Let me tell you about a movie that had all the ingredients for disaster—and delivered it with style. Oh Sukumari, a Telugu romantic comedy starring Aishwarya Rajesh and Thiruveer, is the kind of film that makes you wonder why anyone thought it was a good idea. The premise alone is a goldmine: a woman who gives electric shocks to anyone who touches her. Sounds like a setup for a quirky rom-com, right? But here’s the thing—this movie doesn’t just fail to capitalize on its premise. It actively insults the audience’s intelligence while doing so. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film’s core idea, which could have been a clever metaphor for societal taboos or personal insecurities, gets reduced to a series of cringe-worthy jokes and predictable tropes. It’s like watching a chef throw away a five-star recipe and serve burnt toast instead.
Aishwarya Rajesh, who has a knack for making even the most mundane roles shine, is clearly trying her best here. Her character, Daamini, is supposed to be the emotional anchor of the film, but her performance feels like she’s acting in a different movie altogether. The script gives her nothing to work with—just a series of awkward dialogue exchanges and forced comedic moments. I’ve seen her deliver far more nuanced performances in smaller roles, so it’s heartbreaking to watch her squander her talent on this. What many people don’t realize is that when a lead actor is given a role that’s essentially a caricature, it’s not their fault. The real problem lies in the writing, which reduces her to a collection of exaggerated mannerisms and slang that become grating after the first 15 minutes.
Then there’s Thiruveer, whose presence feels like an afterthought. He’s a solid actor, but this film doesn’t give him anything to do beyond reacting to Aishwarya’s antics. It’s as if the director thought, ‘Oh, we need a male lead? Let’s just throw Thiruveer in there and hope he can carry the weight.’ The result is a performance that’s so underdeveloped it’s almost insulting. And let’s not forget the supporting cast—Muralidhar Goud’s character is a recycled Telangana stereotype, and Jhansi’s cringe comedy is so over-the-top it borders on self-parody. If you take a step back and think about it, this film seems to be a direct response to the audience’s demand for ‘funny’ at all costs, even if it means sacrificing coherence.
The technical aspects of Oh Sukumari are equally disheartening. The cinematography is passable, but the production design feels like it was shot on a budget that’s been stretched to its absolute limit. Bharath Manchiraju’s music is forgettable, with songs that don’t stick in your head for more than a minute. The real crime, though, is the screenplay. It’s the kind of writing that makes you question why anyone would greenlight a project with such a weak foundation. The first half is a tedious parade of forced humor, and the interval twist—while technically a plot point—feels like a desperate attempt to salvage interest. What this really suggests is that the filmmakers were more concerned with ticking off formulaic checkboxes than actually telling a story. The result is a film that feels like it was written by someone who’s never seen a movie before.
But here’s the kicker: the trailer for Oh Sukumari was actually decent. It hinted at the potential for a clever, character-driven narrative. Yet, the final product is so far removed from that promise that it’s almost a different genre entirely. This isn’t just a bad movie—it’s a cautionary tale about what happens when creativity is replaced by committee-driven decisions. If you’re looking for a film that will make you laugh, cry, or even think, this isn’t it. But if you want to witness the sad state of commercial cinema in Telugu film, then by all means, go watch it. Just don’t expect anything more than a few awkward moments and a lot of regret.
