The genius of this Khalid Rahman film lies in its ability to take the seemingly trivial aspirations of a group of directionless youth—grace marks, state-level medals—and infuse them with emotional depth and quiet significance.
In the newly released Malayalam movie, Alappuzha Gymkhana, one character asks, confused, “What kind of boxing do we even do?” The other replies with quiet certainty, “We do 1-2 boxing.” It’s a deceptively simple exchange, gently poking fun at the absurdity of their situation, that distills the essence of the story: realistic, aspirational, and deeply human. The boys aren’t clowns; they’re clueless. And in their confusion lies an innocence that often feels slightly familiar and worth rooting for.
In the film, director Khalid Rahman brings together a spirited ensemble—Naslen, Lukman Avaran, Ganapathi, Anagha Ravi, and others—to craft a film that sidesteps convention at every turn. Here, failed exam results nudge a group of aimless friends toward an unexpected detour into boxing. This isn’t a plot-heavy film. There are no tragic backstories or redemption arcs. Instead, the narrative is refreshingly episodic, defined more by mood than milestones. It treats boxing not as a calling but a loophole—a means to a sports quota—thereby gently subverting the genre’s gospel of passion.
The film opens with academic failure and turns it into a reason to stay closer and make even grand plans. Khalid Rahman masterfully reduces the male ego to a comic impulse. The provocation of masculine pride, often the nucleus of macho drama, is handled here with charm. The film embraces a group dynamic where the boys’ identities dissolve into collective energy—each character more meaningful as a part of the whole than as a standalone entity.
As Jojo Johnson, Naslen delivers a performance that quietly resists heroism. The underdog boy next door for the Malayali audience, he is impulsive, resourceful, and funny, and is quick with romance. Jojo doesn’t just live in the moment—he creates them, often for others to shine. For instance, in the scene where boxers from other districts make their grand entrance, sensing the need for his own team to stand out, Jojo improvises—he calls for the ural and mundu for visual and bass effect, and his teammate is dressed up with a nettippattam over the boxer’s cover cloth, staging an entrance that’s both hilarious and heartwarming. His mediocrity in the ring and delusional overconfidence in approaching people (even at the wrong moments) adds to the narrative’s statement. He is the one in the friend group who understands everyone’s quirks, pride, and vulnerabilities—including the coach’s—and holds them together even if it means making himself look foolish at times. Most importantly, he knows when to step back and pass the ball if it’s not his chance.
Anagha Ravi’s athletic grace as Natasha is striking—she fully inhabits the physicality and poise of a boxer, down to the subtlest gestures. As the stoic coach, Lukman Avaran delivers a quietly powerful performance. His character arc remains grounded in realism; he knows his players, understands their limits, and rarely asks for more than they can give. And yet, when he loses his composure, he becomes one of the boys—raw, relatable, and magnetic. Ganapathi, Sandeep Pradeep, Franco Francis, Baby Jean, Shiva Hariharan, Shon Joy, and Karthik deliver convincing performances, each bringing a unique energy to the ensemble.
Boxing matches here are choreographed to express each character’s persona. Jimshi Khalid’s cinematography is impressive. The camera flits from overhead bird’s-eye views to in-the-ring chaos, crafting an immersive grammar for the bouts. Vishnu Vijay’s score is never obtrusive but always present. The music binds the narrative, especially during climactic fights where beats echo punches. Editor Nishadh Yusuf’s cuts give the film its pulse. His work ensures transitions feel both effortless and expressive.
The film may come across as middling to audiences accustomed to the conventions of high-stakes sports dramas—where formidable antagonists and soaring crescendos push teams toward greatness. Unlike the standard blueprint of sports films that charge toward triumphant redemption, Alappuzha Gymkhana embraces detours, stumbles, and quiet victories. Here, even the so-called heroic moment doesn’t belong to the obvious protagonist. Instead, the film finds its emotional highs in letting unexpected players rise and evolve. In doing so, Alappuzha Gymkhana offers a celebration of collective spirit.
