Amitabh Bachchan looked older than Pushpa: The Rise. Allu Arjun’s performance wasn’t all about rhetoric — the performance of the biggest leading figure in the long-running masala affair only got stronger with the second installment (more on that later). It was also in the form of a story. Pushpa, a working-class hero who rises from the rocks to riches (Wall), is more specifically, a “coolie” who stands up for the oppressed (Coolie), a bastard son who seeks acceptance (Trishul), and a rebel who challenges. System when exposing the weakness of the police (chain). Many scenes feel like ripples from Bachchan’s most iconic moments. Looking into the eyes of Iftikhar saying ‘Davar saab, main aaj bhi phenke hue paisa nahi utta tha’ is nothing but a wall fight. Pushpa is about Upmana. A man who does not know how to bend. A man who will go to any extent to assert his rights.
While the character writing was solid, providing genuine collective moments, the film lacked a sense of cohesion. With no structure to anchor its ambitions, it felt like an elaborate setup without any payoff. felt like SukumarThe filmmaker, was charting a course somewhere but by the end found himself nowhere. It felt like, like Pushpa’s character, the film aspired to reach great heights, but faltered in its ascent, unable to reach it without a cacophony of noise. The climax, daring in its conception, became a point of controversy. While undeniably bold in concept, it left many unsatisfied, questioning not just its execution but the broader purpose of the story. Then came the announcement of a sequel, which at first seemed like an unnecessary addition. However, in three years, Pushpa’s legend has grown. His story crossed the screen and became a cultural phenomenon. Nirman has transformed him into one of the most beloved public heroes of our time. And now, everyone is waiting with bated breath to see what direction their journey will take next.
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Flower 2: Rules is a strange, sprawling beast of a film. Bigger, bigger, and undeniably better than its predecessor. Although the comparison seems pointless given the low bar it should be clear. It’s also incredibly fun, and incredibly overwhelming. But then, brevity seems foreign in a world where everything is maximal. There are moments that feel terrifying. Pieces that refuse to fit. However, they stand out from the others, exploding with raw energy and swagger. Pure, unapologetic spice. The fan service is abundant, almost to the point of excess, but there’s also an unexpected ambition here. A bold attempt to push the boundaries of what a masala entertainer can be. It builds endlessly like the first film, but this time, there are payoffs. Small victories scattered along the way that eventually add up to something satisfying. The third act, leading up to the climax, feels like archaic storytelling. A relic of another era. But, it offers such a weird and crazy twist that only absolute faith can pull it off. It’s messy but magnetic. Flawed but memorable. A collision of mass and spice. Good and bad. All wrapped up in a cinematic spectacle that will leave you both amazed and entertained.
What becomes glaringly obvious in this sequel is its purpose. A vision that Sukumar sees with utmost clarity, proving that he has always known the game and soul of his story. The conflict that started in the first film finally finds its resolution here. Because beneath the striking set pieces, grand entrances, and stylishly barbed dialogues lies the beating heart of a story – Pushpa’s endless quest for respectability. A battle fought on two fronts: the unforgiving world outside and the vulnerable realm within one’s own home. If the first film saw him conquering the outside world, finally claiming victory and expanding his empire internationally (the interlude opens in Japan, where Pushpa, now more brand than smuggler, rules the world), the sequel exposes his deep wounds. Pushpa remained a rejected person by those close to him. His half-siblings, his clan, block the acceptance he craves, the wealth he so desperately craves, and the love he seeks. They continue to insult him, denying him his rightful place. But it’s this relentless pursuit, this seething undercurrent of rejection, that informs the six-hour story. And when it finally pays off, it does so in a very moving way. Providing resolution that touches the heart and bares the soul of the story.
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Sukumar makes Pushpa’s entrance like a crescent for about 40 minutes. Nations, eras, conflicts, and characters spread – all leading to the announcement that Pushpa’s reign has begun. And then the title card appears. Pushpa declares herself to be a worker (Majdoor) in her first frame. It immediately sets the story against the exploitation of workers by an indifferent system. Here, an electrifying moment unfolds when he storms the police station, securing the release of the unjustly detained and beaten labourers. In fact, his tussle with police officer Shekhawat (Fahd Faasil) is more than personal. It stands as a blistering critique of systemic oppression. The exquisite interval block, spread over 30 gripping minutes, becomes Pushpa’s platform to humble the corrupt Shekhawat, reminding that even a shred of honesty calls for an apology. But Pushpa bows to no one, all corrupt.
Sukumar sharpens the franchise’s political consciousness, ditching the problematic ideas that plagued the first installment. Here, he wants to seamlessly fuse mass spectacle with meaningful commentary, and nowhere is this more evident than in his evolving interactions with the women in Pushpa’s life. His mother’s struggle shapes his insatiable quest for honor. And his wife, Srivalli (though Rashmika Mandanna is limited to a thinly sketched role), reveals a softer and more grounded side of him. Their bond marks a remarkable change. His actions are now guided by true love and care. The film itself is in motion at Srivalli’s request. Heaven and earth are moved to fulfill what Pushpa considers a divine command. He listens to her, credits her for everything she has achieved, skips meetings to be by her side, and makes sure her every need is met.
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Sukumar takes some steps to subvert the male gaze by creating two important action scenes with Pushpa dressed as a female goddess. Both visual and destructive. Watching Allu Arjun revel in the role, oozing effortless charm, is a treat. And equally, a franchise witness a rare pleasure trying to correct itself. In fact, like all masala movies, inherently contradictory in their politics, Pushpa 2: Niyama is no exception. There are still chunks of grim, patriarchal mentality that are reminders of the genre’s flawed foundations. Still, a mass entertainer of this scale contrives to try to grow a heart, show a backbone, admit its faults and try to reconcile its contradictions. Pushpa roars, “Jhukega nahi,” but Sukumar bows to the formula, though this time with purpose, weaving a thread of sincerity into the spectacle. He does not reinvent the blueprint, but he completely revises its lines, proving that even a flawed premise can support something meaningful.