There are three Aditya Sarpotdars in Thamma, and all three of them compete with each other. There is Aditya Sarpotdar, the man behind Zombivli, who has fun playing with undead beings (the scene where Paresh Rawal's Ram Bajaj Goyal tries to explain what's wrong with his son is reminiscent of that scene in Zombivli where Amey Wagh's character tries to tell a police officer about zombies). Next, we have Aditya Sarpotdar of Unaad, who wants to infuse romance with a sense of intimacy. Finally, we are left with Aditya Sarpotdar of Munjya, who is trapped in fulfilling the demands of a mainstream franchise. That third Sarpotdar is a big downer — he sucks the fun out of everything. Unfortunately, this is the only version of the director who rules over this new Maddock Horror Comedy Universe outing. In this story of betaals and a Yakshashan (Nawazuddin Siddiqui), it's the director who drains the blood and saps the life out of the movie. As a result, Thamma feels as impersonal and inconsequential as Munjya and as mediocre as other films in this franchise (the first Stree is the only exception).
When Amar Kaushik kills your brain cells with unexceptional offerings like Bhediya and Stree 2, he at least gives you the relief of enjoying two or three good gags (think of that Himesh Reshammiya bit in Bhediya and that elephant bit in Stree 2). Sarpotdar, by comparison, is exceptionally humorless. Does he get overwhelmed by the big cast, the big budget? His attempts at humor in Thamma are so obvious (a dad tells his son to open his mouth when he notices the latter's vampire-like teeth in the mirror) that even ChatGPT would suggest he seek its help with some revisions, some refinements. To give credit where it's due, Sarpotdar understands how ridiculous those sharp, pointed teeth look and how amusingly they can distort someone's face. Tadaka/Tarika (Rashmika Mandanna) and Alok (Ayushmann Khurrana), initially, crack you up whenever they show their fangs — they seem to be making silly faces. And the movie creates a gag out of the moment where betaals are compelled to identify themselves. When the story becomes more serious, the fangs stop looking funny and ludicrous.
Thamma is being sold as a romance with supernatural elements. Romance happens between people, not chess pieces. The characters in Thamma follow the script and continually move the plot forward from one point to another. Sarpotdar has more interest in checking the necessary boxes; he doesn't care what the people on the screen think or feel about the world they inhabit or even each other. Tarika comes out of the forest and into the city environment (that too as a resident) for what seems like after many years. Yet, she has no questions whatsoever about modern life. What reaction does she give when she sits inside the car with Alok when they go to a restaurant to eat non-veg dishes? What does she think of the dancers — Malaika Arora and Nora Fatehi — and their sensual steps? Is performance like this common from where she hails? (She gulps down a glass of red wine, gets intoxicated, and performs these steps like a professional; yet, nothing about her people or that place in the forest suggests that betaals would know anything about such dance steps.) When Alok places the headphones over Tarika's ears, she looks briefly surprised, but doesn't ask any questions. That's all she does here — she reacts with mild wonder to whatever she encounters for the first time. The director, though, doesn't go beyond that amused expression.
The Rahein Na Rahein Hum song is romantic and features haunting vocals. It has everything that's missing from the love story Thamma sells to the audience. And Thamma is a "love story" in every sense. Love is its central theme; the message here is that love can defeat the most powerful of monsters. In Thamma, betaals refrain from drinking the blood of humans because humans are filled with hatred. They start riots and kill each other — their blood is poisonous. Ram Bajaj tells Alok to find a girl from his "own community," and in front of Sathyaraj's character, he talks about curing his son like a father who cannot accept his child being transgender or gay. Writers Niren Bhatt, Suresh Mathew, and Arun Falara have interesting ideas. One can establish a connection between Alok and Yakshashan by pointing out that they both say the line, "Kya kami hai mujh mein?" Still, everything boils down to the final execution, and in that department, Thamma falls flat. Its issues are not that different from the issues you find in other cinematic universes: lack of urgency, stakes, suspense, and astonishment. If Marvel and DC have removed a sense of wonder from superheroes, the Maddock Horror Comedy Universe has obliterated that otherworldly sensation from ghosts, demons, or other supernatural figures. Nothing in these movies tickles your imagination, and in something like Munjya and Thamma, you don't even get enough decent jokes to laugh at. The horror comedy balance is off — both undermine one another.
Thamma, in the end, is a showroom dressed up with Halloween decorations. Sarpotdar, our tour guide, leads us through the exhibits, inviting us to admire the statues, the quotes, the wardrobe, and other Universe-related objects. Before leading us toward the exit, he teases that there are more toys in the basement, so we head out in anticipation, excited about visiting again. Thamma is all set up, and its payoff is the next MHCU installment. For a movie where a heart literally saves the day, it's strangely... heartless. Thamma is impersonal; it's all work and no play.
Final Score- [3.5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times