best-review

The story's got a few bits that'll tickle your fancy, nothing mind-blowing, but not a total dog's breakfast either. The narration's proper lively - classic Adhik Ravichandran stuff - flashy, loud, and full of beans.

The screenplay tries to throw in a few curveballs - some land with a bang, others just fizzle. The first half? Quite the cracker. Second half? Bit of a snooze-fest, if we're honest. The climax saves it from going completely pear-shaped. Ajith's die-hard fans will be chuffed, no doubt, but for the average punter, it's just a middling watch.

Ajith's smashing in a role that fits him like a glove. Trisha's looking like a right stunner and puts in a tidy performance. The rest of the gang do the job, no faff, no fuss.

The background score's got some kick in a few scenes, not too shabby. Cinematography and production design? Decent enough - nothing to write home about, but not half bad.

All in all, give it a go this weekend if you fancy a bit of popcorn and telly - just don't rock up with sky-high hopes.

Behold the cinematic travesty that is Test, a film so replete with squandered potential it could serve as a case study in narrative incompetence. The story, ostensibly brimming with "interesting elements," flounders under the weight of its own ineptitude, as these tantalising threads are left to languish, undeveloped, in a mire of creative apathy. The screenplay, a plodding dirge of ennui, drags its weary feet through a wasteland of mediocrity-occasionally punctuated by scenes that rise to the lofty heights of "okay" or, in rare bursts of adequacy, "good," only to collapse back into a torpor of unrelenting dullness. And then there are the moments of sheer absurdity, where scenes and dialogue descend into a puerile silliness that insults even the most forgiving intellect.

Madhavan, bless his thespian soul, delivers a performance of such brilliance it's almost tragic, shackled as he is to a character granted but a miserly handful of decent scenes-glimpses of excellence drowned in a sea of squandered opportunity. Siddarth acquits himself admirably, a beacon of competence in this dim constellation. Meera Jasmine, meanwhile, appears as an awkward anomaly, her visage oddly discordant with the frame, though her acting salvages some dignity from the wreckage. Nayanthara, poor soul, is a victim of time's cruel march, her appearance weathered beyond redemption by makeup so garishly inept it screams desperation-an attempt to defy age that only amplifies its victory. Her performance, alas, is a monotonous slog, as rote as a factory assembly line. Kaali Venkat, Vinay Varma, and the rest of the ensemble muster a collective shrug of adequacy, neither offending nor inspiring.

The production values-oh, how they gleam!-a polished veneer of locations, sets, and cinematography that dazzles the eye while the soul withers. The music, that auditory wallpaper, settles for a middling hum, neither elevating nor offending. The direction, helmed with all the flair of a bureaucratic functionary, is "okay"-a damning indictment if ever there was one.

In sum, Test is an exercise in cinematic futility, a film so unworthy of your time that to watch it is to willingly subject oneself to a masterclass in disappointment. Spare yourself the ordeal.

Behold the cinematic calamity that is Sikandar, a film that bravely attempts to cobble together a handful of semi-decent ideas before swan-diving into a cesspool of cringe and archaic South Indian tropes that even a time machine couldn't salvage. The narration limps along like a bored tortoise, while the screenplay tosses in a few tolerable scenes and lines before collapsing into a flat, dull, snooze-fest that could double as a cure for insomnia.

Salman Khan graces the screen looking like he's about to get admited in a hospital," his acting is no better.

Kajal Agarwal in her limited and unimportant role appears to have traded her charm for a face full of fillers and Botox, rendering her a plastic caricature with the same old subpar performance we've come to dread.

Rashmika, whose grating voice and overacting could make a saint weep, and you've got a Salman-Rashmika duo so mismatched, it felt absurd and agonizing.

Sathyaraj's turn as the antagonist is about as convincing as a toddler in a trench coat pretending to be a mob boss, while the rest of the cast flails valiantly in this sinking ship. The production values are passable, like a participation trophy for effort, but the music is a forgettable dirge that fails to stir the soul. The direction? A relic of a bygone era, so outdated it might as well have been shot on a flip phone.

In short, Sikandar is a cinematic misadventure not worth the popcorn you'd choke on while trying to endure it. Save your time, your money, and your sanity-skip this one.