Lokesh Kanagaraj’s I-D release offers vintage Rajinikanth swagger and a festival of cameos, but the script’s uneven pace keep it from joining the director’s top-tier works
Coolie, the Tamil action thriller directed by Lokesh Kanagaraj, doesn’t quite scale the creative peaks of the director’s previous films like Maanagaram (2017), Kaithi (2019), or Vikram (2022), but it delivers as a star-driven commercial entertainer, anchored almost entirely by Rajinikanth’s enduring screen charisma. Lokesh’s narrative canvas is visibly ambitious; he weaves together mystery, action, and emotional stakes, but the execution reveals uneven textures. The screenplay, while serviceable, lacks the taut precision, narrative layering and sharpness that have set his previous works apart.
The film, which marks superstar Rajinikanth’s 50th year in cinema, leans again on the director’s trademark non-linear storytelling, placing its protagonist in the centre of an investigation into a friend’s death, gradually peeling back secrets through parallel timelines. A physically formidable female character steps into the fray, injecting bursts of surprise and energy. In Vikram, these devices felt fresh and organically woven into the plot; in Coolie, their recurrence flirts with predictability, as if Kanagaraj is replaying familiar notes rather than composing new ones.
Adding to this sense of déjà vu is the occasional tonal and structural overlap with mainstream blockbusters such as Jailer (2023), particularly in the way emotional beats are interspersed with stylised mass moments tailored for fan euphoria. While these flourishes keep the crowd invested, they also underscore the tension between Kanagaraj’s auteur instincts and the demands of a full-throttle star vehicle.
Underbelly of Chennai’s labour unions
Set against the backdrop of Chennai’s dockyards and the gritty underbelly of the coolie labour unions, the story is centred on Rajasekar (Sathyaraj, who reunites with Rajinikanth after 38 years; their last collaboration was in the 1986 film Mr. Bharath), a widowed father whose life orbits around his three daughters: Preethi (Shruti Haasan), Priya (Monisha Blessy), and Reba Monica John. A self-taught inventor, Rajasekar designs an electric cremation chair, envisioning it as a low-cost, dignified alternative to traditional cremation.
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But his idealism collides with bureaucracy when the government refuses approval, dismissing his creation as impractical. Into this vacuum of rejection steps Simon (Nagarjuna), an underworld magnate with the appeal of a statesman and the ruthlessness of a despot, who sees in Rajasekar’s invention a macabre business opportunity and uses it for his own sinister purpose.
When Rajasekar’s sudden death shrouds the family home in grief — and mystery — his long-lost confidant Deva (Rajinikanth) appears at the funeral. One glance at the arrangements, one whiff of the air, and he senses the presence of an unseen hand. Bound by loyalty to a fallen friend and wary of the daughters’ understandable distrust, especially the initial resistance from Preethi, Deva sets himself on a path to untangle the knot of deceit, greed, and betrayal that now coils around the family.
Yet as the trail unfolds, Simon’s menace is eclipsed by the emergence of a key antagonist Dhayalan (Soubin Shahir), a deceptively mild-mannered figure whose ambitions make Simon look almost ornamental. Cameos from Upendra (Dayalan ‘Dayal’) and Aamir Khan (as Dahaa) pepper the film with bursts of star wattage, but they function more as diverting sparks than as integral links in the chain of narrative tension; they add flair but feel somewhat extraneous.
Moments to savour for Rajinikanth fans
On the technical front, Anirudh’s pulsating background score is Coolie’s defining asset, its rhythmic propulsion amplifying action beats, heightening moments of tension, and injecting energy into key sequences. Girish Gangadharan’s cinematography, while competent, lacks the visual inventiveness that distinguished Kanagaraj’s work in Vikram or Kaithi, where framing and light often became narrative tools in themselves. The inclusion of the “Monica” song, tonally at odds with Kanagaraj’s usually grounded aesthetic, appears less an organic creative choice and more a concession to commercial song-placement traditions in Tamil mass cinema.
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Structurally, the film’s pacing falters in the latter half, where extended sequences feel indulgent — prolonged confrontations, et al — that evoke the conventional commercial tropes used by KS Ravikumar or Hari more than Kanagaraj’s own taut, genre-bending approach. The first half unravels more deliberately, establishing intrigue through character setups and restrained reveals, which keeps the audience invested despite a slower tempo.
While Coolie does not represent Kanagaraj operating at the height of his narrative and stylistic experimentation, it’s a treat for Rajinikanth fans, who will revel in his stylish portrayal in Kanagaraj’s cinematic universe. For them, the film offers moments to savour: signature entrances, sardonic line deliveries, and other such flourishes. For general audiences, it delivers as a mass entertainer, even if it refrains from pushing the boundaries that have, until now, defined the director’s rise. The hope is that Kanagaraj’s next outing will re-engage with the inventive risk-taking that has positioned him as one of the most distinctive voices in contemporary Tamil cinema.
