Thamma

Thamma, the latest instalment in the Maddock Horror Comedy Universe (MHCU), directed by Aditya Sarpotdar, once again mines India’s vast reservoir of folklore and mythology to fashion a tale around a secretive sect that feeds on the blood of the living. The film bears all the familiar trademarks of the franchise, yet this time the formula feels fatigued, running out of steam.

Alok Goyal (Ayushmann Khurrana), a journalist, sets out on a trekking expedition with two friends. When a bear attacks them, his companions abandon him, leaving him gravely injured in the forest. He is rescued by Tadaka (Rashmika Mandanna), a mysterious woman from the Betal sect, a clan of vampire-like beings who survive on the blood of the living. As Tadaka nurses him back to health, an unexpected bond develops between them. Their fragile intimacy, however, threatens the rigid laws of her community, which forbids any human from entering their hidden realm. Tadaka risks everything to save Alok, and together they flee to Delhi. But their escape only sets in motion a darker reckoning between love, mortality, and myth…

Interestingly, the Betal sect are undead beings, devoid of pulse or breath, who have renounced drinking human blood after witnessing the brutality of the 1947 Partition. Confronted by how humans slaughtered one another, they deemed animals more worthy of survival and turned to feeding on wild creatures instead. Writers Niren Bhatt, Suresh Mathew, and Arun Fulara trace their origins back to ‘Raktbeej’, suggesting that the Betals once defended the land against foreign invaders, from Alexander’s forces to British colonial officers. This is a potentially rich mythic angle that could have anchored the film with moral and historical resonance, but the script never quite builds on this foundation.

The first half of the film leans toward the romance between Alok and Tadaka, focusing on her tentative assimilation into the human world. As Tadaka is pursued by her clan members, they merely shadow her movements rather than posing any real threat, stretching the plot thin. When she is finally captured and taken back, Alok sets out to rescue her, reducing the narrative to a conventional love-rescue arc stripped of surprise or any emotional urgency.

In keeping with the demands of franchise continuity, Thamma inserts a cameo by the Bhediya (2022) character, setting up an elaborate action sequence. However, it feels less like an organic escalation and more like a corporate stitchwork to sustain the MHCU. Alok’s profession as a journalist adds little to the narrative beyond a nominal backstory and never meaningfully informs his choices or the film’s perspective.

Then, there is the recurring issue of item numbers, this time featuring Malaika Arora and Nora Fatehi. Both performances promise spectacle, yet the choreography is difficult to appreciate due to their brief screentime, as the sequences are truncated almost abruptly and the plot relentlessly asserts itself, relegating these songs to mere interludes. One senses that the film could have capitalised on these set pieces, using them to punctuate character or mood, but instead they dissolve too quickly, leaving only a fleeting impression of some energy and style.

Ayushmann Khurrana once again inhabits a role well within his range, delivering his familiar blend of charm and restraint. He shines in moments of moral confusion and romantic hesitation but the part offers little challenge to an actor of his capability. Rashmika Mandanna brings a mix of feral energy and gentle vulnerability, her expressive eyes and physical grace suggesting an inner tumult the screenplay never fully explores. Paresh Rawal provides some of the film’s sharpest comic beats and, in a few quieter scenes, conveys a convincing sense of emotional conflict. Geeta Agarwal Sharma, once again playing a mother, has little to contribute due to the underwritten role. Cameos by Sathyaraj and Abhishek Banerjee offer brief flashes of humor, though they remain stranded within the narrative. Faisal Malik lends a certain offbeat sincerity, but the role feels sketchy, while Nawazuddin Siddiqui, cast as the antagonist Yakshasan, is drained of the required menace, leaving the character curiously weightless.

Saurabh Goswami’s cinematography fully serves the world the film seeks to conjure, capturing both characters and environment with a careful eye for texture and scale. His framing harmonises seamlessly with the production design by Subrata Chakraborty and Amit Ray, which lends the sets a tangible sense of place and mythic weight. Hemanti Sarkar’s editing maintains a steady rhythm and flow, though there are times the narrative momentum falters. The VFX team delivers convincingly rendered supernatural elements, while the soundscape, dominated by the score of Sachin–Jigar, punctuates suspense and spectacle with competent flair, even if it rarely surprises.

Thamma, no doubt, offers flashes of charm and spectacle, but ultimately ends up as a film that is more content to circulate within the safety of its own universe rather than push its boundaries. What once felt like a sly rejuvenation of genre tropes now carries the air of a franchise trapped by its own cleverness. It feels like an enterprise aware of its mythology but unsure how to renew its spirit.

Hindi, Horror, Comedy, Drama, Mythology, Color