‘Madha Gaja Raja’ movie review: Vishal, Sundar C’s fun, largely engaging throwback to masala cinema of the past

We are three Tamil films and one pan-Indian title into Pongal cinema mania this year, with two more big-ticket releases on the horizon. Yet, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to say that one of the most interesting Pongal releases this year might actually be (the curious case of) Madha Gaja Raja — masala cinema master chef Sundar C’s long-delayed comedy entertainer, releasing after 12 years. The release of a quintessential Sundar C entertainer is a phenomenon worth discussing but Madha Gaja Raja isn’t just that: it’s also a reminder, partly of what the present-day Tamil cinema has been missing out on and partly of what it has largely tried to correct itself from.

Look, here’s the deal; it’s obviously a time capsule to a long-dying sub-genre of masala cinema, and it’s natural to weigh how the core ideas behind the film have aged over the years. It must either be outdated and formulaic, or has a timeless appeal that makes you take it at face value, irreverent to the bigger picture, and compels you to look beyond its flaws. Thankfully, Madha Gaja Raja just about falls in the second category, offering mindless fun and respite from all the serious actioners of our time. If you’re expecting it to appease your 2025 movie-watching sensibilities, this may not be for you. If you’re however an audience familiar with Sundar C’s brand of cinema, Madha Gaja Raja is a delightful throwback — it tells you a thing or two about the commercial cinema of our past; why a Pushpa 2 works in 2024; why filmmakers used to take big gambles with comedies; and why heroines being embarrassingly used as mere sex symbols have diminished.

Let me prepare you for the kind of film that awaits you: In their new humble abode, a man opens the window to the sight of a temple tower, an auspicious sign according to him. His daughter opens another window adjacent, sees the film’s hero Vishal, and goes, “But I can see God himself.” Imagine a packed theatre hall, some sniggering with their heads buried down and some still processing the lens to view the film.

A lot of these ideas, cringe-worthy in the present day, were run-of-the-mill in the 2000s and 2010s, and that the makers haven’t chopped them off says more about the release itself. Another example is a slow-motion intercut that shows the same girl, feeling all the heat in her loins for Vishal, because he held her hips while Matrix-bending to avoid a sickle-slash? Madha Gaja Raja is filled to the brim with such campy tropes that we had long forgotten, often resulting in the audience erupting into laughter, the loudest of which came at the sight of a car being hoisted in the air vertically (something both Vishal and Sundar C have forgone since their Aambala days).

What really caught my attention is how the first half of the film demonstrates why filmmakers have largely stuck to the masala cinema formula — because it works. The many commercial elements are packed so densely, and to much surprise, it doesn’t compromise the plot’s progression. A lot happens in just one hour into the film. A major highlight? After what seems like an eternity, the comedian in Santhanam makes a terrific comeback, shortcomings intact, and we also get the long-forgotten independent comedy tracks.

The storyline is simple; Raja (Vishal) and his three childhood friends — played by Santhanam, Nithin Sathya and Sadagopan Ramesh — reunite at the wedding of their favourite school teacher’s daughter. The wedding festivities themselves offer space for comedy, as well as drama, centring on the love affair of the bride and the marital issues of Santhanam’s character, culminating in a reveal that introduces the main antagonist of the film: Sonu Sood’s Karkkavel Vishwanath, a media business tycoon who had wronged both Nithin and Ramesh.

Raja vows to make it right by his friends, leading into the second half of the film, where the film falters. He easily thwarts the political ambitions of the nitwit villain, a multi-millionaire who lets his ego get the best of him. Meanwhile, Raja is stuck in a love triangle, with Madhavi (Anjali), a traditionally-attired girl who leaves him after a misunderstanding in the beginning, and Maya (Varalaxmi Sarathkumar), Ramesh’s sister-in-law who wears Western clothing to complete the yin-yang formation. Come on, there’s something for all men, isn’t there? The film was made back when Vishal was in his Theeradha Vilaiyattu Pillai phase, and once again, the women here have little to do than fight for Raja and become irrelevant sex symbols pandering to the male gaze (there’s a scene in which Raja emerges from a well carrying the two heroines on his lap!).

Just as you are about to lose patience, Santhanam returns to add some much-needed levity. A scene featuring Santhanam, Vishal, Rajendran, and late veteran Manobala, is comedy gold; it pays homage to a certain comedy track of late comedian Nagesh from the ‘90s, and the execution is knee-slapping, to say the least. This is what Tamil cinema has been missing for quite some time. The gradual disposal of comedy tracks needs its own analysis, but without the Santhanams, Sooris and Sivakarthikeyans in their comedy avatars, there is a serious drought for good old-school comedy. Remember, this was Sundar’s follow-up to Kalakalappu, one of the most popular masala comedies of its time, when Santhanam and Manobala were at their comedic best.

Vishal had then badly needed a comedy break and this might have been it. He flexes his six packs in a fight with Sood and belts out heroic punchlines as standard procedure, but more impactful is his supporting role in Santhanam’s comedy. This is cue to mention late veteran Manivannan’s cameo, and Lollu Sabha Swaminathan, scenes that remind you how such supporting actors can support a film especially when the writing slumps.

As you can infer, this is a film that benefits from its own self-awareness and the irreverence you show to it as a product of 2013. A scene in which Raja and friends deliberately lose a running race to their childhood rivals works only because you are aware such writing is a matter of the past. This also lets you shut your mind and shrug past the objectionable aspects (from sexual innuendos, double-entendre jokes and titillating dance choreography, to casual misogyny and using damsel-in-distress tropes to pivot through situations — provocating ideas are peppered throughout, making them almost inseparable from the fabric of Madha Gaja Raja).

But what if Sundar C made the same film now, with how both comedies and good masala entertainers are in high demand? It might be difficult to find takers for this brand of cinema and each of the cast is on different courses in their career (there also aren’t any suitable replacements). Even Sundar C has evolved considerably, as was evident from Aranmanai 4. Also, would Vijay Antony compose and Vishal sing a song that goes ‘Nee OC liquor’u, yen heart’u jumputhu’? Let’s hope not.

So, perhaps most of what glitters about Madha Gaja Raja isn’t the film itself, but the mindless fun of watching something that as a whole could only exist in your past. It’s nothing more than a could-have-been that has somehow become a has-been.

Madha Gaja Raja is currently running in theatres