Unusually for a Rajinikanth film, the emotional anchor is Preethi.
Shurthi Hassan’s Preethi grounds the spectacle in human vulnerability. The film asks us to see events through her eyes. She is fragile, terrified, yet resilient.
Rajinikanth balances stillness and eruption with calm presence with sudden bursts of action. Deva becomes both mentor and shield, but crucially, he doesn’t overshadow Preethi. Instead, he amplifies her significance, her fear, her survival, her very existence.
Rajasekhar, played by Sathyaraj, was coerced into adapting his electric chair invention (originally for animal remains) to dispose of human victims is a chilling insight into the criminal underworld .
Deva’s late reveals that he is part of a broader fight against a global trafficking network. He repositions the film from a personal vendetta to a collective struggle against systemic evil. His interventions are not just about saving Preethi, but about dismantling the machinery of exploitation represented by the chair, the trafficking ring, and the betrayal by those in power (like Dayal).
Shruti Haasan’s Preethi is a welcome departure from the trope of the invincible female hero. She’s grounded, vulnerable, and overall, refreshingly human. When the villain looms large and especially in her terror and body language of Preethi’s reactions are subtle. Her trembling hands, widened eyes, and hesitant steps speak volumes. There’s no manufactured “strength”; instead, we see a realistically fearful woman pushed into circumstances far beyond her control and it works.
Watching the film through Preethi’s vantage point is akin to being led by a surrogate audience figure someone bewildered, scared, and suddenly responsible for her surviving family. It’s through her that we understand the macabre utility of the electric chair, originally invented by her father Rajasekhar.
Nagarjuna’s portrayal of Simon delivers a quiet menace. His heart trafficking operations contextualize the gruesome evolution of the chair, and indirectly, Preethi’s own peril.
Soubin Shahir’s Dayal erodes the line between protector and predator, revealing why Preethi becomes central after her father’s murder.
Her knowledge of the chair, intended as a remnant of her late father’s work, becomes a bargaining chip in a danger she neither asked for nor understands. This juxtaposition, the innocuous girl versus the criminal underbelly is where Preethi’s character shines.
Preethi’s realism makes her relatable; we feel her fear and her measured resolve.
Shruti Haasan’s nuanced performance the small glances, hesitant motions communicates more than dialogue.
Viewing the story from Preethi’s point of view ensures that the audience doesn’t detach from the escalating stakes.
Yes, it’s ultimately, a Shruti Haasan film.
