Sobhita Dhulipala cheers for father-in-law Nagarjuna's MASS villainous role in 'Coolie' opposite Rajinikanth
Sobhita Dhulipala
is leading the cheer brigade for father-in-law Nagarjuna's upcoming film, 'Coolie'.
Following the grand trailer launch, the actress joined the chorus of fans singing praise of the veteran actor's menacing new role.
Taking to her Instagram handle, Sobhita shared the Telugu version of the trailer and cheered for her father-in-law with a caption that read, "Semmaaa masss (larger-than-life).
Killing them softly, mavayya
Nagarjuna Akkineni
" and added three crown emojis.
Speaking to The Hollywood Reporter India, Nagarjuna opened up about his role, saying, 'Everyone said I made for a very charming villain. Lokesh has presented me that way. I had such a liberating experience. I asked him a couple of times if he was sure he wanted me to behave a certain way, and Lokesh would go, 'Yes sir, people are very evil!'"
The grand trailer launch event for 'Coolie' was held in Chennai on Saturday, with the film's cast and crew in attendance. The film stars
Rajinikanth
as Deva, an ageing smuggler who sets out to reunite his old gang for one last mission. The film also features Upendra, Soubin Shahir, Sathyaraj,
Shruti Haasan
, Reba Monica John, Junior MGR, and Monisha Blessy in pivotal roles, with a special cameo appearance by
Aamir Khan
.
'Coolie' is scheduled for a theatrical release on August 14. According to box office reports, the film is expected to make a splash at the ticket windows. However, the film is now set to clash head-on with the
Hrithik Roshan
and Jr NRT starrer 'WAR 2' which will also release on the same day. Both movies are hoping to score big over the extended Independence Day weekend.
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Scroll.in
16 minutes ago
- Scroll.in
‘Salakaar' review: A dumbed-down show about Pakistan's nuclear programme
The run-up to Independence Day inevitably brings a slew of patriotic, Pakistan-bashing films and series. This year's batch includes Faruk Kabir's Salakaar, in which an Indian undercover agent seemingly modelled on Ajit Doval single-handedly disrupts Pakistan's nuclear programme. The Hindi series directed by Faruk Kabir is out on JioHotstar. In 1978, Adhir Dayal (Naveen Kasturia) joins the Indian Embassy in Pakistan disguised as a cultural attache. Adhir reports to a buffoonish ambassador (Asif Ali Beg) who is a disgrace to the Indian Foreign Service. Adhir's real boss is in Delhi, to whom he sends reports about Pakistani's new leader Zia Ullah (Mukesh Rishi). The dictator is building a nuclear bomb to counter India's own nuclear test in 1974. The programme, codenamed Project Kahuta, is apparently Pakistan's worst-kept secret, revealed over drinks to Adhir by a disgruntled scientist. Adhir easily collects information on Project Kahuta, even standing right in front of the nuclear plant without being detected. In 2025, undercover agent Mariam (Mouni Roy) is carrying on with the rogue Pakistani colonel Ashfaq (Surya Sharma). Ashfaq is too busy peering down Mariam's decolletage to wonder why this very glam woman prefers spectacles to contact lenses. After Miriam learns about the existence of a new bomb, Adhir (now played by Purnendu Bhattacharya) leaps back into the game. We get it. India's security is paramount. There's nothing like showing the Pakistani security establishment as thuggish clowns to get the chest to thump a bit louder. Salakaar is more Mission: Impossible via Anil Sharma's jingoistic movies than a John Le Carré novel. If an Indian spy can enter Zia's household or triumph in a gunfight and still pass himself off as a lowly embassy employee, we are supposed to go with the flow. Salakaar claims to be inspired by actual events. But the show is too dumbed-down, amateurish and contrived to be credible. The five-episode series doesn't give any real sense of how espionage is conducted or how officials and leaders in both countries behave. The show's smartest idea is to cast Naveen Kasturia as Adhir, the salakaar, or consultant, who turns out to be a genius in regulation suits and spectacles. Kasturia has the seriousness and substance to play an unassuming backroom operative. But making Adhir one up on 007 is as preposterous as showing Zia to be clueless about the goings-on under his nose. The lyrics of a song in the closing credits admiringly call Adhir 'salakaar, superstar and mere yaar' (my buddy). Many cooks have dreamed up this overspiced broth. The concept is by Mahir Khan. Sujay Bhattacharya, Srinivas Abrol and Swati Tripathi are credited as concept development writers. The story and screenplay are by Faruk Kabir and Spandan Mishra. Mukesh Rishi's Zia is modelled on his fanatical namesake. Although Rishi is over the top, he reveals shades of canniness in his dealings with Adhir. Surya Sharma as the Zia wannabe and Ashwath Bhatt as one of Zia's cruel factotums are mainly there to speak bad Urdu and fulminate about India. Only Naveen Kasturia survives the carnage, giving a fleeting indication of how brains trump brawn, even if the actual outcome was vastly different from the fiction peddled by the show. Play
Scroll.in
16 minutes ago
- Scroll.in
Dancer Leela Samson on how Bharata Natyam adapted Indian music, literary texts, and languages
From the very start, in all Indian dance forms, especially the classical, seemingly micro-positions of the fingers called hasta mudras coordinate with positions of the head, accompanied by neck and eye movements – which together like a symphony aid and abet the macro movements of the body as a whole. These are considered 'graces' without which the whole has no meaning, almost. It is what happens between two beats that is the magic of dance. It is akin to placing an object in a room. Where you choose to place it, what angle you place it in, what lies next to it, and what the background to the object is – all these matter. On the other hand, it is arguable that the object can be placed anywhere and it will find its own space. It is the privilege of the dancer in India to gradually grow into a consciousness of these and of the many other arts and intellectual processes that inform the dance. It never fails to amaze, how varied these other arts are and how their particular fragrance enhances the art of dance. So much so, that without their presence the dance is simply incomplete. These arts were meant to be expressed together, as a single and whole offering. This does not take away from their individual merit or distinction to stand on their own. You cannot be a sound Bharata Natyam dancer, for instance, if Indian philosophy, customs, or ritual practices evade you. Certainly, your knowledge of Indian mythology has to be thorough, if not an obsession. India's temple architecture, sculpture, iconography; textiles, and jewellery; its languages, especially the ancient ones like Tamizh, Sanskrit, and Telugu – their prose, poetry, and recitation, vocal and instrumental music – the language of rhythm; a knowledge of the six seasons in nature and the their unmistakable connect to our five senses, physiology, anatomy, yogic practice, reeti-rivaaz or customary practice both past and present; as also sampradaya or propriety – where every nation or society has a different notion of these. The list of these interdependent knowledge systems is truly endless for a dancer. But most important, and perhaps least talked about, is philosophy. You only have to look at our myths and Puranas to know how complicated our concept of the truth is, as also the lush fertility of our imagination! In the epics of India, at first glance incidents seem like yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Actually, in time–space it could be a lifetime, an avatar or a yuga even, that separates these incidents. This is 'us'. We do not conform to linear time. Our lives are punctuated by events that are cyclical in nature. In relation to the infinite cycle of time and the mythological concept of time, human existence pales into insignificance. An adept dancer with a sound knowledge of the Puranas, for instance, as seen in senior Kathakali dancers, may well be arguing with his enemy on stage, but relates to the audience a similar incident in the past when the gods and demons fought over a similar matter. This can be boastful in nature, or hilarious even in that he puts paid to the remarks of his illustrious opponent. Moving between mythological space and the present is totally natural for him and the audience gets it. This, of course, is an actor–dancer's delight! Such an amazing wealth of narrative and audiences who understand them too! In such a scenario, what does the actor who presumably reflects or comments upon this complex society do? In theatre, they do the story as it is written, or do a 'take' on it – which is either hilarious, or pathetic, or blasphemous, or bold, or different. In music, they feed the story nostalgia and have a raga tell it like no narrator can. They give it rise and fall, pathos and bhakti or devotion. In films, they throw in songs that enhance the mood of the moment, they have a comedian funny it up, a villain pepper it up, a gangster blaze it up, a moll sugar it up and, of course, the most 'beauteous' belle of them all – kickstart the whole thing up! I love all these forms of art. But I believe the ploy used in the classical dance forms of this country to be the most unique. In the classical solo traditions, it is nayika, the woman who tells her story. She is a metaphor for male, female, and others. She is the jiva atma, the human soul. Words that make up stories or poems change for each person according their own experiences, by their particular understanding of language and by the meaning they give those words, by the connotation they have for you at any given time. Those words that once had meaning, however, seem to lose their worth as we move through the passage of life. Many experienced artists use a text to suit an occasion or their mood. The rasika, or viewer, receives this as they see fit. Some do not receive the meaning at all; some receive a meaning that neither the poet nor the dancer intended. Some text also has the capacity to move the rasika without any prior knowledge of its meaning, simply by the power of expression, the power of recitation. It also receives strength from the power of expression invested in it by the particular raga and the voice and rendition of the singer. Artists of exceptional talent like Balasaraswati were able to create 'an experience' for the audience. Then words had little meaning. The idea, of course, is to transcend meaning. It is necessary to get over the words and transfer them, to look at the soul within words, not be bound by them. They must become the truth for each of us, in our own time. So where does this leave those amongst us who express themselves differently? Those that do not wish to refer to Hindu mythology and its numerous characters, who wish to make their own stories real. Many of us imagine we are 'thinking dancers' who broke from the norm. In fact, in every generation of folk or classical dancers, of ritualistic or martial art practitioners, from urban or rural landscapes, from lower or higher castes – there were always those who moved the river through new paths. They did not depend upon smoother language skills or fancy degrees. There were movers and shakers in every aspect of the dance and its accompaniment. Even the fingering on the mridangam for a Bharata Natyam recital changed drastically in the 1960s when a young Karaikudi R. Krishnamurthy created empathetic drum patterns for the jaatis of Bharata Natyam that had not been heard before. This is but a tiny example, not the extent of change that was brought about over time. Change came in context, content, and core practice. It came in the text, in the music, and in the form. It happened in what was apparent, as also in the hidden aspects of performance – thought processes. It came about in modern interpretations of traditional texts, as also in traditional expressions of modern texts. Languages were included, the process was given due consideration, and myths about the dance exploded.
Scroll.in
an hour ago
- Scroll.in
‘Arabia Kadali' review: An emotion-heavy exploration of fishermen in troubled waters
The Telugu show Arabia Kadali takes viewers on a sweeping maritime journey through the lives of fishermen caught in the net of geopolitics. The Prime Video series from Krish Jagarlamudi and Chintakindi Srinivas Rao spans eight episodes and covers over a year. Directed by VV Surya Kumar, Arabia Kadali explores what happens when men from rival villages are forced to depend on each other after being captured in foreign waters and incarcerated in a hostile environment. The story centres on Badiri (Satyadev) and the struggles of other local fishermen like him. The coastal villages of Andhra Pradesh are in crisis. The once-bountiful Bay of Bengal has been overfished and polluted. There's no jetty or proper boats. The fishermen migrate to Gujarat for long weeks at sea as hired hands on company fishing boats. The lure of the Arabian Sea's richness draws them further westward. What begins as a desperate mission for livelihood turns into a nightmare when the fishermen inadvertently cross into Pakistani waters and are arrested on the charge of being Indian spies. The core of Arabia Kadali lies not in politics, but in human endurance. The series draws attention to the plight of innocent fishermen who are detained and forgotten across national borders. The prison scenes in Pakistan depict systemic brutality and neglect, with jailer Saleem (Amit Tiwari) and others showing little compassion. Badiri's romance with the schoolteacher Ganga (Anandhi) is not just a tender subplot but a source of emotional depth. A determined Ganga, with the help of Sekhar (Vamsi Krishna), accelerates the fishermen's defence. In Pakistan, Fathima (Poonam Bajwa) displays similar compassion, supported by her husband Hanief (Nihar Pandya). Rivalry plays a key role in the plot. The inter-village conflict continues even in captivity. As the men are forced into survival mode, the dynamic evolves from antagonism to solidarity – one of the show's more effective arcs. Lokesh Chenna, Kota Jayaram, Hara Srinivas and Bhuvan Salaru play some of the prisoners. However, the show misses out on fully capturing the emotional weight of confinement and the longing for home. The situation escalates into an international relations issue, involving ministers, diplomats and politicians in both territories. As Badiri, the de facto leader of the fishermen, Satyadev delivers a stoic, grounded performance. The absence of complexity in Badiri – he chooses restraint over rebellion – makes him unbelievable at times, dampening the narrative tension. Anandhi brings warmth and strength, portraying Ganga as a woman armed with education and agency who is unwilling to be a mere bystander. Sameer Reddy's cinematography is one of the standout elements. The sea is shot beautifully, alternating between turbulence and sereneness. The production design by D Siva Kamesh – especially the fishing vessels and prison interiors – adds grit and realism. Some of the special effects, particularly involving the sea, are poorly animated and distract from the otherwise solid visual design. While the daily routines and struggles of the fishermen are authentically portrayed, the drama is occasionally diluted by excessive information. At times, Arabia Kadali veers into docudrama territory, offering too much fish-ology and exposition. Some dialogue, especially from non-Telugu characters like the Gujarati businessmen and Pakistani officers, feels unnatural. Though rich in atmosphere and emotion, the series struggles with pacing and tends to over-explain its themes. A message about gender equality and women's choice is overtly stated. Play
