A Karate master father, a homemaker mother, and a pharmacist uncle. The life of IT professional Nila (a fantastic Preity Mukundhan) seems quite simple and benevolent — she goes to her office, plays video games on her mobile, and spends time in her uncle’s medical shop, grudgingly looking at an old television set he refuses to let go. Nila’s life, to an unassuming viewer, may not seem anything too extraordinary. Still, one key piece of information reveals that perhaps this must be the kind of ‘family life’ backdrop that most assuredly camouflages a superhero origin story. Nila isn’t just any other ordinary human, and neither is that Karate master, homemaker, or pharmacist. Blast, directed by Subash K Raj, is a martial arts actioner pegged around one very potent Drishyam-esque idea — what if a family of martial arts pros is forced to step out of their normal lives to fight against injustice when nefarious men find their door? And director Subash comes off in flying colours by conceptualising a terrific set-up that makes use of this idea.

The beating heart of the story is Preity Mukundhan’s Nila, who avoids becoming a merely gender-swapped routine action hero. There’s real moral and emotional backing to why Preity is the way she is, and Subash allows her the time to make her case. Nila’s quest started when she was a child. As she fumed with rage due to a ragging incident, her father, Rajaram (Arjun), told her, “fight back if you are in the right” and “fight against injustice even if the victims are strangers.”

Preity Mukundhan in a still from ‘Blast’
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

And the introductory scene to the now-grown-up Nila’s bravado is inherently gripping. A goon is sent flying into a rowdy’s den, and a perplexed henchman walks out to find the “man who hit” his colleague, urging Nila to step aside, because it can’t be a woman, isn’t it? Nila enters, and so does mayhem. In fact, one of the smartest choices Subash makes is in how he retains this inherent, normalised sexism in how the men see Nila throughout. In a later instance, a villain looks past Rajaram and Nila because they seem like an ordinary father and daughter. Where Subash takes a misstep is in how he treats a sexual harassment arc featuring Nila and her abusive manager; it makes way for a good masala cinema moment, but Subash laces it with humour, and it neither reveals anything new nor does it seem to care to extend the idea that the world Nila lives in is already calibrated to look down on women and feast on their vulnerabilities. Also, you begin to get slightly impatient as the film keeps revelling in the idea that a woman is bringing all the action — when will the conflict arise?

Nila constantly gets into trouble as she refuses to bow down in the face of injustice, to the pride of her father, but to the dismay of her mother, Neelaveni (Abhirami, too, can kick some bottoms). And it doesn’t take much to guess where the setting is headed. We simultaneously begin to follow the making of a Black Opal mining scam that an evil businessman, Varun Dhayalan (John Kokken), is spearheading. The project, which puts the hillside village of Keelakadu in danger, would bring in ₹7000 crores worth of minerals, of which a minister (PL Thenappan) takes ₹1000 crores. This whole arc operates like a rather convoluted spiral of villainy — helping Varun move the money needed to bribe the minister is a dreaded assassin named Abraham (Arjun Chidambaram), and helping Abraham is a gangster named Kirubhakaran (Pawan), and under him works a henchman whose friend is a low-life chain snatcher, Toby (Vinod Sagar), and Toby gets caught in a station where Inspector Arunagiri (Dileepan) is investigating Abraham’s identity, and under Arunagiri works a corrupt cop who wants Kirubha’s help to save his job. I guess you could already see where Blast might have derailed.

A lion’s share of screentime is accorded to explain each step in this often yawn-inducing villain saga, all while you are patiently waiting to see the tip of the whirlpool land on Nila’s doorstep and suck her martial arts family in. When it does, it is as explosive as you expect, at least until the intermission mark. While these unidimensional villains test your patience — only Arjun Chidambaram is written and presented with flair — you are left waiting for the next high moment, especially since Subash seems to have a knack for staging such mass-y scenes. But again, how much can Preity and Arjun do when the writing begins to dip into cliches and conveniences? After a point, Blast turns out to be quite tedious in the final act, making you wonder how a leaner, crisper, and more anchored screenplay could have been.

Arjun and Abhirami in a still from ‘Blast’
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

All that aside, however, what truly fascinates one is how, despite Blast being helmed by a male director and starring an action star like Arjun, it moves around its female protagonist, Nila, and every major decision is made keeping the two central women as opposing but counterbalancing poles — Neelaveni’s moral anchor prioritising the family’s peaceful life above all, and Nila’s moral anchor pushing them to be knights of justice. In fact, even in one of the most pivotal moments of the film, the choice to decide a villain’s fate is placed rightfully on Nila’s shoulders. It is great to see Arjun take a step back to let Abhirami and Preity shine, while Vivek Prasanna, as Nila’s pharmacist uncle, gets a Jailer-esque moment that is sure to become a highlight in his career. Helping all of them are the able technicians, be it the sharp, slick cinematography, innovative and adrenaline-pumping action choreography, and Ravi Basrur’s assured music choices.

That said, Blast is a Preity Mukundhan show all along, and the Star-actor knows how to pack a punch, alright! In a different film, where more ingenious ideas are spring-loaded for mass elevations, Blast would have truly become her career-defining big bang.

Blast is currently running in theatres

Published – May 29, 2026 02:50 pm IST

For his bracing first feature, The Blow (La Frappe), writer-director Julien Gaspar-Oliveri chose a subject so bleak, many filmmakers wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. And yet this raw and grippingly honest incest drama manages to find a bit of light in the darkness, showing how it’s possible to live with the traumas of sexual abuse. Feverishly performed by newcomer Diego Murgia, who stars alongside César award winner Bastien Bouillon, Gaspar-Oliveri’s moving debut reveals that he’s not only a talented director to watch, but one who’s unafraid to tackle tough scenarios.

The Blow focuses on a disarmingly troubled young man, Enzo (Murgia), who tries so hard to find affection in the eyes of his dad, Anthony (Bouillon), he’s willing to ignore the worst thing a father could ever do to his own son. Enzo spends much of the film in a crushing state of denial, hoping against hope that love will somehow emerge from this mess. He’s so vulnerable that you can’t help feeling his pain — even when he winds up inflicting that pain on others.

Per the press notes, Gaspar-Oliveri (who co-created the successful high school series, Those Who Blush) partially based the story (co-written with Claudia Bottino) on his own life, which seems evident given the emotional authenticity of his characters. Murgia’s portrayal of Enzo is the movie’s breakthrough performance, although Romane Fringeli, who plays the 19-year-old’s abrasive older sister, Carla, is also a standout. Bouillon, meanwhile, continues a string of strong turns (including in The Birthday Party, which screened in Cannes’ main competition this year) that began back in 2022 with Dominik Moll’s thriller The Night of the 12th.

The opening scene, lensed by Martin Rit in grainy close-ups, shows Enzo and Carla carelessly sleeping in bed together, their bodies subtly rising and falling with each breath. It seems like a blissful moment between the two siblings, who share a tight if volatile bond. But as the film progresses and we learn more about their childhood, that scene takes on a very different meaning: one in which proximity can breed both affection and contempt.

With no parents in the picture and Carla moving out to a college dorm, Enzo’s whole life seems to be in front of him. It helps that he has a burgeoning and very loving relationship with new girlfriend Laura (Héloïse Volle), whose parents run a go-kart track that seems to be the main source of entertainment in their working-class suburb of Marseille.

But the state of independence Enzo has achieved at such a young age is broken when his dad returns home after a five-year stint in prison. A scene in which the two discuss Anthony’s future with a parole officer underlines to what extent Enzo has become the man of the household, hiring his own father to help sell kitchen appliances at local flea markets.

Bouillon creates a charming if menacing presence from the get-go, portraying Anthony as a father who’s been out of the loop for too long with regards to both family and civilian life, yet still wants to be in charge. In one sequence foreshadowing what’s to come, Enzo hides in a closet while his dad brings a woman home from the bar, witnessing some awkward and then off-putting sexual behavior. A latter scene in which the boy climbs in bed with Anthony reveals much worse, although it takes Gaspar-Oliveri a while to explain what exactly went down in the past.

What’s most moving about The Blow — whose French title can mean both a physical hit and a young hoodlum — is the way it charts Enzo’s gradual awakening from a kid who’s still too attached to his father, mostly for terrible reasons, to an adult who finally steps back and sees the truth, at which point the trauma is so overwhelming that it takes over. This happens during several explosive scenes in which Enzo lashes out at those who truly love him (his girlfriend; his sister, who wants nothing to do with their dad), searching in vain for someone to quell the suffering.

Murgia is a revelation here, playing a loose cannon who’s also deeply wounded, like a battered dog occasionally showing his teeth and sometimes biting those who feed him. The early moments in the drama, when Enzo is trying his best to please Anthony after he gets out of jail, offering to cook dinner or lending him a few bucks, will just about break your heart. Because deep down, Enzo knows that by getting closer to his dad, he’s also getting further away from his own recovery. It’s the constant push and pull between trauma and salvation that makes The Blow such a powerful experience.

“Power Ballad” is a cynical, sloppy comedy about a wedding singer (Paul Rudd) and a pop titan (Nick Jonas) who drunkenly tinker with an unfinished song, then squabble over who gets custody when it becomes a hit.

Disharmony is a new chord for filmmaker John Carney, who has specialized in films about collaboration since his 2007 art house hit “Once.” From the snotty ’80s synth music of “Sing Street” to the acoustic heartbreak of “Begin Again,” Carney loves to hear how a rough idea evolves into a polished track. Lately, he’s been trying to find new approaches to his formula. His 2023 “Flora and Son” was about a surly single mother who picks up a guitar and discovers that her life doesn’t change that much. I loved that one because it said we’re all entitled to noodle without having to make much fuss about it.

The problem with “Power Ballad” is that it’s all rough ideas itself. Like an album that kicks off with its single, it starts with a jazzy sequence of song creation that’s one of the best versions of the scene Carney has ever done. A faded teen icon, Danny (Jonas, gamely sending up his history as one of the platinum-selling Jonas Brothers), explains how to write a PG-rated hit to Paul Rudd’s cover band frontman Rick, who immediately tries to improvise lyrics with the word “titties.” (Or as he warbles it, “tit-taaays!”). It’s perfect casting — Rudd’s singing voice keeps up with his comic chops.

Fifteen years ago, Rudd’s Rick fancied himself an up-and-coming American rock god until his grunge act went on a transatlantic tour and he fell in love with an Irish girl, Rachel (Marcella Plunkett), and had a daughter named Aja, a feisty teen played by the scene-stealing Beth Fallon. Settling into a life of anonymity in the Dublin suburbs, Rick now has his wedding band Bride & Groove, which allows him brief flashes of cool — or at least the chance to strut into gigs wearing tight black jeans. His bandmates are pretty funny but so underwritten that one even gives a big speech about how he’s more than just a bit player in Rick’s life.

Straight away we’re suspicious that Carney and co-screenwriter Peter McDonald stashed this story in a drawer ages ago and didn’t bother to dust it off. If Rick quit his serious group during the Obama era, why does he consider himself a peer of Eddie Vedder? The character is written to be in his late 30s, but acts decades older than that, posturing like he’s one of the last ambassadors of authentic rock and roll while ripping through a setlist that’s mostly Hall & Oates. (Shouldn’t he at least be jamming the Killers’ indie-sleaze wedding staple “Mr. Brightside” that sends bridesmaids shrieking onto the dance floor like a maenad cult?)

At one soiree, Rick is asked to pass the mic to Danny, a boy-band celebrity struggling to make the leap to a solo artist. Rick has already mocked him earlier that day as “the death of the music industry,” but Danny proves to be a true performer with enough star power to electrify Rick, who starts copying his gestures, clapping alongside him and having a blast. Their chemistry carries over into an all-night jam session in which Danny and Rick share spliffs, whiskey and scraps of songs that they haven’t managed to perfect.

For a thrilling moment, the movie is a platonic rom-com about two dissatisfied artists coming together from opposite directions: Danny crumpling under mass scrutiny, Rick weary of obscurity. Danny is desperate to get back to playing Madison Square Garden; Rick has long since abandoned his dream of playing there even once. Having seen a movie or two before in my life, I assumed that “Power Ballad” would climax at that stadium with Danny and Rick harmonizing for a crowd of 15,000. Corny, sure, but satisfying.

But this banger of a bonding session is a one-night stand. In a shallow heel turn, Danny poaches one of Rick’s unfinished songs and blows it up into a chart-topper. It’s a major betrayal for Rick and a bummer for the audience, who never get to see the two make music together again. Instead, Jonas’ Danny becomes a callow Hollywood creep just like his manager, a menacing slickster named Mac Darling (Jack Reynor), who seems hip until he tries to explain an internet meme and it becomes obvious that Carney doesn’t understand what a meme is.

Meanwhile, Rick suffers a meltdown, haunted by the hit he can’t escape. The stolen track chases him everywhere: on the radio, overheard at the mall, even at his own gigs where newlyweds cluelessly ask him to play “their” special song. We’re forced to hear endless snippets of it, too, although the full lyrics are saved for the end when we discover that one of songwriters clumsily shoved in the word “albatross.”

“Power Ballad” nods toward a dozen interesting themes, none of which it bothers to explore. It could be about what turns a pretty melody into a mega-smash, about the value of songwriting versus charisma, about timid artists who hoard their best material and showboats obligated to satisfy their promotional teams, or even about how a song ultimately belongs less to its creator than its fans. It also flirts with being about how both men write for female approval — girls are Danny’s fanbase and Rick’s family is his entire world — only to have their women think most of their songs are pandering and dull.

“What are you interested in?” Rick finally huffs to his daughter.

“Revenge,” she says.

Well, Carney’s made a movie about darkness and it’s a total bummer. In a brutal little detail, he contrasts Danny’s bikini groupies with the women in Rick’s crowd, who clomp toward him with toilet paper stuck to their shoes.

“Power Ballad” postures like a sincere drama but has the set pieces of a giant slapstick farce. Rudd seems to have been told he’s in one, playing Rick’s humiliation so large that he looks unhinged, his face covered in cuts and bruises of his own doing that, distractingly, never seem to heal.

The result is punishing — and tone deaf.