Aashaan Review : A Gentle, Bruising Look at Cinema
Stories about cinema are nothing new. We have watched filmmakers dissect their own worlds before. But Aashaan takes the familiar film within a film structure and drives it somewhere more vulnerable, where cinema abandons showmanship and reveals its raw core.
Johnpaul George, the filmmaker who once made us ache for a boy and his fish in Guppy and later took us gently into the world of Ambili, returns with Aashaan. True to his voice, he once again finds emotion in fragile human longing. Only this time, his subject is cinema itself viewed from its worn, weary underside.
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The plot is deceptively simple. The story unfolds inside a strangely circular apartment complex, where a film crew arrives to shoot a movie. For Anandan an assistant director gasping for his big break, this is an opportunity that cannot be wasted. For Aashaan, a beloved figure in the apartment and a man who has dreamed of acting all his life, this feels like fate finally knocking. As the shoot progresses, dreams begin to brush uncomfortably against hierarchy and power.
At the emotional centre of this world stands Indrans, and watching him feels like coming home. There was a tenderness we all carried after Ambili, a quiet, protective love for a character who deserved more gentleness from the world. That same emotion resurfaces here, only deeper and more restrained. In Aashaan, Indrans does what he has always done best across his career.
He has portrayed countless lives on screen, comic, tragic, absurd but what makes him exceptional is his refusal to repeat himself. As Aashaan, he moves between shy invisibility and sudden relevance with painful honesty.
Shobi Thilakan’s filmmaker, worn down by debt and fading credibility, represents the industry’s cruelty without turning into a villain. Joemon Jyothir, as Anandan captures the exhausting anxiety of an assistant director who is always one mistake away from being replaced.
Around them swirl exaggerated stars, impatient residents, and chaotic crews but none of them feel hollow. They feel uncomfortably familiar. Visually, Vimal Jose Thachil’s cinematography makes the most of limited space.Johnpaul George’s music, especially the haunting Kunjikkavil Meghame, deepens the film’s emotional undercurrent without overpowering it.
There are moments where the narrative briefly loses its rhythm, and a tonal shift in the latter half feels risky. But even here, the film’s sincerity carries it forward.
In the end, Aashaan is not about success, stardom, or cinematic triumph. It is about the quiet courage of those who continue to believe in cinema even when cinema doesn’t fully believe in them. It critiques the industry while embracing its wonder and in doing so, reminds us why stories still matter.
Amid all the chaos and mess,Aashaan is also about those who wait patiently at the edges of frames, believing that one day, someone will notice them.
