There are good films. There are bad films. There are films so chaotic that you walk out mid-way. And then there’s Tere Ishk Mein. Anand L Rai’s latest directorial, starring Dhanush and Kriti Sanon, belongs squarely in that last category.
Tere Ishq Mein is so convinced of its own intensity that it forgets to make sense. And what emerges is a toxic love story dressed up as a grand tragedy.
The film opens with Flight Lieutenant Shankar Gurukkal (Dhanush), a no-nonsense officer who gets grounded because he doesn’t follow orders. His “violent” streak and trust issues require a counsellor’s intervention. Enter Dr Mukti (Kriti Sanon), whose signature on a clearance form becomes the gateway to the portal of past wounds.
A series of flashbacks reveal that Mukti was once a PhD scholar whose thesis got rejected for lacking a realistic approach. To compensate, she picks Shankar — then a short-fused law student — as the subject of her revised dissertation. She tells him, with disarming clarity, that while he may fall in love with her, she has no intention of reciprocating. What begins as an experiment predictably spirals into a toxic relationship.
From here, the film races through an assortment of dramatic twists. Shankar somehow transforms into a top-tier fighter pilot, while Mukti, daughter of an illustrious IAS officer, sinks into alcoholism. Shankar clears the prelims of UPSC exam in between. The events that catapult them into these drastically altered lives are unconvincing — they lack nuance and logic.
Tere Ishk Mein is an out-and-out celebration of Dhanush’s acting chops. The raw intensity, the simmering rage, the vulnerability — he gives you all of it in full measure. He throws himself into the role with total commitment. But even his most compelling moments cannot help mask the fact that Shankar is an extremely problematic character who needs a sympathetic therapist, and not a gaslighting lover.
Kriti Sanon, too, tries to ground Mukti with an emotional turn. There are fleeting glimmers where she brings out her vulnerabilities, but the script undercuts her at every turn. Her journey from academically driven researcher to disillusioned alcoholic is presented without the psychological or narrative layering. The first half paints her as a manipulative, self-involved woman, while post intermission, she is just lady Devdas. As a result, her performance feels stranded.
Prakash Raj appears in a role that barely gives him enough space to shine. And Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub is wasted in a cameo that serves no real purpose except to build an unnecessary bridge with Raanjhanaa.
The film’s true downfall, however, lies in its direction. Anand L Rai, who once delivered small town stories with authenticity, delivers a film that is overwrought, inconsistent, and undercooked. He pushes the sensibilities of the viewers to their limit and patience even further.
And then there’s the glorification of toxic behaviour. Whether it was stalking in Raanjhanaa, or violence in Tere Ishk Mein, Rai normalises these traits like they are commonplace. And his heroines always come across as self-serving and manipulative.
Writers Himanshu Sharma and Neeraj Yadav opt for melodrama and shock value instead of a nuanced exploration of Shankar and Mukti’s psyche. At times, it feels as though the film relies purely on Dhanush’s stardom and the musical genius of A.R. Rahman to carry it across the finish line. But even the songs are not utilised to their potential.