At a time when Telugu cinema often leans on grand canvases and visual effects to mask weak storylines, it is refreshing to find reminders that storytelling still matters, even in modestly budgeted films. Little Hearts, released recently, captured the innocence of young romance and parental bonding with crackling humour. This week’s release, Beauty, written by RV Subramanyam, takes a darker path.
Director JSS Vardhan, credited with additional screenplay and dialogues, slowly peels back the layers to deliver an unexpected jolt. Led by Ankith Koyya, Nilakhi Patra and VK Naresh, the film gradually assembles what first appears a frustrating puzzle into a striking whole.
When the big picture emerges, it becomes clear that several clues lay in plain sight from the start. A crucial twist, reminiscent of a recent Malayalam film (naming it would spoil the surprise), is both the film’s strength and its weakness. For those familiar with that reference, the impact may be dulled. Still, the story’s essence is universal, echoing themes long explored in short stories and novellas across Indian languages, often drawn from real life. At its heart lies the father–daughter bond, with the love story acting as a narrative device.
Beauty (Telugu)
Director: JSS Vardhan
Cast: Ankith Koyya, Nilakhi Patra, VK Naresh, Vasuki
Duration: 139 minutes
Storyline: When a young woman’s reckless act leads her into a spiral that gets messy at every step, her father goes to great lengths to unravel the mystery.
The opening scene shows a cop venting his rage on a man accused of deceiving a woman in the name of love. It can bring back memories of Court, in which a youngster is falsely accused. But this is a different tale. When the cop thrusts Arjun’s (Ankith Koyya) face into water, the scene cuts to Alekhya plunging hers into a bowl of ice for clear skin — a hint of the screenplay’s many sharp turns.
Alekhya’s lower middle-class home and her exchanges with her parents (Vasuki Anand and VK Naresh) are drawn with realism. She fusses about eating upma, resents using soap instead of body wash, and demands a bike without hesitation. Her mother responds with blunt practicality, while her father aches quietly, hoping she will understand his financial struggle.
Alekhya’s immaturity and recklessness is underlined through incidents at college and a moment when she boards the wrong bike, mistaking it for her taxi, exposing the precariousness of women’s safety.
For all her sharp remarks, Alekhya never truly opens up to her parents. Romance blossoms unexpectedly, contrasting the safety she feels with Arjun against the menace of a stalker. Vijai Bulganin’s music underscores both young love and the sense of looming danger.
The casting strengthens the film. Nilakhi Patra captures the impetuousness of youth, so much so that the audience would want her to confess to her dad rather than get caught in a spiral of events that could alter the course of her life. She portrays her vulnerability in the climax, as she crouches in guilt and dread. The moment lingers long after.
Ankith Koyya’s restrained performance complements her volatility — his frustration in the second hour is palpable, and in the final act he adapts with chameleon-like ease, aided by smart writing.
Naresh and Vasuki embody the parents’ angst with quiet conviction.
As the story unfolds, questions arise — why are the parents never firmer with Alekhya? She seems pampered, unlike her sibling. A fleeting remark provides the answer: the father dotes on a daughter conceived a decade into marriage. Parenting is never straightforward.
The second half falters briefly with overlong songs, drawn-out police station episodes peppered with new characters, and a few cinematic contrivances. However, the film regains ground to deliver a cautionary tale.
On the surface, Beauty might appear to be a romance told through rose-tinted frames. Instead, it reveals a raw, unsettling story where the writing outshines the rough edges.
(Beauty is currently running in theatres)