Arun is hired by Mohan (Naresh), a former movie star, for a private concert at his house. It's the second wedding anniversary for Mohan and his wife Simran (played by Tamannaah Bhatia). His considerably younger wife is meant to be surprised at the concert. When he returns home, he learns that his wife is having an affair with a man who is younger and stronger than he is. Things turn sour, and Mohan passes away. As part of the surprise, Arun who arrives at the crime site, stays a silent observer. Simran and her boyfriend wipe the blood off the floor and stuff Mohan's dead body into a suitcase while Arun plays stirring music.
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Andhadhun's basic concept was right out of a classic pulp fiction. It became a darkly hilarious noir film due to its handling of a very typical cliché involving love, sex, and dhokha (betrayal). Andhadhun's characters were driven by a basic desire to stay alive and out of jail. Yes, Akash Sarraf, played by Ayushmann Khurrana, has a moral epiphany and chooses to report the murder to the police. And as soon as he recognises his error, he puts his moral dilemma aside and chooses to stay blind. Akash makes no attempt to be a hero. And it was because of this that Andhadhun became so relevant and realistic.
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With Maestro, Merlapaka Gandhi transforms the pulsing white-knuckled ride into a damsel-in-distress story. Arun, who had planned to leave town for good and get away from the killings, returns because he is concerned that Simran could kill his step-daughter Pavithra, who has been asking disturbing questions about her father's death. Pavithra, a minor character, becomes the film's major focus all of a sudden. Merlapaka creates a damsel in distress story with Arun as the dazzling knight in shining armour. The problem with this approach is that it transforms a great noir picture into a indistinguishable potboiler.
Tamannaah's portrayal of an unfaithful wife who is now murdering her husband adds insult to injury. She fails of capturing Tabu's ideal blend of shame, guilt, fear, and survival instinct in her role as Simi in Andhadhun. Tamannaah barely feels the weight of killing people in Maestro. She comes across as a straight-up sociopath who seems to take pleasure in killing others. Her no-remorse attitude makes her character appear empty.
Remember Tabu's portrayal in a moment where she scolds her boyfriend, stating something along the lines of, "While your hands remain spotless like Singam, it is I who is doing all the dirty job." Tamannaah's acting lacks her moral turmoil and remorse. Tamannaah fails to grasp the depths of her character and opts for the easy route by portraying her as an unremorseful Femme Fatale. Maestro's visual style, like Tamannaah's, is glamorised, making it too sweet for a dark comedy. And the ending, oh the horror, squanders everything of Sriram Raghavan's original's cleverness and ambiguity.
It is movie like Maestro that make us wonder if remakes are necessary. What is the point of Indian filmmakers recreating other Indian films in the age of streaming platforms, when anyone can see any Indian language film with a single click of the remote?
Why should anybody suffer through a replica when they can get the original from the comfort of their own home? Of course, it makes sense for a director to remake a film if he or she has a fresh perspective on the subject that can flip the original concept on its head and dramatically challenge the viewpoint of viewers who have previously watched the original. Then there's some worth in it.But, Mr Merlapaka Gandhi, what is the point of taking a well-loved film and removing all of the aspects that made it so beloved?
Maestro is streaming on Disney plus Hotstar.