The good news is that the Sunny Leone frenzy (we see baggy eyes but who cares?) isn’t just what the film is all about. Even if the excitement in the theatre hits a fever pitch when “Low Aana Life” comes on. “It’s Sunny on my lips, its Sunny on my hips, Sunny all the way, shake that booty,” the song goes, as the theater shrieks in approval. A bathrobe clad Jai and a couple of firangi girls set the stage for a rousing entry by Sunny Leone , and it did not seem to matter at all that she couldn’t quite dance. [quote align=’right’]It is undercooked, but flawlessly garnished; and things move so fast we barely have time to notice the flaws.[/quote]
Through all the frenzy, the movie stealthily moves on, thanks to a tightly written screenplay rich with comic elements – in black, white and grey. The ubiquitous mobile phone is a key character, and there’s three of them in Vadacurry, an archaic Nokia that lets everyone listen in on caller’s conversations, a fancy model that has a startlingly loud ring tone and a rather dignified iPhone. There is even a cleverly executed song where an anxious Jai fights with some very Angry Birds before breaking into a jig with Talking Tom.
Sathish (a competent Jai) is a medical representative who lives with his brother, Anni (Kasturi in an extended cameo) and their kids in a shabby one room home. He is a friendly softie, the sort that doesn’t think twice before handing over his first salary to his brother. His immediate problem is getting a high end touch phone- one that will impress his boss (another extended cameo – Venkat Prabhu), his doctors and even a prospective girlfriend. But the new phone he buys from Premgi Amaren’s store turns out to be an embarrassment with its outrageously loud ring tone to the extent that his Anni uses it as a tool to discipline her kids. Exasperated by the constant jibes about his phone, Sathish picks up a misplaced iPhone lying between two candy jars at a roadside store. Things go terribly wrong when he decides to try and give it back to its owner. Jai coasts through the first half with a strong Raja Rani hangover, but finally comes into his own halfway in. His raspy voice helps him here, lending a believable vulnerability to Sathish. Halfway in is where the movie picks up momentum as well, helped in no small measure by some sharp editing (Praveen KL) and great camera work. [quote align=’right’]Through all the frenzy, the movie stealthily moves on, thanks to a tightly written screenplay rich with comic elements – in black, white and grey. [/quote]
And then there is Vadacurry, Sathish’s friend. Played by RJ Balaji, he’s a crackpot who cheers the movie along with his witty one-liners. And there is a lot of them: “So if you are an MGR fan, you follow his ideologies? I am Simbu’s fan, so I should also do what he does, eh?”. Or “I don’t think she has committed suicide as yet, I didn’t see it on her Facebook wall.” Rounding out the cast is the token female presence: Niveena (the charming Swathi Reddy). Men are attracted to Niveena, and the point is reiterated through a hugely unimpressive – like the rest of the musical score – song that lets us know that everyone from the petrol pump assistant to the vegetable vendor is smitten by her. The talented Swathi Reddy is underused , but does look flawlessly turned out in her delightful kurtis. Much like the movie itself. It is undercooked, but beautifully garnished; and things move so fast we barely have time to notice the flaws.
The Vadacurry review is a Silverscreen original article. It was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the movie. Silverscreen.in and its writers do not have an advertising relationship with movies that are reviewed on the site.