistic about getting a theatrical release in India. The challenge was not just to get past the censor board but to do so with minimal or no cuts. Surprisingly, it passed without cuts! On July 5th, “Kill” released in India.

But did it deliver on its promise to its niche audience?

Films like “Kill” are characterized by their raw and violent action that is realistic in nature, which is hard to execute convincingly. This is where the technical team comes to play: production design, sound design, action choreography, prosthetics, and, of course, writing and direction. For an action film to rise above the rest, every minute detail must be meticulously crafted. Here, “Kill” breaks the conventions of Hindi cinema.

In ten minutes, director Nikhil Nagesh Bhat introduces the characters, the world, and sets up the plot. The storyline is simple, as is often the case with genre films—Amrit and Tulika are in love. Tulika’s father, a powerful businessman, arranges her engagement against her will. Thereafter they board a train to New Delhi. Amrit and his friend Viresh also board the train to stop the marriage. But a gang of forty knife-wielding dacoits jump onto the train to loot the innocent passengers. They don’t hesitate to kill anyone who resists. What the goons don’t know is that Amrit and Viresh are army commandos. What follows is an adrenaline-filled, high-octane, and brutal ride guaranteed to keep you on the edge of your seat. Imagine John Wick, Raid, and Train to Busan; but this is quintessentially an Indian film, which itself lends it novelty.

The production design creates a dark, immersive world that feels both familiar and terrifyingly new. Every Indian knows about our trains, so creating an authentic train set that accommodates action sequences from all angles was crucial. Production designer Mayur Sharma makes us feel the claustrophobia of an all-out brawl in small spaces, leaving us wondering how certain scenes were pulled off.

The sound design of the film is stellar, amplifying every punch, stab, kick, and gunshot, making the audience flinch and cringe at the crack of bones or the tear of flesh. The prosthetics team deserves special mention for their attention to detail. Gore in slaughter films can be shown through CGI or prosthetics, but true fans know that prosthetics done right make the scenes impactful. The way blood oozes from a body, its viscosity, and the amount are crucial to the narrative when a person is stabbed, cut, shot, or hit with a blunt object. Making such films isn’t easy because the gore isn’t just part of the film—it is the film.

But it’s not just the technical prowess that sets “Kill” apart. The writing and direction are sharp, driving the narrative forward with relentless pace. The film doesn’t shy away from brutality, instead embracing it to tell a story that is both harrowing and exhilarating. However, the writing isn’t perfect; the dialogues sometimes come across as weak, and some scenes, especially between Tulika and Amrit, feel unnecessary. There is also an emotional distance with the protagonist, Amrit (Lakshya Lalwani), sometimes accentuated by a less convincing background score. On the other hand, the villain, Fani (Raghav Jugal), is a better written character. Despite the fast pace, the film truly takes off in the second half, which might be a deliberate choice by the director, who also wrote the film. This approach seems intended to let things simmer and prepare the audience for the carnage of the second half.

Clearly, the action choreography is the star of the film, around which all other facets revolve. The action had to be raw, brutal, and most importantly, real. Pre-release interviews made it clear that every detail was meticulously planned, including the gore, a hallmark of great action films. The way action choreographers Se-Yeong Oh and Parvez Shaikh, along with cinematographer Rafey Mehmood, have executed this is essential viewing. Editor Shivkumar V Panicker also deserves a mention. The editing is crisp and thankfully the overused trick of long shots is omitted.

Most of the heavy lifting in the action sequences rested on the protagonist’s shoulders, Lakshya as Amrit, who trained for almost eight months for the role. His performance in the action scenes is exemplary, and his screen presence and baritone voice help him portray the character effectively.

The casting as a whole is spot on. Raghav as Fani brings the menace and unpredictability needed for the character. The second half, which focuses on the hunters becoming the hunted, required the goons to show vulnerability through confusion. This part of the film is particularly interesting from a writing standpoint. Additionally, the forty dacoits, despite their limited screen time, were not just pulled off the streets; they were all actors who convincingly fought with the protagonist. The casting team deserves praise for maintaining high standards and not succumbing to mediocrity.

“Kill” doesn’t pander to all audiences. It’s not meant for the faint-hearted or those expecting a typical masala action film with a bit of everything. It is hyper-focused on delivering exactly what it promises; everything else is momentary or serves to drive the narrative forward. While the film falters sometimes in these moments, it delivers its core promise with absolute honesty. This train journey is a pulsating, thrilling and shocking ride.

“Kill” cannot be advertised like other Indian action films. During promotions, the cast used the tagline, “Himmat hai toh hall mein aao” (If you have the courage, come to the theater). I suggest you don’t, if you’re easily affected by violent scenes. But for cinephiles who love this genre, this is the film to watch this weekend. It’s a bloody, genre-defining masterpiece that must be experienced in a theatre. It deserves a good word of mouth.

My Verdict –

IMDb rating – 7.9/10

My rating – 4/5

*****************

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. He is also an enthusiastic blogger, and on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com), he puts out his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews.

by whatsonsidsmind

Revisiting the Golden Age of Malayalam Cinema in the Era of its Renaissance

Sreenivasan (left) in Vadakkunokkiyantram (1989) and Fahadh Faasil (right) in Maheshinte Prathikaram (2016)

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 7 Min Read

The love and appreciation showered upon Malayalam films worldwide is unprecedented. It’s mind-boggling to see cinephiles in distant lands dissecting and reviewing our cinema with fervor. But as an ardent fan and a Malayalee who grew up in the 90s watching the golden age of our films unfold, I am worried. Let me tell you why.

Malayalam cinema hasn’t always been like this. Before the 80s, mainstream Malayalam films often bordered on being obscene, focusing more on titillation than substance. In the late 90s and early 2000s, our industry tried to mimic its Southern counterparts, churning out cheap imitations that disappointed audiences. This was a dark period marked by aging superstars and seasoned filmmakers losing their touch.

The renaissance was ushered in by a new wave of filmmakers and actors influenced by world cinema close to 2010. This evolution continues today. Thanks to OTT platforms, the world has discovered our films. This year, Malayalam cinema has shattered glass ceilings, achieving global box office success and critical acclaim. It feels like our time has finally come.

Yet, this success makes me anxious. As someone raised on the classics of the 80s and 90s, I hope we don’t lose the essence that made our cinema special.

So what makes Malayalam cinema different?

Malayalam cinema stands out due to its authenticity, grounded storytelling, and commitment to addressing relevant social issues. Unlike formulaic approaches, it remains deeply rooted in its cultural context. This success is driven by exceptional writers, talented technicians, visionary directors, and naturally gifted actors who bring these stories to life with aplomb.

This authenticity and cultural resonance are evident in both the films of the 80s and 90s and those of today. The golden era, however, distinguished itself with a few unique traits.

Directors, constrained by tight budgets, often shot in real village locations. This choice not only saved costs but also forged a deeper connection between the audience and the characters. While parallel cinema in Kerala addressed serious issues, much like in other states, Malayalam commercial cinema integrated these themes with a satirical edge. This blend gave rise to some of the finest comedy films, introducing us to beloved characters and situational humor. It was integral to the narrative, and not just there to provide relief between serious scenes.

The presence of naturally gifted actors made the storytelling compelling, while dialogues, often improvised, mirrored the everyday speech of the common man, enhancing the films’ realism and relatability. The screenplay was free-flowing, natural, and not sanctimonious, despite taking on social issues. If Malgudi days and Wagle ki Duniya were to have a child it would look like Malayalam cinema, but with its unique characteristics.

Here are five classics that perfectly balance realism, humor, and social commentary:

Vadakkunokkiyantram (1989) –

Actors Sreenivasan and Parvathy in a scene from Vadakkunokkiyantram

This black comedy explores the life of an insecure man plagued by doubts about his more attractive wife. Tormented by his average looks, he becomes suspicious of any man who interacts with her. Starring Sreenivasan and Parvathy, and written and directed by Sreenivasan himself, this film is a quintessential classic in the genre. (available on Amazon Prime)

Varavelpu (1989) –

A scene from Varavelpu

Directed by Sathyan Anthikad and written by Sreenivasan, this film follows Murali, a simpleton who returns from the Gulf after seven arduous years. Hoping to start a bus service in his hometown with his savings, he faces opposition from relatives eyeing his money and discovers that doing business locally is fraught with challenges. Featuring an outstanding performance by Mohanlal and a superb ensemble cast, this film initially struggled at the box office but has since achieved cult status. (available on Amazon Prime)

Nadodikkattu (1987) –

Mohanlal and Sreenivasan in Nadodikkattu

After being fired from their jobs, Dasan and Vijayan decide to pursue their dreams in Dubai. They are put on a boat by a man who assures them that by morning they will be on the shores of Dubai. However, he turns out to be a trickster and they land in Chennai instead, leading to a series of comedic misadventures. Directed by Sathyan Anthikad, this satire transformed Dasan (Mohanlal) and Vijayan (Sreenivasan) into two of the most beloved characters in Malayalam cinema. (available on YouTube)

Mithunam (1993) –

A scene from Mithunam

Sethu dreams of starting a biscuit factory but is thwarted at every turn by corrupt bureaucracy. His troubles don’t end there; he must also navigate the chaos of his dysfunctional family and a complaining wife who feels neglected. Directed by Priyadarshan, the film weaves together a series of comedic events, highlighting the struggles in both Sethu’s personal and professional life. (available on Disney+Hotstar)

Sandesam (1991) –

A scene from Sandesam

This political satire follows a retired engine driver who returns home hoping for a peaceful life with his family. However, he discovers that his two eldest sons, both lawyers, have abandoned their professions to become party workers for rival political factions. The brothers, unable to see eye to eye, are constantly scheming against each other. While the film is a laugh riot for most of its runtime, it turns grim towards the end, delivering a poignant message about political polarization and its potential to destroy a family. Directed by Sathyan Anthikad, this film is my favorite on the list. (available on Disney+Hotstar for free)

The aim of the above list is not to boast about filmography or create a ‘favorite’ films list, but to highlight a key point: Malayalam filmmakers have masterfully addressed a variety of socially relevant topics, seamlessly blending humor into their storytelling while preserving realism and simplicity.

Even in genres like psychological and investigative thrillers, horror, tragedy, courtroom dramas, and socio-political dramas, the need for authentic, real, and simple storytelling remains paramount. Here are five classics from the more serious genres:

Kireedam (1989) –

Mohanlal in Kireedam

Sethumadhavan aspires to fulfill his father’s dream of becoming a sincere police officer. However, a fateful scuffle with a criminal to save his father’s life thrusts him into the criminal world against his will. Overwhelmed by injustice and rage, he descends into madness, and ultimately gets abandoned by his family. Directed by Sibi Malayil, this film won Mohanlal a national award and was later remade in six languages, including Hindi, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, and Bengali. (available on Disney+Hotstar for free)

Dasharatham (1989) –

Scene from Dasharatham

Rajiv, a man born with a silver spoon, is an alcoholic who wastes his life in debauchery, with no aim and no one to call his own. When a friend visits with his family, Rajiv forms an attachment to one of the children, sparking a desire to have his own. Unwilling to marry, he turns to surrogacy. He finds Chandradas and Annie, a couple in need of money. Annie agrees to be the surrogate, but as she becomes attached to the unborn child, she struggles with the idea of parting with it. Considered one of the best films by writer-director duo Lohithadas and Sibi Malayil, this tragedy delves into profound philosophical themes. (available on YouTube)

Oru CBI Diary Kurippu (1988) –

A scene from Oru CBI Diary Kurippu

Directed by K. Madhu, this investigative thriller revolves around the suspicious suicide of a rich businessman’s daughter-in-law, likely a murder. With numerous suspects within the businessman’s family, and the businessman using his influence to suppress the truth, the case becomes complex. The victim’s family protests, leading to the CBI taking over the investigation. Mammootty plays the meticulous investigating officer, Sethurama Iyer, who unravels the case amidst numerous hurdles. The film showcases the intricacies of police work, the nexus between the wealthy and the establishment, and the process of forensic investigations. It spawned five sequels and was remade in Telugu and Hindi. (available on Disney+Hotstar for free)

Bharatham (1991) –

A scene from Bharatham

Another collaboration between Sibi Malayil and Lohithadas, this film explores the strained relationship between two brothers, Raman and Gopi, who hail from a musical heritage. Gopi, the elder, and more renowned brother, succumbs to alcoholism, losing his acclaim. Raman reluctantly steps up to uphold the family’s musical legacy, causing tension as Gopi resents his deteriorating condition and refuses to pass the baton. This musical family drama features stellar Carnatic classical and semi-classical music, marking an iconic collaboration between music director Raveendran and singer KJ Yesudas. The film’s songs, and the performances of lead actors Mohanlal (Kalloor Gopi) and Nedumudi Venu (Kalloor Raman), are timeless. (available on Disney+Hotstar for free)

Thaniyavartanam (1987) –

Mammootty in Thaniyavartanam

This film revolves around Balan, a government school drawing teacher, and his family. He belongs to an upper-caste joint family believed to be cursed by a goddess. A male from each generation is destined to become mentally ill and be chained in a room. This curse has left the family isolated and impoverished, trapped by their own beliefs. Despite Balan’s sanity, he too falls prey to this cycle. The film, a hard-hitting social drama blending elements of horror, powerfully critiques how we become slaves to our beliefs. It is a powerful social commentary on how even the sanest can be driven into insanity by a mob. It also questions the absurdity of what we believe is normal. (available on Amazon Prime)

So what is that we are afraid of losing from Malayalam cinema?

I introduced my wife to Malayalam cinema a year into our marriage, which was 13 years ago. OTT platforms were still an emerging concept in India then. I had managed to find a decent copy of Vadakkunokkiyantram with English subtitles, believing it would be the perfect introduction given her taste in films. However, I was wary because the cinematic language of Malayalam films is quite distinct from what people in the Hindi heartland are accustomed to.

To my surprise, she loved it and raved about it to her friends and relatives for days. Over the years, she watched many more Malayalam films, often on her own, as our tastes in movies are diametrically opposite. Now, she even recommends films to me. Recently, two films she holds dear are Home (2021) and Njan Prakashan (2018).

Last weekend, in preparation for this essay, I decided to ask her what she thought made Malayalam cinema different. Her reply left me smiling. She said that in Malayalam cinema, the story is paramount. Every other aspect of filmmaking seamlessly blends with the story, ensuring nothing stands out unnecessarily. Even the performances serve the story. In essence, the film is entirely the director’s vision, not dominated by actors or technicians.

This is a characteristic that Malayalam filmmakers should strive to preserve while embarking on uncharted territories. Films like Maheshinte Prathikaram (2016), Kumbalangi Nights (2019) and Ee.Ma.Yau (2018) from this era restore faith that there is a sincere effort being made to keep the soul of our films alive.

Undoubtedly, the inventiveness and technical prowess of the new generation of filmmakers and actors make us proud, but at the same they must not forget what made our cinema different at the first place. Arundhati Roy’s quote comes to mind in this regard: “To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple.”

To conclude –

Our cinema is an integral part of our popular culture. For us the story is above all else. Its characters weren’t demi-gods or demi-goddesses; they were people like us. And yet they managed to entertain us. While we might have felt a distance from the stars who played those characters, we never felt distant from the characters themselves. They weren’t larger than life; they were people like us, living in houses like ours, eating, speaking, and leading lives like ours. This simplicity helped our films stay grounded and connect with everyone. I hope this essence is not lost in the mist of box office glory.

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. He is also an enthusiastic blogger, and on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com), he shares his essays, travelogues, book and film reviews.

by whatsonsidsmind

Godzilla Minus One | Netflix | Movie Review

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

Kaiju films are Japan’s gift to world cinema, having become a significant part of their popular culture. These films, a subgenre of science fiction, are characterized by giant monsters wreaking havoc on cities and human settlements. Iconic creatures like King Kong and Godzilla emerged from this genre. Ishiro Honda and Eiji Tsuburaya’s 1954 film Godzilla is widely regarded as the first Kaiju film. The monsters in these films often carry deep metaphors; ‘Godzilla,’ for instance, symbolizes the devastation wrought by atomic bombs. This mutant creature, born from the sea is impervious to conventional weaponry.

Godzilla Minus One explores the origin story of this mythical creature while also delving deeply into human emotions and experiences. This film may very well be the best Godzilla film yet, blending the grandeur of the Kaiju genre with a poignant human narrative.

The movie begins in 1945, near the end of World War II, following Kamikaze pilot Shikishima, stationed on Odo Island. The garrison is attacked by Godzilla, a dinosaur-like creature. Shikishima has a chance to shoot the monster but capitulates under pressure, leading to the deaths of everyone in the garrison except one.

Upon returning to Tokyo, Shikishima discovers that his parents were killed in the war. Tormented by survivor’s guilt and struggling to find meaning in life, he meets Noriko, a young woman who has adopted an orphaned baby. Compelled to support the helpless pair, they form an unconventional family. Shikishima takes a job as a mine sweeper, disposing of naval mines from World War II. Over the next two years, the three begin rebuilding their lives.

However, a nuclear test by the Americans mutates Godzilla, making him stronger and bigger. As the creature threatens to wreak havoc upon the city, the government’s inaction forces the citizens and ex-naval crew members to unite and devise a plan to destroy the monster. Shikishima finds himself at the heart of the action.

Earlier this year, I watched Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire with my family in a packed theater. The American interpretations of Kaiju films are undeniably thrilling, delivering all the excitement needed to feel you got your money’s worth. However, the Japanese have an unparalleled eye for detail that is hard to surpass. As the creators of this legendary character, they provide a context beyond the thrills and visual effects.

Takashi Yamazaki’s film brings Godzilla back to its roots, helping the audience understand the deeper meaning behind the story. I watched the film on Netflix a few days back with my 9-year-old. Initially, I was worried he might not grasp everything being said, but he did. Throughout the film, we had hushed conversations about monsters, demons, and other gargantuan creatures from folklore. The director, despite the subtext, kept the storytelling straightforward and avoided making it overly somber, making it perfect for family viewing.

I was just miffed that the film didn’t get a theatrical release in India.

Seventy years after its creation, a Japanese Godzilla film won the Oscar for Best VFX. Both American and Japanese filmmakers have explored the concept in every possible way, some adding subtexts and others focusing unabashedly on thrills. However, cinephiles around the world believe this could be the best Godzilla movie to date. A significant reason for this consensus is its perfect balance of thrilling action with a deeply rooted human story. Such a connection with characters and narrative is rare in monster flicks.

At the Oscars nominees’ luncheon, director Takashi Yamazaki bumped into Steven Spielberg. Later, Yamazaki posted on Twitter about the encounter, sharing that Spielberg complimented him by saying he watched the movie three times and loved the characters, a praise that nearly brought Yamazaki to tears. After all, this was coming from the creator of Jurassic Park and Jaws.

The director’s background as a VFX supervisor significantly contributed to the success of crafting a convincing monster flick on a modest $15 million budget. To put this into perspective, Godzilla x Kong: New Empire had a budget of $150 million, while the other Oscar nominees this year ranged from $80 million (The Creator) to $290 million (Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One).

One theory for the film’s impressive VFX is its return to the 90s approach: prioritizing practical effects and using green screens sparingly. This method allows for a stronger focus on other storytelling aspects, such as production design and sound design. Additionally, the film’s meticulous attention to detail ensures authenticity and realism, enhancing the overall impact.

In most monster flicks, there’s a clear separation between the monster world and the human world. Typically, humans stumble upon or get trapped in the monster’s realm, providing a sense of escapism. In Godzilla Minus One, this separation is absent. The two worlds blend seamlessly, and the narrative is rich with subtext, ultimately telling a deeply human story.

For me, Godzilla Minus One is all about getting back to the basics of cinema. It rekindles the magic and wonder of filmmaking, making audiences marvel at how a shot was crafted. It’s easily one of the best monster films I’ve ever watched and truly deserved a theatrical release in India.

Verdict:

IMDb rating: 7.8/10

Rotten Tomatoes: 98% (audience score)

My Rating – 4/5

About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. He is also an enthusiastic blogger, and on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com), he puts out his articles, essays, travelogues, book recommendations, and film reviews.