The story of forgotten villages deserves exactly this kind of large-canvas treatment.
In Peddi, director Buchi Babu Sana turns the camera toward a quiet, persistent injustice — the villages that exist without existing, unnamed on any official map, invisible to the state that is meant to serve them. Ram Charan inhabits this world with rare physical and emotional commitment, anchoring a film that carries a worthy message even as its structure struggles to carry its own weight. The result is a work that illuminates something true about marginalization and dignity, while reminding us that even the most important stories can be undone by the telling.
- Ram Charan's physical transformation across three sports disciplines and a devastating hospital sequence signal a performance that belongs among his finest — the film's emotional center holds precisely because he refuses to let it go.
- AR Rahman's score and Ratnavelu's cinematography do the heavy lifting that the screenplay cannot always manage, pulling scenes toward feeling through texture, color, and sound rather than dialogue alone.
- A bloated 189-minute runtime buries the film's real conflict beneath a full hour of commercial formula — hero introductions and a romance track that have little to do with the story worth telling.
- The courtship between Peddi and Achiamma is the film's most damaging stretch — unconvincing in chemistry, uncomfortable in construction, and shaped by an unreflective male gaze that neither director nor screenplay pauses to question.
- Jagapathi Babu's quietly devastating portrayal of a village elder who spent thirty years fighting for official recognition gives the film's core theme its most human and dignified expression.
- Peddi arrives at something genuinely moving in its second half, but the distance traveled to get there — through melodrama, structural missteps, and a miscast supporting role — leaves the landing feeling later than it should.
Buchi Babu Sana's second film is built around a premise with real moral weight: the story of settlements so forgotten by the state that they do not appear on any official map. Ram Charan plays Peddi, a man raised in one of these unnamed villages who discovers a gift for athletics but chooses to remain — hiring himself out to rival cricket patrons in Vizianagaram and Bobbili, whose competition for his services plays out one rupee at a time. The larger story is framed through a 2016 inquiry by a sports official who arrives after India's Olympic disappointment, and it draws in a politician's daughter and a village elder who has spent three decades seeking recognition for his settlement.
Ram Charan's commitment to the role is the film's most reliable anchor. He moves convincingly across multiple sports and delivers a hospital sequence in the second half that ranks among the best work of his career — comparable to Rangasthalam in its emotional honesty. Jagapathi Babu, as the elder Appalasoori, brings quiet dignity to a man who has tried everything and failed, resisting the pull toward easy sentiment. Shiva Rajkumar, in support, understands his function and fulfills it without overreaching.
Technically, the film is on firm ground. AR Rahman's score takes risks that big-budget star vehicles rarely permit, and his background work in the second half carries scenes further than the screenplay alone could manage. Ratnavelu's cinematography is deliberate and grounded — the forested landscapes and sports sequences share a rough, textured quality that suits the story's setting and spirit.
The problems are structural and significant. The first half spends close to an hour on commercial ingredients — introductions, a romance — that feel disconnected from the film's real concerns. The courtship between Peddi and Achiamma is the most uncomfortable stretch: awkward in construction, unconvincing in chemistry, and shaped by an unreflective male gaze that the film never examines. Janhvi Kapoor is poorly served by a role written primarily for visual appeal, and her character remains underdeveloped for most of the runtime. Boman Irani's framing device returns too often without earning its place, and Divyendu Sharma's Telugu debut is limited by a character that needed more pages.
Peddi is an honest film about something that matters — the invisibility of marginalized communities and the long, exhausting fight for the most basic recognition. Ram Charan ensures the emotional core never fully collapses. But at 189 minutes, with a screenplay that is both too long and too thin in the wrong places, the film asks more patience than its first half earns, and arrives at its most moving moments later than it should.
Buchi Babu Sana's second film arrives with something genuinely worth saying at its center: the story of villages so forgotten by the state that they barely exist on any official map. Ram Charan plays Peddi, a man who grows up in one of these unnamed settlements and discovers he has an uncommon gift for athletics. Rather than use that talent to escape, he becomes a hired cricketer for local teams—Vizianagaram and Bobbili compete fiercely for his services, with one employer consistently outbidding the other by a single rupee. His life intersects with Achiamma, the daughter of a politician seeking a state assembly seat, and the film frames this entire story through a 2016 inquiry by a sports official named Paiswal, who arrives in the village after India's disappointing Olympic performance.
What makes Peddi worth discussing is Ram Charan's commitment to the role. He physically transformed himself to move convincingly across three different sports, and in the film's emotional moments—particularly a hospital sequence in the second half—he carries genuine weight. This performance sits alongside Rangasthalam as work he can be genuinely proud of. Jagapathi Babu, playing the village elder Appalasoori who spent three decades fighting for official recognition of his settlement, brings real dignity to a role that could have been played for sentiment. There is something quietly devastating about watching a man who has tried everything and failed, and Babu delivers that without reaching for easy tears. Shiva Rajkumar, in a supporting role as Gournaidu, understands his job is to hold up the story rather than dominate it, and he does that work well.
The technical side of the film is where it finds its footing most consistently. AR Rahman's score departs from the safe, commercially calculated music typical of big-budget star vehicles. His background score in particular does heavy lifting in the second half, pulling scenes toward emotional territory that the screenplay alone does not quite reach. Ratnavelu's cinematography is confident and deliberate—he shoots the forested landscapes and sports sequences with equal skill, making specific choices with color and texture to give the film a rough, grounded appearance that matches its setting.
But the film is also 189 minutes long, and it carries that weight in the wrong places. The first half spends nearly an hour on standard commercial film ingredients—a stylish hero introduction, an outdated romance track—none of which feel necessary to what the story is actually trying to say. By the time the real conflict arrives, significant runtime has already been spent on things that do not matter much. The romance between Peddi and Achiamma is the film's most uncomfortable stretch. It is among the more cringe-inducing courtship sequences Telugu cinema has produced in recent memory, awkward in construction and unconvincing in chemistry. What makes it worse is the rawness of how it is written and shot—there is an unambiguous male gaze at work, particularly in how Janhvi Kapoor is framed, and moments in the courtship carry an edge of entitlement that the film neither examines nor challenges. Kapoor's character is poorly written and a significant miscast. She receives a few strong moments in the second half, but for much of the film her role appears designed primarily for visual appeal, and neither she nor the director is well served by that approach.
The screenplay leans on melodrama and shock-value turns at key moments, and it works only occasionally. The most emotionally charged scenes feel performative rather than organic. Boman Irani's framing device, meant to hold the narrative together, is one of the weaker structural choices—it does not add enough to justify how often the film returns to it. Divyendu Sharma, in his Telugu debut, gets a limited character that could have been developed far better given his abilities. The editing could have trimmed at least twenty minutes without losing anything important.
Peddi is an honest attempt at a film about something real. The story of forgotten villages, people who are invisible to the government and fighting for the most basic form of recognition, deserves exactly this kind of large-canvas treatment. Ram Charan makes sure the film's emotional core is never in doubt. But Sana has made a film that is probably thirty minutes too long and twenty pages too thin in its screenplay. The first half tests patience, and the second half, while genuinely moving in parts, arrives too late to undo all of that.
Citações Notáveis
The story of forgotten villages, people who are invisible to the government and fighting for the most basic form of recognition, deserves exactly this kind of large-canvas treatment.— Review assessment of the film's core subject matter
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a film about invisible villages need to be this long?
Because the director wanted to show us how invisibility works—the slow accumulation of small moments where no one is listening. But he showed us that for too long before the actual story began.
Ram Charan seems to be the only thing holding it together.
He is. He understood that the character's gift wasn't just physical—it was about a man choosing to stay when he could have left. That choice required him to be present in a way the script didn't always earn.
What about the romance? It sounds genuinely bad.
It's uncomfortable in ways the film doesn't intend. There's a male gaze operating there that the director never questions. It's not bold or provocative—it's just awkward and entitled, and you feel it in every scene.
So the second half saves it?
Partially. The music and cinematography pull you toward something real in the second half. But you've already spent ninety minutes on things that don't matter, so by the time the actual story arrives, you're exhausted.
Is there a version of this film that works?
Yes. Cut it down, deepen the screenplay, and trust that the core story—villages fighting to be seen by their own government—is enough. It doesn't need the romance, the hero introduction, or the framing device. It just needs what Ram Charan understood: that staying is harder than leaving.