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‘Bottle Radha’ movie review: Guru Somasundaram powers a scathing drama that goes for heart over intellect

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‘Bottle Radha’ movie review: Guru Somasundaram powers a scathing drama that goes for heart over intellect

The opening of Bottle Radha is an overhead shot of Chennai, with a speaker somewhere playing ‘Thanni Thotti’ from Sindhu Bhairavi (it’s a staple booze anthem in Tamil). There are over a dozen shots of alcohol being poured into glasses in this film, and of men downing bottle after bottle to the point you wonder how they are even alive. Towards the end, there is a bar song with men dancing ecstatically. But before you jump to conclusions, this isn’t the film that celebrates alcoholism.

Debutant director Dhinakaran Sivalingam’s film is a two-hour drama that persistently focuses on the prevalent issue of alcohol addiction. That bar song I mentioned? It’s an intriguing tactic to send a dark message, in a medium that has often used such songs to celebrate boozing.

Radhamani a.k.a Sorakkapalyam Radha (Guru Somasundaram) is a middle-aged man who spends much of his time and money in the liquor shop, chugging bottles and engaging in petty quarrels. He is a deadbeat with no redeeming qualities, and Sivalingam holds no bars in depicting the flaws of his protagonist. Radha appears drunk even at his work site, and his job as a construction worker is an irony by itself. He knows nothing about building a home — the one you build with affection, responsibility, a longing for peace and comfort, and a million other little things — but claims to be an expert in building houses — empty structures made with bricks, cement and sand that are brought to life by families. That he builds houses for other families while squandering the future of his wife Anjalam (a fantastic Sanchana Natarajan) and their two kids says a subtle something about who alcoholism more often ends up affecting, and the whys and hows of its prevalence among the working-class (in umpteen instances, the film humorously points out how many addicts refuse to take responsibility because “it’s the government that has a liquor shop every corner,” but it also shows what easy accessibility can do to addicts in recovery).

In an unexpected turn for Radha, his wife, tired of making this ill-behaved man see some sense, forcibly enrols him in a one-of-a-kind de-addiction centre. In a dilapidated room are lodged dozens of addiction patients. Much of these initial portions are treated with humour, and many scenes featuring Lollu Sabha Maaran leave you in splits. However, this de-addiction centre is where issues with Bottle Radha also begin. Firstly, many of the characters we see in this de-addiction centre add nothing to our understanding of how these places function, or what goes in the mind of an addict.

Bottle Radha (Tamil)

Director: Dhinakaran Sivalingam

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Cast: Guru Somasundaram, Sanchana Natarajan, John Vijay, Lollu Sabha Maaran

Runtime: 146 minutes

Storyline: An alcoholic gets stuck in a vortex that sucks all happiness from his life, and ends up seeking help at a de-addiction centre

Ashokan (John Vijay) runs the place with a firm, fair hand — he minces no words when the patients justify their acts and reprimands his subordinate Elango, a strange man with a compulsion for cruelty. But except for a patient’s passing remark on the centre’s budget, we are never told what Ashokan feels about the concerning state of this strange place. As much as they help the film’s humour, the patients add little value to Radha’s story. Also, what was the point of that romance between two mentors that goes nowhere? Sure, Elango’s case, and the sorry state of his victims, paint a stark picture of how these centres function, but what good does it do when we don’t understand what goes behind Elango’s hunger for power? You also wonder if Elango’s violence towards a patient had to be so excessive. Similar is the case with a scene in which The Shawshank Redemption is played at the centre; though you are impressed by this fresh take on a timeless classic, you are left with a sense of unease in how the sequence ends.

Bottle Radha chooses heart over intellect, relying solely on drama to do all the heavy lifting, and ends up offering scattered returns. In one of the hard-hitting stretches, Radha is consumed by darkness, anything resembling light devoured by his almost life-threatening addiction. His bloodshot eyes mince all that self-loathing into a contempt for the world, and you almost forget that this is an enactment. No slight emotions escape Guru Somasundaram’s face, and many scenes feature the performer pouring his heart out. Yet, in another scene, when he listens to a man open up on how alcoholism destroyed his family, Somasundaran appears….only as Somasundaram. Make no mistake, the issue isn’t with the actor; in fact, it is he who powers the film to become something more than what it settles to be.

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The performance appears as such because the story’s didactic pursuit leads to many contrived situations and scenes. The film is so focused on taking us through the highs and lows of Radha’s alcoholism that it forgets to make him whole. This is disappointing because in a scene he tells Anjalam about how despite starting his days with a lot of resoluteness to not drink, ‘something’ pulls him back to the bottle. This something sometimes is external — like his friend Shake (Pari Elavazhagan) whose idea of a grand death is to die drinking — but except for a detail about his childhood, we don’t get much to understand the internal struggle of Radha. The film repeatedly tells us that every time he feels low, he goes on a bender and that he hasn’t seen all that lies beyond the bottle. But why does he chase the high of alcohol in the first place? Is it after a sense of security? Or, does it come from having grown up without a proper support system? Or maybe a disease is a disease and it can never be understood; maybe it’s a vortex to oblivion, but if that’s the case, why can’t we see, say, Ashokan speak about all that?

A still from ‘Bottle Radha’

A still from ‘Bottle Radha’
| Photo Credit:
Think Music India/YouTube

ALSO READ:‘Kudumbasthan’ movie review: Manikandan maintains his winning streak with this entertaining comedy caper

Instead, all we get are repetitions of Radha’s drinking, relapses and otherwise, and after a point, you hardly care about what lies ahead of him. Fascinatingly, you are more drawn towards the story of Anjalam and how she deals with this precarious marriage. Her arc wonderfully underlines how alcoholism, like most other social crises, affects women from poorer sections of society. In one of the initial scenes, a police officer warns Anjalam of punishment, pinning responsibility on her for how her husband behaves; in another heartbreaking scene with splendid performances, she heartbrokenly confesses all that she endured in the absence of her deadbeat husband. How her arc shapes up might be a tad too predictable, but what she stands for compels you to look beyond the flaws in the film.

The flaws, however, don’t diminish the importance of a film like Bottle Radha. And for a feature debutant, this is a commendable start by Sivalingam. As in a beautiful scene between Anjalam and Radha in the rain, many moments hint at a filmmaker with a lot of heart and ambition.

Bottle Radha is currently running in theatres

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Movie Reviews

FILM REVIEW: ROSE OF NEVADA – Joyzine

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FILM REVIEW: ROSE OF NEVADA – Joyzine

‘4’, the opening track on Richard D James’ (Aphex Twin) self titled 1996 album is a piece of music that beautifully balances the chaotic with the serene, the oppressive and the freeing. It’s a trick that James has pulled off multiple times throughout his career and it is a huge part of what makes him such an iconic and influential artist. Many people have laid the “next Aphex Twin” label on musicians who do things slightly different and when you actually hear their music you realise that, once again, the label is flawed and applied with a lazy attitude. Why mention this? Well, it turns out we’ve been looking for James’ heir apparent in the wrong artform. We’ve so zoned in on music that we’ve not noticed that another Celtic son of Cornwall is rewriting an art form with that highwire balancing act between chaos and beauty. That artist is writer, director and composer Mark Jenkin who over his last two feature films has announced himself as an idiosyncratic voice who is creating his very own language within the world of cinema. Jenkin’s films are often centred around coastal towns or islands and whilst they are experimental or even unsettling, there is always a big heart at the centre of the narrative. A heart that cares about family, tradition, culture, and the pull of ‘home’. Even during the horror of 2022’s brilliant Enys Men you were anchored by the vulnerability and determination of its main protagonist. 

This month sees the release of Jenkin’s latest feature film, Rose of Nevada, which is set in a fractured and diminished Cornish coastal town. One day the fishing boat of the film’s title arrives back in harbour after being missing for thirty years. The boat is unoccupied. And frankly that is all the information you are going to get because to discuss any more plot would be unfair on you and disrespectful to Jenkin and the team behind the film.  You the viewer should be the one who decides what it is about because thematically there are so many wonderful threads to pull on. This writer’s opinions on what it is about have ranged from a theme of sacrifice for the good of a community to the conflict within when part of you wants to run away from your roots whilst the other half longs to stay and be a lifelong part of its tapestry. Is it about Brexit? Could be. Is it about our own relationships with time and our curation of memory? Could be. Is it about both the positives and negatives of nostalgia? Could be. As a side note, anyone in their mid-40s, like me, who came of age in the 1990s will certainly find moments of warm recognition. Is the film about ghosts and how they haunt families? Could be…I think you get the point. 

The elements that make the film so well balanced between chaos and calm are many. It is there in the differing performances between the brilliant two lead actors George MacKay and Callum Turner. It is there in the sound design which fluctuates from being unbearably harsh and metallic, to lulling and warm. It is there in the editing where short, sharp close ups on seemingly unimportant factors are counterbalanced with shots that are held for just that little bit too long. For a film set around the sea, it is apt that it can make you feel like you’re rolling on a stomach churning storm one minute, or a calming low tide the next. Dialogue can be front and centre or blurred and buried under static. One shot is bathed in harsh sunlight whilst the next can be drowned in interior shadows. 

Rose of Nevada is Mark Jenkin’s most ambitious film to date yet he has not lost a single iota of innovation, singularity of vision or his gift for telling the most human of stories. It is a film that will tell you different things each time you see it and whilst there are moments that can confuse or beguile, there is so much empathy and love that it can leave you crying tears of emotional understanding. It is chaotic. It is beautiful. It is life……

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Rose of Nevada is released on the 24th April. 

Mark Jenkin Instagram | Threads 

Released through the BFI – Instagram | Facebook

Review by Simon Tucker

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‘Hen’ movie review: György Pálfi pecks at Europe’s migrant crisis through the eyes of a chicken

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‘Hen’ movie review: György Pálfi pecks at Europe’s migrant crisis through the eyes of a chicken

A rogue chicken observes the world around it—and particularly the plight of immigrants in Greece—in Hen, which premiered at last year’s Toronto International Film Festival and is now playing in Prague cinemas (and with English subtitles at Kino Světozor and Edison Filmhub). This story of man through the eyes of an animal immediately recalls Robert Bresson’s Au Hasard Balthazar (and Jerzy Skolimowski’s more recent EO), but director and co-writer György Pálfi (Taxidermia) maintains a bitter, unsentimental approach that lands with unexpected force.

Hen opens with striking scenes inside an industrial poultry facility, where eggs are laid, processed, and shuttled along assembly lines of machinery and human hands in an almost mechanized rhythm of production. From this system emerges our protagonist: a black chick that immediately stands apart from the others, its entry into the world defined not by nature, but by an uncaring food industry.

The titular hen matures quickly within this environment before being loaded onto a truck with the others, presumably destined for slaughter. Because of her black plumage, she is singled out by the driver and rejected from the shipment, only to be told she will instead end up as soup in his wife’s kitchen. During a stop at a gas station, however, she escapes.

What follows is a journey through rural Greece by the sea, including an encounter with a fox, before she eventually finds refuge at a decaying roadside restaurant run by an older man (Yannis Kokiasmenos), his daughter (Maria Diakopanayotou), and her child. Discovered by the family’s dog Titan, she is placed in a coop alongside other chickens.

After finding a mate in the local rooster, she lays eggs that are regularly collected by the man; in one quietly unsettling scene, she watches him crack them open and cook them into an omelet. The hen repeatedly attempts to escape, as we slowly observe the true function of the property: it is being used as a transit point for migrants arriving in Greece by boat, facilitated by local criminal figures.

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Like Au Hasard Balthazar and EO, Hen largely resists anthropomorphizing its animal protagonist. The hen behaves as a hen, and the humans treat her accordingly, creating a work that feels unusually grounded and almost documentary in texture. At the same time, Pálfi allows space for the audience to project meaning onto her journey, never fully closing the gap between instinct and interpretation.

There are moments, however, where the film deliberately leans into stylization. A playful montage set to Ravel’s Boléro captures her repeated escape attempts from the coop, while a romantic musical cue underscores her brief pairing with the rooster. These sequences do not break the realism so much as refract it, gently encouraging us to read emotion into behavior that remains, on the surface, purely animal.

One of the film’s central narrative threads is the hen’s search for a safe space to lay her eggs without them being taken away by the restaurant owner. This deceptively simple instinct becomes a powerful thematic mirror for the film’s human subplot involving migrant trafficking. Pálfi draws a stark, often uncomfortable parallel between the treatment of animals as commodities and the treatment of displaced people as disposable bodies moving through a similar system of exploitation.

The film takes an increasingly bleak turn toward its climax as the migrant storyline comes fully into focus, sharpening its allegorical intent. The juxtaposition of animal and human vulnerability becomes more explicit, reinforcing the film’s central critique of systemic indifference and violence. While effective, this escalation feels unusually dark, and our protagonist’s unknowing role feels particularly cruel.

The use of animal actors in Hen is remarkable throughout. The hen—played by eight trained chickens—is seamlessly integrated into the film’s world, with seamless editing (by Réka Lemhényi) and staging so precise that at times it feels almost impossible without digital augmentation. While subtle effects work must assist at certain moments, the result is convincing throughout, including standout sequences involving a fox and a dog.

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Zoltán Dévényi and Giorgos Karvelas’ cinematography is also impressive, capturing both the intimacy of the hen’s low vantage point and the broader Greek landscape with striking clarity. The camera’s proximity to the animal world gives the film a distinct visual grammar, grounding its allegory in tactile observation rather than abstraction.

Hen is a challenging but often deeply affecting allegory that extends the tradition of animal-centered cinema while pushing it into harsher political territory. Pálfi’s approach—unsentimental, patient, and often confrontational—ensures the film lingers long after its final images. It is not an easy watch, nor a comfortable one, but it is a strikingly original piece of filmmaking that uses its unusual perspective to cast familiar human horrors in a stark, unsettling new light.

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Movie Reviews

Movie Review: ‘The Drama’ – Catholic Review

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Movie Review: ‘The Drama’ – Catholic Review

NEW YORK (OSV News) – Many potential brides and grooms-to-be have experienced cold feet in the lead-up to their nuptials. But few can have had their trotters quite so thoroughly chilled as the previously devoted fiance at the center of writer-director Kristoffer Borgli’s provocative psychological study “The Drama” (A24).

Played by Robert Pattinson, British-born, Boston-based museum curator Charlie Thompson begins the film delighted at the prospect of tying the knot with his live-in girlfriend Emma Harwood (Zendaya). But then comes a visit to their caterers where, after much wine has been sampled, the couple wanders down a dangerous conversational path with disastrous results.

Together with their husband-and-wife matron of honor, Rachel (Alana Haim), and best man, Mike (Mamoudou Athie), Charlie and Emma take turns recounting the worst thing they’ve ever done. For Emma, this involves a potential act of profound evil that she planned in her mind but was ultimately dissuaded from carrying out, instead undergoing a kind of conversion.

Emma’s revelation disturbs all three of her companions but leaves Charlie reeling. With only days to go before the wedding, he finds himself forced to reassess his entire relationship with Emma.

As Charlie wavers between loyalty to the person he thought he knew and fear of hitching himself to someone he may never really have understood at all, he’s cast into emotional turmoil. For their part, Rachel and Mike also wrestle with how to react to the situation.

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Among other ramifications, Borgli’s screenplay examines the effect of the bombshell on Emma and Charlie’s sexual interaction. So only grown viewers with a high tolerance for such material should accompany the duo through this dark passage in their lives. They’ll likely find the experience insightful but unsettling.

The film contains strong sexual content, including aberrant acts and glimpses of graphic premarital activity, cohabitation, a sequence involving gory physical violence, a narcotics theme, about a half-dozen uses of profanity, a couple of milder oaths, pervasive rough language, numerous crude expressions and obscene gestures. The OSV News classification is L — limited adult audience, films whose problematic content many adults would find troubling. The Motion Picture Association rating is R — restricted. Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian.

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