A few years ago, Telugu cinema stumbled upon a phenomenon. Jathi Ratnalua scrappy, small-scale comedy directed by Anudeep KV, arrived almost unannounced and became an overnight cult hit. It broke every rule of mainstream filmmaking — mocking systems, narratives, and even logic — and yet somehow struck a chord with audiences across classes. It was a film that turned absurdity into art, randomness into rhythm, and chaos into comedy.
But what made Jathi Ratnalu work was never its chaos alone. It was a perfect combination of Naveen Polishetty’s innocent yet razor-sharp performance, Anudeep’s deceptively naïve humour, and the team’s effortless chemistry. It was a film that looked improvised but was carefully constructed; it felt silly but carried an underlying intelligence. And therein lies the tragedy. That success has slowly transformed into a curse for Telugu comedy.
Since 2021, nearly every small-budget filmmaker has attempted to recreate that lightning-in-a-bottle moment. The results, however, have been increasingly disappointing. Each new film has arrived promising to be ‘the next Jathi Ratnalu,’ and each has failed harder than the last — none more visibly than Mithra Mandali.
Produced by Bunny Vas and starring Priyadarshi Pulikonda, Mithra Mandali was marketed aggressively with paid premieres, high-decibel promotions, and the same brand of quirky chaos that defined Jathi Ratnalu. But on release day (October 16), the film came crashing down under a wave of negative talk.
The irony is almost poetic. Mithra Mandali opens with a bold disclaimer: “This is a story without a story.” What was meant to sound self-aware instead exposes the film’s biggest problem — that storylessness without emotional grounding is not fun; it’s hollow.
Jathi Ratnalu turned confusion into comedy because its absurdity had rhythm. There was timing in its madness and empathy beneath its nonsense. Its humour, even when silly, reflected a sharp understanding of social behaviour, politics, and pop culture. It was “smart dumb” cinema: self-aware, ironic, and warm.
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Mithra Mandalihowever, mistakes randomness for humour. The jokes don’t land. The timing feels forced. The gags stretch too long. What once felt fresh now feels fatigued. In trying to appear effortless, it forgets the effort that good comedy demands. Where Jathi Ratnalu oozed charm and chemistry, Mithra Mandali struggles under calculation and imitation.
What made Jathi Ratnalu work
To understand Mithra Mandali’s failure, one must remember the unique cultural moment that birthed Jathi Ratnalu. Released in the early months of 2021, it arrived just as India was crawling out of COVID fatigue. OTT platforms had flooded viewers with serious, dark, issue-based dramas. Meme culture and nonsense humour were exploding on social media.
Audiences were tired of realism. They wanted release — laughter without logic, chaos without consequence. Jathi Ratnalu gave them that oxygen. It was a mood. Trying to recreate that exact mood in 2025 is like trying to replay a viral joke — it never lands the same way twice. The audience has evolved. They no longer just want to laugh; they want to feel smart while laughing. Comedy now needs context, not clutter.
The Telugu film industry has a habit of turning success into a template. One hit spawns ten imitators. The idea that “a storyless comedy can still work” spread like wildfire after Jathi Ratnalu. But what people missed was the subtext — Jathi Ratnalu wasn’t about having no story; it was about finding emotion within absurdity.
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Mithra Mandaliin contrast, confuses “lack of structure” with “style.” It assumes that quirkiness equals quality and that randomness equals wit. But as the saying goes, “randomness without rhythm is noise.” Comedy thrives on timing, tone, and truth. Without those, even the loudest laughter track can’t save a scene.
The failure of Mithra Mandali is not just a box-office story, it’s a cautionary tale. Telugu comedy, once vibrant and inventive, is now teetering on the edge of creative stagnation. The industry needs innovation, not imitation. Every time a film begins with the ambition of being “the next Jathi Ratnalu,” it’s already doomed. Because true humour isn’t planned, it’s discovered. It emerges from character, from emotion, from the unexpected.
Mithra Mandali proves that the formula for chaos can’t be engineered. It also proves that the moment you start chasing spontaneity, it dies. In the final analysis, Mithra Mandali is a warning bell for Telugu cinema. Comedy isn’t a formula to be replicated; it’s a feeling to be rediscovered. It breathes only when it’s genuine, rooted, and born from truth.
Otherwise, every new comedy risks becoming yet another victim of Jathi Ratnalu’s unintended curse, proof that when you mass-produce madness, you only end up manufacturing silence.
(This piece was first published in The Federal Telangana)
