Sing Geetham review: A grandfather's tale told by 94-year-old master storyteller

Sing Geetham review: Singeetham Srinivasa Rao's Sing Geetham follows a village where people are cursed to sing every word after greed destroys its last sacred tree. The musical fantasy turns that eccentric premise into a sincere fable about nature, greed and human change.

In Short

• Singeetham Srinivasa Rao returns with musical fantasy Sing Geetham at 94
• The film is set in Kuberapuram where villagers must sing due to a curse
• The story blends fantasy with a strong message on greed and nature

Many of us grew up around grandparents who could hold an entire room together with nothing more than a tale filled with magic, fantasy and a simple moral. Those stories rarely worried about logic. They did not need to. They worked because they carried innocence, wonder and the comforting belief that the world could still surprise us. One of the quiet tragedies of modern life is that somewhere along the way, we grew up, got busy and stopped listening.

At 94, veteran filmmaker Singeetham Srinivasa Rao feels like that grandfather who has gathered everyone under one roof, not to talk about himself, but to tell a story he has been carrying in his heart for nearly four decades. For a little under two hours, Sing Geetham asks us to become children again, to forget the noise outside and simply surrender to the magic of being told a tale.

Sing Geetham marks Singeetham Srinivasa Rao's return with a musical fantasy that is every bit as eccentric as one would expect from the man who gave Indian cinema films like Pushpaka Vimanam, Apoorva Sagodharargal, Michael Madana Kama Rajan and Aditya 369, to name a few. Like many of those classics, it begins with an unusual idea before quietly revealing that the idea itself is only a doorway into a much more human story.

The film follows Prathap, a selfish young man who arrives in Kuberapuram hoping to solve his own problems, only to discover that his family's connection to the village runs deeper than he imagined. Blessed and cursed by its gold mines, Kuberapuram has slowly sacrificed nature at the altar of greed, cutting down every tree until only one sacred tree remains. When that too falls, the village deity punishes its people with an unusual curse. From that moment on, they lose the ability to speak. Every emotion, argument, confession and conversation has to be sung.

It is a wonderfully bizarre premise. On paper, it almost sounds too strange to work, perhaps the very reason it spent decades waiting to be made. In an industry increasingly driven by safe bets and familiar formulas, it takes a filmmaker like Singeetham Srinivasa Rao, someone who has spent a lifetime proving that impossible ideas can work and it is possible for one to mount a film like this.

Even then, the film takes a little time to find its rhythm. The first twenty minutes unfold like a conventional village drama, introducing the world and its people with Singeetham's trademark wit and simplicity. When the curse arrives and the songs begin, there is a brief sense of uncertainty. The idea of characters singing every line of dialogue can initially feel gimmicky, and for a while one wonders whether the experiment is about to overwhelm the story itself.

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Gradually, however, the film finds its own language. What initially appears to be a stylistic exercise slowly blends into the narrative until the songs stop feeling like a gimmick and start feeling like the natural way this world communicates. There are moments where the format stretches itself a little too far, and not every emotion can be perfectly translated into melody, but the sincerity behind the experiment wins you over. That sincerity is what defines Sing Geetham.

If Sing Geetham exists at all, a share of the credit belongs to director-producer Nag Ashwin's conviction. At a time when the industry increasingly rewards the familiar, he chooses to place his faith in imagination and a master storyteller who has spent a lifetime proving that impossible ideas can work.

The film has all the ingredients of a classic bedtime story: fantasy, folklore, humour, morality, magic and a touch of the supernatural. Yet beneath the musical surface lies a surprisingly relevant idea. The greed that destroys Kuberapuram is not simply about gold. It is about humanity's endless desire to take from nature without ever considering the cost. In that sense, Sing Geetham feels less like a fantasy and more like an old fable retold for a generation that desperately needs to hear it.

What also makes the film work is that there are no larger-than-life heroes here. There are only people. Some are selfish, some are kind, some are flawed and many change as circumstances change them. The situations shape the characters as much as the characters shape the story, giving the world an innocence and relatability that many contemporary fantasy films struggle to achieve.

Ironically, it is the world itself that occasionally lets the film down. For a story that asks us to believe in Kuberapuram and its people, the village often feels too artificial. Aravind Mule's production design, despite its ambition, carries a visible set-like quality, while some of the CG-heavy stretches are unconvincing enough to momentarily pull the audience out of the experience. A more grounded visual approach might actually have strengthened the fantasy.

Yet the film's greatest strength is not technical polish. Singeetham has always been a filmmaker more interested in ideas than spectacle, and Sing Geetham continues that tradition. There is no unnecessary padding, no time wasted in setting up the plot, and the deeper emotional layers reveal themselves naturally as the story unfolds. The second half, especially, reminds us why he remains one of Indian cinema's great storytellers.

The flashback portions give the fantasy an emotional core, while Prathap's journey gradually transforms into something more affecting than one initially expects. The pre-climax and climax do not rely on elaborate twists or technical wizardry. They work because they trust a simple, deeply human emotion. By the time the film reaches its final moments, many of the earlier complaints about the artificial world or the uneven musical stretches begin to fade away.

The newcomers embrace the film's innocence beautifully. Ayaan and Ahilya deliver sincere performances that fit naturally into the world Singeetham creates, while Shalini leaves a good impression on a role that deserves greater depth. The fact that the actors sing their own songs adds another layer of authenticity to the experience. Though Ahilya's dialogue delivery and dubbing occasionally feel uneven, the honesty and innocence she brings to the character ensure that her scenes still connect. Elsewhere, Tulasi makes the most of a memorable part, while the film's various cameos remain a mixed bag.

Devi Sri Prasad deserves special mention because Sing Geetham simply could not exist without a composer willing to fully commit to its madness. This is not merely a film with songs. The songs are the film. While the musical format occasionally feels repetitive, DSP's compositions and background score constantly lift the narrative. The emotional stretches, particularly in the final act, owe much of their impact to the music.

There are perhaps a few grace marks one instinctively gives because a 94-year-old master is still willing to experiment while many younger filmmakers hesitate and fall into the trap of mainstream cinema. But reducing Sing Geetham to a tribute or an act of goodwill would be unfair. Beyond the admiration one naturally has for Singeetham Srinivasa Rao, this is still an engaging, heartfelt and wholesome film that carries the same curiosity and innocence that have defined his career. Not every idea works and the fantasy world could have felt more authentic, but the soul of the film remains unmistakably pure.

Sing Geetham is less concerned with dazzling the audience. It is all about gently holding their hand and telling them a story. And by the time the final card reading "Singeetham's Cinema" appears, you leave the theatre not thinking about the imperfections, but with the warm satisfaction of having listened to a good tale told by one of cinema's greatest storytellers.

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