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Sri delivers a career-best performance as the hapless Kathir. You feel every bead of sweat, every frayed nerve. He’s not a heroic antihero; he’s just a desperate man making increasingly bad choices, and Sri makes you root for him anyway. The supporting cast—especially Munishkanth as Kathir’s loyal but dim-witted sidekick—provides much-needed levity without slipping into caricature.

Joot wears its influences on its sleeve but blends them into a distinctly local flavor. There’s the nervous, handheld energy of early Anurag Kashyap, mixed with the dark, ironic humor of the Coen Brothers’ Blood Simple . The film finds comedy in the most uncomfortable places: a botched interrogation that turns into a philosophical debate over stale tea, or a shootout interrupted by a ringing auto-rickshaw horn. movie jot

The dialogue is the film’s secret weapon. It’s street-smart, profane, and startlingly witty. Characters don’t just argue; they trade existential barbs between punches. One memorable exchange has the cop telling the thief, “The only difference between us is that my handcuffs are made by the government.” Sri delivers a career-best performance as the hapless Kathir

Joot is not a feel-good film. It’s grimy, cynical, and unapologetically tense. But for fans of smart, low-budget crime cinema, it’s a hidden gem. M. Muthaiah proves that you don’t need a massive budget or a star cameo to build suspense—you just need a good trap and the patience to spring it. The film finds comedy in the most uncomfortable

Technically, the film punches above its weight. Cinematographer Dinesh Purushothaman paints Chennai’s underbelly in shades of sickly fluorescent yellow and deep, menacing blue. The sound design, too, is a character in itself—the screech of tires, the click of a gun’s safety, the deafening silence of a missed call. Composer Ghibran’s sparse, percussive score feels like a ticking clock strapped to your chest.