Athibheekara Kaamukan: A Toxic Throwback Disguised As Romance

Directed by Rohith Narayan, Athibheekara Kaamukan opens with a visually striking, if manipulative, image: Lukman Avaran’s Arjun standing on the edge of a cliff, contemplating suicide.

The film immediately employs a voiceover, setting the stage for what promises to be a layered, introspective narrative. But this promise, like many in the film, evaporates quickly. What unfolds instead is a painfully dated love story that seems trapped in the aesthetics, sensibilities, and gender politics of the 1990s—despite being set in 2014.

Spoiler Alert

From the suicide attempt, the narrative rewinds to Arjun’s past. We see him through the affectionate yet exasperated voice of his mother, Shantha (Manohari Joy), who describes him as careless, irresponsible, and utterly directionless.

These traits are then shown with almost comical literalness: Arjun playing cricket with neighbourhood children, loitering at clubs to watch football, spending hours on carrom boards, and floating through life as a 25-year-old man-child.

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His friend Sreekuttan (Ashwin) adds to this comedic laziness, and the early segments, housewarming ceremonies, and neighbourhood banter have the tone of nostalgia bait. The framing tries to invoke an old Malayalam film texture: soft colours, sentimental transitions, and extremely on-the-nose background score.

After six years of doing absolutely nothing after his Plus Two exams, he joined a college, partly out of pity, partly out of frustration. Shantha, who carries the emotional burden of single parenthood, pushes him into a government college. He reluctantly joins the BSc Chemistry and moves into the hostel.

This stretch introduces his new college friend Tintu, who becomes the movie tries to get comic relief whenever it runs out of ideas, which is often.

The emotional core—or the illusion of one- is built around Anu (Drishya Raghunath), a soft-spoken girl who joins the same class. She notices Arjun because she sees his mother kissing him affectionately one day. Having grown up without a mother, Anu begins to feel a kind of emotional resonance with the way Shantha nurtures Arjun.

But the film’s tone rapidly becomes problematic. Her friendliness, her attempts to speak to him, and her emotional vulnerability are all framed through Arjun’s gaze as signals of romantic interest. This is where Athi Bheekara Kaamukan reveals its outdated heart: a narrative that repeatedly equates a woman’s kindness with love, a woman’s empathy with romantic availability.

Anu’s character is the most grounded and morally consistent presence in the film, yet the screenplay insists on making her the emotional vessel for Arjun’s projections. She becomes a screen onto which Arjun paints his insecurities and desires.

Bibin Ashok’s music, when listened to independently, is pleasant. Yet the film deploys songs as lazy emotional shortcuts every 20–30 minutes. There is a love song, then an emotional song, then a longing song…until every scene begins to feel like a pretext for another track.

The flute-heavy cues designed to make us sympathise with Arjun grow grating, especially as the film keeps insisting that his heartbreak is profound, while Anu’s perspective is relegated to the background.

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Manohari Joy, playing Shantha, is the emotional heart of the movie. Her portrayal of a naive, hardworking single mother is deeply affecting, even when the script infantilises her character. She carries quiet dignity, humour, and heartbreak—holding the film together even as it drifts into melodrama.

In a surprisingly tender scene, Anu visits Arjun’s home, speaks to Shantha, and urges Arjun to study well so his mother’s sacrifices don’t go to waste. It’s a mature, grounded moment from Anu, but the film uses it once again to make Arjun’s heartbreak seem more tragic rather than acknowledging Anu’s empathy.

Post-rejection, Arjun drowns himself in alcohol, lashes out at his mother, and eventually ends up in therapy. What could have been a moment for emotional depth turns into a half-baked, boring sequence. The film treats mental health as a throwaway joke, robbing the narrative of the sensitivity it desperately needs.

The second hour of Athibheekara Kaamukan is painfully repetitive. The story circles the same emotional beats: Arjun’s longing, Arjun’s frustration, Anu’s boundaries, and Shantha’s endurance, without evolving any of them. By the time of the climax, the film’s emotional reservoir has completely dried up.

And yet, Lukman Avaran remains compelling. His performance—especially in portraying an earnest but deeply flawed young man—is the film’s biggest strength. But even his sincerity cannot save a script that feels decades behind its time. Despite its nostalgic intention, the film ends up reinforcing outdated romantic tropes that modern audiences have long outgrown.

What makes Athibheekara Kaamukan truly troubling is the message it quietly plants into the audience’s mind. Films do influence society, and here the narrative repeatedly suggests that the girl should have loved him, should have understood him, and should have carried the emotional burden of his instability.

Instead of acknowledging her mental health, the film frames Arjun’s despair as something Anu is somehow responsible for — simply because she was kind to him. This manipulation of empathy becomes a toxic romantic template where the boy’s suffering is glorified and the girl’s boundaries are dismissed.

It reinforces the dangerous idea that a woman’s compassion is a promise, that her refusal is cruelty, and that it is her duty to fix a man who refuses to fix himself. Even more problematic, it subtly romanticises emotional pressure, making it seem as though a girl who chooses herself is betraying someone, while a possessive, guilt-driven lover becomes the victim.

In a society already struggling with entitlement and emotional coercion in relationships, this kind of storytelling doesn’t just feel outdated; it feels harmful.

Timeline Verdict:

Athibheekara Kaamukan is an old-school, cliché-ridden, emotionally manipulative romance that fails to justify its existence in the current era, despite strong performances that try their best to lift it. The film still ends up pushing a toxic narrative.

 Crew

Directors

• Gautham Thaniyil

• C.C. Nithin

Writer

• Sujai Mohanraj

Producers

• Sam George – Producer

• V. Mathiyalagan – Producer

• Gautham Thaniyil – Co-Producer

• Deepti Gautham – Co-Producer

Music Composer

• Bibin Ashok

Cinematography

• Sreeram Chandrasekharan

  Cast

  • Lukman Avaran

  • Drishya Raghunath

  • Manohari Joy

  • Ashwin

  • Karthik