‘Sarfira’ (2024) Movie Review - Akshay Kumar and Radhika Madan Shine in this Exhausting Remake

Indian filmmakers, during roundtables and interviews, praise the audience, talk about OTT exposure, and assert that the audience has matured (or is maturing) and craves good - I hate this word - content. They say that since we all have access to movies from around the globe, thanks to OTT platforms, we have become tired of stale formulas, which is why the Indian film industry is aiming to provide original stories, i.e., "good, meaningful content." But then after making such big, bold claims, these filmmakers end up giving us mediocre productions like Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (Karan Johar's "I love you please love me" plea for the social media crowd), Jawan (calling it a film is a crime in itself), Yodha, Leo, Jailer, Fighter, Kalki 2898 AD, and Brahmāstra (the list is too long). Now, Sudha Kongara has remade her Soorarai Pottru for the Hindi crowd, and in an interview, she mentioned she tweaked some of the scenes in this remake and was satisfied with the results. I have not seen Soorarai Pottru, but after watching Sarfira, I don't think I have missed much. Kongara said she made Sarfira because she wanted a theatrical release for this film (Soorarai Pottru came directly on Prime Video). I think she is right: There is no other explanation you can give regarding Sarfira's existence. It merely scratches an itch for the director.

Given the inspiring material, if Kongara had not made Soorarai Pottru, some Bollywood director would have eventually shot Sarfira. These are the kinds of biopics that mainstream Bollywood manufactures. That director, however, couldn't have done one thing that Kongara manages to do here: She distributes the credit for the hero's triumph among different characters. You don't come out feeling that Akshay Kumar has once again single-handedly solved every problem. His Vir Mhatre gets help from his wife, Rani (Radhika Madan), as well as a coder. At one point, the entire village comes together to give him financial assistance. These other characters don't have a strong presence (except for Rani), but you register their actions. A Bollywood filmmaker would have surrendered to his hero - he would have given us a "one-man show," a star vehicle. What would have remained common between his Sarfira and that of Kongara is the presence of Akshay Kumar. Kumar, recently, in an interview, talked about his affinity towards social message movies, and something like Sarfira is right up his alley. He gets to dispense important points while displaying his skills as an actor. And his performance is the highlight of Sarfira. Observe how Vir's eyes tear up when he is unable to communicate with his father on the phone. Or take the scene where he asks Rani for a loan or that moment near the end when he thinks he has finally lost. Kumar, in Sarfira, firmly takes his position as an excellent actor.

Madan confidently walks alongside Kumar and emerges equally memorable. Her Rani is a powerhouse. When she slowly shakes her head with Vir, who is seen dancing at a friend's funeral, you understand these two characters exist on the same wavelength. This is why her train introduction scene feels unnecessary - it's too much. Then again, this scene tells you about Kongara's mode of operation. She likes to overemphasize every beat and every emotion. The name of the film, Sarfira, comes after a ridiculous bike action so that we can form a connection between Vir's behavior and the title. How do you convey that Vir has reached the lowest point of his life during the interval? By having some men press his face to the ground. The characters refer to Vir and Rani as Aeda and Aedi, respectively, because Kongara isn't content with having this couple indulge in crazy conduct like talking honestly about themselves in front of each other's family members. Paresh Rawal, as Paresh Goswami, does not just look at lower caste people with contempt; he cleans his hands with sanitizer after touching them. Such exaggerations always keep us at a distance from the events. We don't take anything seriously. On top of this, the background music pushes every emotion down our throats. This means Sarfira is either too cheery or too emotional. There is no middle ground. Kongara puts everything so close to us that it feels as if the screen is kissing us.

A text at the beginning of Sarfira tells us that this story is a mixture of an adaptation of G. R. Gopinath's memoir and the life of aviation officers/workers. Kongara informs us that she is not making a biopic - creative liberties have been taken. She frees herself from the restrictions of reality but then chooses to confine herself within the boundaries of an uninspiring drama about a Great Person (there are a few good scenes here, like the one where Vir argues with Rani after facing a big obstacle or the one where she tells him to do his job and not worry about her). Vir's rivals are cartoon villains. You can almost see their pointed tails and horns. And you know the movie will end on a positive note because the name of the main character is Vir (it means strong or warrior). Similarly, with a name like Rani, all Madan can do is act assuredly, and royally (her behavior was set as soon as the filmmakers came up with this moniker). But clichés and uncreative formulas aside, what's mind-numbingly terrible about Sarfira is the presence of some truly awful scenes, like the pre-interval portion and that moment when Vir returns to his village after his father's death. During the latter sequence, the emotional levels are raised so high that you get disconnected from the screen. Hence, when Vir opens his father's letters and his mother (Seema Biswas) utters the words without looking at the paper, you wonder if this woman possesses supernatural powers. It's not humanly possible for her to know which paper is being opened by her son.

The appearance of APJ Abdul Kalam brings back memories of Srikanth. In that biopic, the visually challenged character asks for help at the airport. In Sarfira, Vir, too, ends up asking for help at the airport. The former scene, though, is better executed. Kongara had wonderful material. Instead of trusting it and the actors to do their job, she makes the mistake of dialing things to eleven. The sensory overload leaves you exhausted. As a result, you feel nothing by the time the movie reaches its climax. What's more, that last phone call between Vir and Paresh comes and goes so quickly that you don't feel its impact. And finally, that Suriya cameo is unpleasant. You can almost notice Kongara winking at the audience, which you find distasteful considering the (mostly) unexciting experience she gives us. "Dream so big, they call you crazy" is the film's tagline. The filmmakers should have made this line their motto.

Final Score- [5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times