Telugu film ‘Veeranjaneyulu Viharayatra’ streams on ETV Win
| Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

In a scene in Veeranjaneyulu Viharayatra, the Telugu film written and directed by Anurag Palutla, siblings smile and stop squabbling, at least briefly, over mango-flavoured ice golas. Anurag peppers the film with such small moments that prevent the narrative from becoming an utter slog. He presents a bitter-sweet portrait of family, to show how people can bond together despite misgivings. After all, family ties are rarely saccharine-sweet in reality. The film streaming on ETV Win may be far from wholesome in making us root for its characters, but it has its moments. The dysfunctional family comes alive with performances by Naresh, Sri Lakshmi, Rag Mayur and Priya Vadlamani. There is also the endearing presence of Brahmanandam, in spirit, who tries to make up for the shortcomings in writing.

Veeranjaneyulu (Brahmanandam) has been gone for nearly a year and his family is yet to immerse his ashes. Through Brahmanandam’s voiceover, we learn how he worked all his life for the betterment of his family and has left behind a residence, Happy Home, in his favourite destination — Goa. Each surviving member of his family has a story replete with challenges. The first half hour or so is spent establishing these characters. 

The father (Naresh), a school teacher, is unceremoniously dismissed from service citing his inadequacy in English. The mother (Priyadarshini) is portrayed as a tireless nurturer, enduring day-to-day taunts from her mother-in-law (Sri Lakshmi). The daughter, Sarayu (Priya Vadlamani), is nearly engaged to the love of her life (Ravi Teja Mahadasyam) but feels stifled by the patriarchal gaze of her future mother-in-law. The son, Veeru (Rag Mayur), taking on his grandfather’s name, has a business setback to deal with. He is also in a loveless relationship from which he hesitates to break free.

The family embarks on a road trip and it turns out to be more than a slice-of-life story. The film rides on a slender plot and the drama is largely driven by these characters. As a 1980s van huff and puffs its way through Andhra Pradesh towards Goa, music composer R H Vikram’s score pervades through the pregnant pauses and tense moments without overtly seeking attention. Cinematographer C Ankur alternates between close shots inside the van and the wide views of the landscape that the vehicle passes through, to frame the tensions within the family and how they have to stick together since there is no one else they can turn to for help.

When the first big tussle happens and the hidden secrets of each family member tumble out, the narrative builds a palpable tension and makes us wonder what the characters would do next. But when this narrative tool of using high drama to spill secrets is used again in later portions, it does not have the desired effect.

The narrative devotes ample time to each character, giving them room to introspect and get closure to their issues. However, in doing so, the film feels overdrawn. The forced humour through a hospital sequence is mostly grating rather than providing comic relief amid heavy drama. In these portions, the performances shoulder the proceedings.

Naresh leads from the front, evoking empathy for his plight as the father who has quietly borne the brunt over decades. Veteran Sri Lakshmi as the grandmother is a delight to watch and gets a couple of ‘massy’ moments. Rag Mayur’s is a worthwhile performance as the brooding, short- tempered son. His bickering with his on-screen sibling, Priya Vadlamani, is on the mark. Priya fits the bill as a woman who is anxious not to follow the subservient example of her mother and wants her own identity.

As conversations often become arguments, a question that pops up is why this family could not have solved things by sitting across a table and talking it out. If only it were that simple. Anurag wants his viewers to understand that conversations are not easy in some families and hence, a road trip serves to vent bottled-up emotions.

Veeranjaneyulu Viharayatra tries to be more than a simple family drama, akin to Kapoor and Sons, but misses that mark by a mile. It is still watchable and has endearing moments.

After a triumphant splash in Juno, lovely, appealing Elliot Page got Oscar nominated, was on his way to a promising career as an important film star with range and talent, and then suddenly disappeared for 17 years. What happened? Where did he go? Now we know. 

Close to You is my first exposure to Page since his emergence as a wistful, sensitive and dedicated man named Elliot. His absence from the screen is entirely understandable for a variety of obvious reasons, and Elliot has expressed a serious need to reach out to the vast number of friends, fans and prospective employers who wondered about his transition. To make sure you get the point, he has found a perfect vehicle in Close to You, emerging from bed in the opening scene naked, with a place for every feature, every feature in its place—flat-chested, no Adam’s apple, a clean-shaved chin with evidence of a five o’clock shadow, and a muscular torso that has been to the gym (but still a mystery about what goes where below the waist). I guess you could call it a brave, bold performance, but when you think about it you realize Page has no other choice if he wants to be both honest and a working artist with a viable future. He also wrote the screenplay with director Dominic Savage, so I think it’s safe to say the film includes excerpts from his personal experience.

 In Close to You, he plays Sam, a man living in Toronto, adjusting to his transition with a new job and a new life. Sam hasn’t seen his family for four years, but now he bites the bullet and takes a long-dreaded trip back home for his father’s birthday. On the train, he runs into Katherine, an old high school friend, and feelings from their unresolved past refresh old memories of deeply troubled times when they experienced a lesbian relationship that traumatized them both. Katherine is married with children, but still drawn to Sam. In the weekend that follows, there are more chance encounters, and the superficial circumstances that bring them together force them to interact in intensely personal ways that open old wounds and open new doors. Part of the problem with Close to You is Hillary Baack, who plays Katherine. Miscast and inexperienced, she is not up to Page’s standards and mumbles so incoherently that whole scenes clumsily pass by without clarity.

At home, Sam is impacted even more. Every concern about how his parents and his siblings will react—plus the unsolicited comments and questions he receives about his transition—mirrors the ignorance, discomfort and terror in the eyes of the people who say they love him best but understand him least. The film is an emotionally observant drama about coming home as yourself, only for everyone to treat you like a stranger. “I’m happy,” Sam explains, “I’m living my life; I just need space. You weren’t worrying about me when I was not OK.” But as the domestic anxieties and challenges build, Sam must face the painful knowledge that coping is not his responsibility, and things have never really changed in a toxic environment that never felt fully welcoming in the first place. 

Things build to a violent explosion, Sam leaves with high expectations reduced to unresolved despair, and nothing ends the way you think it will, with everyone making nice and saying, “I forgive you.” But in a weak, vacillating postscript, raw honesty wanes when Katherine arrives in Toronto, gives in to her true feelings, and ends up in bed with Sam before she exits forever, with a smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Despite Page’s lack of uncertainty about how to play a tender scene with maximum feeling, I didn’t believe this soapy resolve, and I found their nude sex scene not only a confusing way to end Close to You, but also just a little bit creepy.

Many of the needle drops littered throughout Tilman Singer’s horror flick “Cuckoo,” released in theaters Friday, were written into the script’s first draft in 2019.

But the film’s musical touchstone, a soft rock number that “Euphoria” breakout star Hunter Schafer sings onscreen, didn’t come together until years later.

Schafer leads Singer’s sophomore feature film as Gretchen, an angsty teen who, after her mother’s death, leaves the U.S. to live with her father Luis (Marton Csokas), stepmother Beth (Jessica Henwick), and 8-year-old half-sister Alma (Mila Lieu) in a resort in the German Alps. After taking a receptionist job at a nearby lodge, Gretchen has increasingly bizarre encounters with the resort’s guests and offbeat owner Herr König (Dan Stevens) that suggest her picturesque new home is not the paradise it purports to be.

In the psychedelic horror trip that is “Cuckoo,” music serves as an emotional and narrative guide, telling “a different story” than the surface-level plot, Singer said.

Fittingly, the film’s first true horror moment unfolds as Gretchen is playing bass in her room. Sporting noise-canceling headphones, she sings and strums along to a grunge track as Alma watches from outside her periphery.

The long scene alternates sonic points of view, building tension, until Gretchen finally notices her young sister as she endures the first of her several seizures — which we later learn are reactions to the malign siren song of the cuckoo people, or what Singer calls “homo cuculidae,” residing in Resort Alpschatten.

Singer’s script was precise with this scene, which evokes the sisters’ estrangement and forges their central conflict. But not all went as planned.

Originally, Singer envisioned Gretchen playing a song by alternative rock band the Jesus and Mary Chain. The band’s style suited her perfectly: “They’re very noisy, but have this, like, shoegazey, blasé demeanor.” But when Neon deemed the licensing fee too steep, he went back to the drawing board.

“I look[ed] back at my list, and on my list was like, Suicide, or the Velvet Underground. I was like, ‘OK, I’m not gonna get any of these,’” Singer said. That’s when he called Simon Waskow.

Singer’s high school friend and longtime creative partner, Waskow had previously scored the director’s debut feature film “Luz” (2018) as well as a handful of short films they collaborated on in the early to mid-2010s. He wrote “Gretchen’s Song” in a single afternoon.

“It just kind of worked very quickly,” the Cologne-based composer said. “Of all the music I did for the film, that song was the easiest part.”

At Singer’s offhand suggestion, Waskow adapted a “spaghetti western melody” from their old short film “Dear Mr. Vandekurt” — and a beat from the Jesus and Mary Chain — into the bass-heavy track.

Schafer was so attuned to the song, Waskow said, that after she recorded her vocals, he re-recorded his own to match hers.

“Hunter’s performance, really sweet and charming, and super unforced, basically just kind of clicked in,” he said. Schafer learned bass for the film, but in the scene, she looks like she’s been playing for years.

“That’s the talent that I love so much about her — how she can do something very delicate, emotional, [and] really profoundly emotional in a sort of relaxed, but not casual, style,” Singer said.

A fragment of “Gretchen’s Song” also became the teenage protagonist’s theme, which recurs throughout “Cuckoo” — most notably when Gretchen and Alma reconcile at the film’s conclusion.

“It’s sort of this melancholic melody that then turns into something hopeful,” Singer said, characterizing Gretchen and “mirroring the entire intent of the movie.”

Other songs on the “Cuckoo” soundtrack similarly reflect their corresponding scenes. Gerhard Trede’s jazz-blues embody the old-timey atmosphere of the resort lobby, and Martin Dupont’s French New Wave expresses the romantic tension between Gretchen and a charming resort guest.

Just like costuming or set design, music is a world-building tactic in “Cuckoo,” Singer said.

More than that, though, he continued, music is Gretchen’s “philosophy” as she grieves her mother and her most reliable “weapon” against the cuckoo people, whose shrill call notably juxtaposes Gretchen’s low-toned theme.

“This is the super-classical hero journey,” Waskow said: “Gretchen facing danger and then becoming, like, a musician.”

“She was always supposed to defend herself with music,” Singer said.