Leo review: Lokesh, Vijay’s action thriller roars plenty but isn’t fully satisfying

Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Leo starts with an acknowledgment that it’s inspired by A History of Violence (2005), the David Cronenberg action thriller based on John Wagner’s graphic novel of the same title. But you needn’t worry if you haven’t watched the older film or read the book – surely, you know “Ayya, en peru Manickam. Enakku innoru peru irukku!” from Baasha (1995). The story of a seemingly peaceful man with a secret, violent history is common enough. The contrast between the characters allows for a cinematic explosion of heroism, a high you experience even if you were expecting it all along. Kamal Haasan transforming from kathak dancer to killing machine in Vishwaroopam (2013) – ah, how satisfying is that?

Like Tom (Viggo Mortenson) of A History of Violence, Parthiban (Vijay) runs a small restaurant in a small town. But Vijay isn’t Viggo. He’s Thalapathy. So, he can’t just be serving coffee in his Himachal Pradesh cafe and waiting for the thugs to turn up to flex his muscles. People who go for 4 am shows aren’t in the mood for a meditative film on violence – they want crackers going off at regular intervals. Lokesh understands this, and so, Parthiban is also an animal rescuer. He is introduced in the much-hyped hyena action sequence, along with Gautham Menon, who plays a forest ranger (a substitute for the helpful local sheriff from A History of Violence).

Parthiban is already capable of wrestling with a vicious beast, but we’re required to be surprised when he displays similar skills to humans. Still, Lokesh aims for a contrast. Here, he says, is a man who is capable of much love and tenderness. Can he really be a killer? What makes these stories about ‘bad boys turned good’ fascinating is their internal conflict and how they confront the shadows of the past that catch up with them eventually. Parthiban leads a perfect life – a loving wife (Trisha), a son with whom he shares a friendly rapport (Matthew Thomas), and a daughter who adores him (Iyal). When an incident at his restaurant brings back ghosts from his past, he goes all out to protect his family.

But, the writing is too thin to make this story compelling. With streaks of silver in his hair, Vijay looks the part of a family man – someone even identifies him as “middle-aged” as opposed to the usual “he looks so young even now” dialogue that’s thrown in to underline the eternal youth of our male stars. He’s great in the action sequences – swift, agile, and with a lean and mean body. The mildly comic moments work well, too, but the actor struggles in scenes that depend on him internalising the pain and pressure that his character must feel, pretending to be someone he isn’t.

Lokesh seems unsure of what he wants Parthiban to be – is he regretful or ashamed of his past, or does he revel in living under a stolen identity? A History of Violence is about a man who wants his past self dead. He is devastated when he finds him still alive. Leo’s Parthiban seems caught between wanting to pay homage to this hero and pandering to the fans who want Vijay-na to be a remorseless badass. The conflict, therefore, is just your regular masala film conflict – it’s external and rooted in all the bad people who have to be killed one after the other.

Sanjay Dutt is one of them. Arjun is another. Mysskin and Sandy too. Of the lot, the dynamic between the darkly funny Mysskin and the unhinged Sandy is interesting even if brief. Sanjay Dutt could have been a terrifying villain, given his motives, but this plot thread is severely underwritten. He’s projected as a merciless, superstitious man, but the actor plays him with the routine mix of growliness and screamy-ness that we’ve come to expect of the average Tamil cinema villain. Someone with the depravity of a mediaeval king is therefore reduced to being Mr Everyman in the thug universe. The leather couch and the quizzical eagle add atmosphere, but they can’t be a substitute for characterisation. The same goes for Arjun – he makes an impression with his screen presence but again, Lokesh glides over this dysfunctional family without building anything up.

Madonna Sebastian has a surprising role with a not-so-surprising resolution. That’s all one can say without revealing any spoilers, but one really wonders why young filmmakers today can’t take it upon themselves to write decent female characters. What was Priya Anand doing in the film?! She wafts in and out uttering inane dialogues, and we don’t even know her name. Trisha’s job is to look extremely worried all through and in the one scene where she had the potential to do more, she’s upstaged by the VFX hyena.

Supporting male actors like George Maryan (Napolean of Kaithi) and Mansoor Ali Khan are luckier. When George Maryan walks into the scene, it’s the confirmation the audience wants that this is indeed an #LCU (Lokesh Cinematic Universe) film. But the references are in passing, and even if you don’t remember anything from the previous films, it’s not like you’ll feel lost. Yes, there is a surprise cameo – the connection, though, seems forced when you think about it objectively and minus the hysteria that this whips up.

Leo doesn’t offer the cinematic highs of Vikram (2022) because there isn’t anything to discover in the plot, and we’re never really in doubt about the true identity of the character; I mean, the film is called Leo and not Parthiban. But it’s not that everything is flat. Vijay’s trick with the gun or the shattering of glass to bring back Leo of the past – these are whistle-worthy moments, sure, but there are no aha! moments. So, despite the brisk pacing and Anirudh’s background score, the screenplay feels fixated on the one question to which the audience already knows the answer – is this guy Leo or not?

The Lokesh touches are there in the effective use of old Tamil songs. The most crucial action scene in the film unfolds with the romantic duet ‘Thamara poovukum thannikum ennikum sandaiye vandhadhilla’ (There’s never been a fight between a lotus and the water) playing in the background, and the timing of the ‘Naan polladhavan’ song also provokes a chuckle, but Leo doesn’t have the uninhibited rawness of Kaithi (2019) or the layers of Vikram. It’s shorn of flab and aims to be an unapologetic action film, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But such a film demands a different conflict – something straightforward like John Wick’s “You killed my dog and so I want revenge”, rather than the monastic “Who am I?” kind of question. Leo roars and roars a lot, and the fans are likely to be happy. For the sourpuss critic though, this feels like a step down in the LCU.

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

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.