Starring Ananthika Sanilkumar, the film presents profound ideas, surreal visuals, and raw performances, but the combination fails to resonate.
Phanindra Narsetti’s 8 Vasantalu is a bold, rare gem in Telugu cinema — ambitious, sincere, and brimming with originality. Framed against the dreamy, mist-laden backdrop of Ooty and narrated through the changing seasons, the film is a poetic coming-of-age story about a girl finding herself through love, art, and rebellion.
At the heart of this tale is Shuddhi Ayodhya (Ananthika Sanilkumar), a 17-year-old poet and martial arts student. She’s no ordinary teenager — already a bestselling author, she’s traveling across India to write a book urging society to value women for their character, not appearance. The film flips traditional gender roles early on: in a sequence echoing mass cinema, Shuddhi puts a sexist NRI brat, Varun (Hanu Reddy), in his place, blending assertiveness with wisdom as she reminds him that true strength lies in restraint. He’s instantly smitten — but Shuddhi is far from a manic pixie muse.
Supporting characters offer parallel explorations of identity and societal pressure. Karthik (Kanna Pasunoori), Shuddhi’s friend, dreams of designing shoes — a passion scorned by his orthodox father. Varun, burdened by the weight of his father’s ambitions, crumbles under expectations, despite living a life others would envy. Their stories bring moments of vulnerability and charm, even as a few arcs — like that of Anita — remain underwritten.
Shuddhi, however, is so idealised — poised, resilient, overachieving — that she begins to feel less like a person and more like a symbol. Almost nothing shakes her. While her integrity and courage are admirable, the narrative leans too heavily on reinforcing her saintly resolve, eventually making the storytelling feel self-indulgent and over-scripted.
Still, the film finds pockets of brilliance. A breakup scene where Shuddhi asserts her worth as a woman raised “like a queen,” and a funeral sequence where she calls out patriarchal norms, are powerfully written. Her transformation in a gripping action sequence in Varanasi — where the spirit of Durga and the tigress within her come alive — is thrilling. Her reflections at the Taj Mahal, though thought-provoking, suffer from overwriting.
The dual love arcs — with Varun and later, the author Sanjay (Ravi Duggirala) — offer interesting contrasts. But Sanjay’s subplot, particularly his metafictional novel Rani Malini (about a prostitute reclaiming agency), though ideologically sound, feels out of sync with the main narrative. His backstory, however, redeems the detour, adding depth and providing emotional weight to the film’s title.
Yet, amidst Shuddhi’s high-minded ideals, it feels inconsistent when she even considers her mother’s suggestion to marry into a wealthy family. The film’s struggle lies in its balance — between lofty themes and grounded execution. Despite a visually lush canvas (courtesy of cinematographer Vishwanath Reddy) and moments of delicate imagery — like the parallel sleepless nights of Shuddhi and Varun, or a falling rose petal mirroring her emotional journey — 8 Vasantalu occasionally stumbles under the weight of its own aspirations.
As with Narsetti’s earlier Manu, the film doesn’t quite know when to stop. Manu was cinematically richer; 8 Vasantalu, though, suffers from bloated, philosophical dialogue that can feel more like lectures than conversation. Characters sometimes come off as constructs of ideology rather than lived-in individuals, making it harder for viewers to truly connect.
Performances are a mixed bag. Ananthika Sanilkumar brings grace and grit to Shuddhi, internalising both her trauma and idealism. Hanu Reddy is raw yet magnetic as the love-struck teen. Kanna Pasunoori impresses, while Sanjana Hardageri makes the most of a limited role. Ravi Duggirala’s character is compellingly written, though his performance doesn’t always rise to the script’s depth.
Surprisingly, for a story steeped in love and longing, the soundtrack is sparse. But Hesham Abdul Wahab’s composition ‘Parichayamila’, sung by K. S. Chitra, is timeless. The costume design is another highlight, vibrant and attuned to the film’s shifting moods.
In the end, 8 Vasantalu is far from perfect — uneven in its pacing and occasionally too indulgent — but it’s undeniably heartfelt. It reaches high, and though it doesn’t always land gracefully, its ambition and visual poetry linger long after the final frame.