A senior cop (Prakash Raj) is listening to the story of gangster turf wars with his subordinate earnestly showcasing the players involved. Far from being intrigued, the man yawns and struggles to stay awake. This shot from Raayan (2024), Dhanush’s 50th film as actor and second as director, hints at the tedium that such stories could evoke – there’s nothing new about any of this, and Dhanush seems to know it. The challenge lies in telling the same story once again but with appealing make-up. It's here that Dhanush scores.

The film opens with a black-and-white flashback that is reminiscent of a Rajinikanth template – an older brother who struggles to bring up his younger siblings after they lose their parents. But what if this template is hijacked by Vetrimaaran, Dhanush’s longtime collaborator? That’s how Raayan looks and feels as it unfolds. Raayan (Dhanush) is forced to pick up the knife early in life to protect his brothers Muthuvel (Sundeep Kishan) and Manickam (Kalidas Jayaram), and baby sister Durga (Dushara Vijayan). 

The big brother is just working in his food truck when we see him for the first time. It’s simple and without the flourish we’d expect from a star film. Quickly, the dynamics of the family is established within the space of the truck. Raayan is the dour-faced elder brother with a closely shaved head. He’s the disciplinarian, more of a father than a brother. Muthuvel is the good-for-nothing who attracts trouble all the time. Manickam is the college-goer who keeps his escapades a secret from Raayan, and is close buddies with Muthuvel. Durga isn’t at the food truck but it is named after her – she’s the fulcrum of the family.

It's not difficult to see how these arcs will develop. After all, there is no use for a self-sacrificing big brother in the plot if he doesn’t meet with betrayal. The question is at what point this betrayal happens and how. We certainly get a new meaning for “blood relative” by the time things wind up. In the mix are Durai (Saravanan) and Sethu (SJ Suryah), the heads of rival gangs, and Sekhar (Selvaraghavan), Raayan’s kind-of guardian angel. The drone shots infuse a sense of urgency and dynamism even as the plot takes predictable turns. The technique feels overused by the time the film comes to an end though.

There isn’t much meat to chew on here, and as Raayan slices up one gangster after another, you wonder how these characters earned their dreaded reputations. The staging of the scenes – like the interval block fight we know is coming or the one where Raayan walks down a dark road – is proper theatre material, but the payoff isn’t as impactful as it could have been because the wins come too easily. He’s indomitable even when on a hospital bed with an oxygen mask, for goodness’ sake. If we buy it, it’s because Dhanush sells it so well. There’s a quiet menace to his demeanour, and he makes it look very convincing.

Prakash Raj’s character is something of a puppeteer in the scheme of things, and yet, the “mind game” he plays is very basic and uninspired. SJ Suryah’s mannerisms and dialogue delivery remain unchanged from film to film, but still, his face-offs with Dhanush are entertaining. The scene where both the actors sit under a flickering light, their faces half in shadow, is so fun.

Sundeep and Kalidas are competent in their respective roles, though the latter struggles in the emotional scenes. The real surprise is Dushara who gets a welcome promotion from the oh-so-boring weeping thangachi stereotype we’ve seen in hundreds of films. The agency she displays is a very male idea of what female agency looks like, but it’s better than the thangachi whose only purpose in life is to get married or die. Small wins. Dushara sinks her teeth into the role, and pulls it off without too many stumbles. Aparna Balamurali as Mekala, Muthuvel’s girlfriend, doesn’t have much to do other than act as his rehab centre. She still manages to be likeable in the role.

There is a lot of violence in Raayan (the film is A certified), but Dhanush makes the wise choice of not shooting a sexual assault scene and milking it for viewer sympathy (the latest example of that would be Maharaja). Instead, the assault is mentioned in conversation so we know it happened, but aren’t required to turn voyeurs in the act. This departure from convention is refreshing, even if the rape-revenge formula remains pretty much intact in the film.

The editing is choppy in parts, and the second half feels somewhat rushed. AR Rahman’s background score works well for the big and small moments, but the song placements look forced. Why have a song called ‘Bhogi Bhogi’ when the theme is centred on Raavanan? Do we need paintings of Durga and Raavanan in the background to elevate the characters and drive home the parallels? Do these characters in a straightforward gangster drama need it in the first place? It makes sense in a film like Karnan (2021) that runs on subversion, but is it required in a film like this that doesn’t really lend itself to subtext?

Raayan borrows from earlier films of the genre and blends it with tried-and-tested emotions that work with the audience. It shies away from identity politics, choosing instead to tell the story of a family whose social location isn’t clearly defined. It isn’t looking to make a statement or nudge you towards introspection. For as long as it lasts, it’s mostly engaging and has your attention. But is it memorable? For the film to be that, it needed more grit, more vision.

Sowmya Rajendran writes on gender, culture, and cinema. She has written over 25 books, including a nonfiction book on gender for adolescents. She was awarded the Sahitya Akademi’s Bal Sahitya Puraskar for her novel Mayil Will Not Be Quiet, in 2015.

Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor its reviewers have any business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.