‘S Saraswathi’ movie review: An exhausting crime saga that offers nothing new

It is not often that women-led mainstream films find their way into theatres in Telugu cinema. When they do, they are mostly directed by men and turn out to be cautionary statements about social ills women confront on a daily basis. Though this is understandable given the crime rate against women and children, it also indicates how such films become a limiting portrait of the lives of women and seldom tap into the essence of their lives beyond victimhood.

S Saraswathi, which marks actress Varalaxmi Sarathkumar’s directorial debut and is produced by her sister Pooja Sarathkumar, falls prey to this very trope where a woman’s story is largely equated with her suffering. Charting the journey of Lakshmi (Varalaxmi), who works as a nurse in a metropolis, the film is a thriller drama with a non-linear screenplay and the story nearly makes a case for revenge as a necessity.

Lakshmi’s life as a single parent to a teenage daughter, Saraswathi, falls apart when the latter goes missing from her school on her birthday — intentionally set on August 15, to indicate that a woman’s freedom is often limited to paper. The authorities deny the existence of such a student and barely acknowledge Lakshmi’s complaint. How far will she go to find her daughter?

The film initially explores the mysteries behind this unusual disappearance. With little evidence to prove her claims, Lakshmi enlists a sincere lawyer, Ramanujam (Prakash Raj), to fight her case. Even though he sees no legal hope, he promises to fight for an honest mother. As the case takes newer turns by the minute, Ramanujam unearths newer dimensions to Lakshmi’s life.

It is interesting how the 2012 Hindi film Kahaani’s deceptive screenplay continues to be a sought-after reference point for films centred on women (W/O Ram and Maharaja are cases in point) — where a missing person case is a device used to unwrap moral rot and indulge in social commentary. S Saraswathi barely tries to bring anything new to this trajectory, generally filling up the frames without fuelling the fire.

The film relies on a traditional narrative structure to engage viewers — a twist that jolts the screenplay from its slumber, an emotional flashback post intermission, and a climax packed with lengthy monologues about the plight of women. There are predictable situations and characters all around.

The screenplay lacks brevity, turning so circular that it harps on the same points by merely placing a different set of actors in similar situations. A few sequences in prison involving a pivotal character are particularly jarring; the ‘prisoner’ appears so comfortable talking to visitors, as if she were in the middle of a retreat rather than behind bars, sporting neatly tied hair and spotless, well-ironed clothes.

A psychiatrist refers to a disorder tirelessly, as if he had decoded something astonishing, and treats hypnosis like a newfound invention. Every character is an extreme — mind-bogglingly vulnerable, immensely generous, incredibly manipulative, or shockingly predatory. The writing leans so heavily on creative conveniences that characters enter and exit at will, and facilitate a flurry of cameos that make no impact.

In the courtroom arguments, the victim makes law-breaking seem so fashionable and justifiable that even a judge is reasonably convinced. You hear time-tested dialogues about why, in a nation with so many goddesses, a woman fails to find basic dignity. It leaves little to imagination, bludgeoning the viewer with its message until any potential for genuine empathy is stifled by sheer exhaustion.

Only Varalaxmi and Prakash Raj get substantial roles with respectable arcs, though the flabby melodrama drowns any attempt at damage control. The rest of the narrative is stuffed with special appearances; the list runs long with Jiiva, Radikaa Sarathkumar, Murali Sharma, Tulasi, Kishore, Priyamani, and Nasser, all wasted in roles that hardly merit their presence.

There are big names in the crew such as writer Sai Madhav Burra and music composer S Thaman; but they make little difference to the proceedings. If the first hour is packed with coincidences, the latter half is an overdose of drama, jumping across timelines in a desperate effort to mask the film’s emptiness.

S Saraswathi’s call for a safer world for women is hard to dismiss, but the storytelling is unoriginal, takes far too many cinematic liberties and offers little emotional connection.

Published – March 06, 2026 11:47 am IST