Certainly director-writer Chimbu Deven could have thought of something better than this juvenile romp into fantasy land.

A big flaw of Indian cinema is its tendency to stretch the script to a point where even suspension of disbelief becomes difficult. There are several such situations in Thani Oruvan which, however, gets glossed over by the life-and-death games which Mithran and Siddharth play, and till about the very end, the bad guy — hiding behind a veneer of sophistication — seems to get all his moves right. But then, India cinema has to follow the age-old mythological tradition of the good winning over the evil.

Orange Mittai is a refreshing relief from the distressingly long and annoyingly loud and exaggerated Tamil works that one has been bombarded with in recent times. Biju Viswanath keeps his narrative — at least most of the times — tastefully understated.

Yes, Dhanush has to guts to play a man with many shades of grey, his looks blending with the character. Perhaps, he knows that it may not be easy for him to be the conventional hero. But this is the hero the masses appear to adore, and the film cherishes and celebrates the anti-social in society — a disturbing trend though in Tamil cinema.

Baahubali, despite its epic dimensions — with a tendency to copy larger-than-life Hollywood heroic tales like Ben-Hur and Troy — fails at some level to draw us into the narrative. Even one of the first scenes of a huge statue being erected with the help of slaves works in a very limited way to capture audience attention or set the mood for images of flying swords and falling boulders.

A must watch for those fans of Kamal who have been waiting to see him as an actor — not just a star driven to stunts — and, of course, Gauthami, who would certainly rekindle memories of her great performances.

Ridden with far too many cliches and done-to-death scenes, the movie slips into a hotchpotch of theatrics, songs, dances and juvenile antics. A weak script does not help either a story which has little meat.

The only disappointment I had with the film was its rather cliched way of reaching the finale. We have seen an innumerable times the cocky interference by television channels, the corrupt politicians and the unethical practices of businessmen. Manikandan could have devised another climax in a movie which uses subtle ways to condemn ruthless consumerism and the brazenness of celebrities in promoting products.

Tamil cinema has been talked about because of its ability to present novel themes, but Massu Engira Masilamani turns out to be a mishmash of movies that have been seen earlier. Suriya does appear plausible in some sequences, so does Nayanthara — but given such a storyline and script, they struggle to keep the film afloat.

Our Bond’s exploits are liberally punctuated (they have to, for this is India) by songs and dances that take place not on Chennai roads but in some of the most scenic spots on earth, making one wonder how much of the budget went into this dopey extravaganza. This is not all; there is so much of silliness and tomfoolery that Kakki Sattai begins to hang heavy on time.