When we meet 29-year-old Sathya, he is imploding with an identity crisis that most men his age go through. A graduate in agriculture, he left his hometown, Salem, and found peace in a nine-to-five job in Chennai. He isn’t on good terms with his mother, and his world is also devoid of any female presence. He lives in a mansion with his friends, all of whom also seem to be stuck in motionless lives with no direction. Age is catching up, and he will soon turn 30. “The difference between 28 and 29 is one year, but the difference between 29 and 30 is a lot,” he tells someone, before detailing the humiliation an unmarried bachelor undergoes when the clock runs out. “Who am I?” the voice in his head keeps asking him. Sathya’s world gets rocked when, as expected, a girl enters. Vijayalakshmi a.k.a Viji flies past him like a breeze on a sunny day, and Sathya’s definition of life, love and purpose finds a renewed meaning. They fall in love, and “being a beautiful girl’s boyfriend” becomes Sathya’s identity. This is the setting of 29, and throughout the first act of the film, it might be hard not to smile, wondering how writer-director Rathna Kumar must have envisioned it all.

Segmented into 10 parts, Rathna’s breezy romance-drama is an ode to the old-school charm of early-2010s romance, to the men who suffer under the weight of existential crises, and to women who are forced to choose between parts of themselves. It’s primarily a story about how a couple ends up between the fantasy and reality of who they are. Though Rathna ends the film with mixed results in the ambitious exploration of identity, it is the romance subplot that has a beating heart. Much of everything that transpires between Sathya (Vidhu) and Viji (a fantastic Preethi Asrani) is told in a language that is sometimes sweet, sometimes over-the-top, and most of the time, in between. Rathna shows impressive conviction in his writing, staging and picturisation, which shines through even in the weaker portions of the film.

There’s a brilliant scene set in a motel room in which the writer in Rathna takes complete control. There’s tension between Sathya and Viji that remains unacknowledged; it’s visible in their conduct from the moment they enter the rooms. Beginning with a slight misunderstanding (which calls back to their first meeting on an office stairway) and ending in an argument, the scene captures — with ease and brevity — everything going on in their minds. Rathna wields a clarity of thought that is evident in how, at any given point in the narrative, we understand both where the characters stand and why they choose to say or do almost anything (this is achieved through voiceovers revealing their thoughts).

Speaking of which, Sathya’s ‘mind voice’ becomes a character by itself, called Seelay, which he expects Viji to somehow understand. This is a great example of one of those over-the-top ideas that somehow work in 29. It’s easy to laugh at such expectations to be mind-read as immature, but that is the thing about love, isn’t it? It makes you wish Chennai would witness snowstorms. So, what we end up seeing in Sathya is a man so confused that he hopes Vjji understood parts of him that he struggles to bring out. This is, again, one of those many aspects of the film that can work if you allow it to work, and 29 is replete with such ideas that demand you to suspend your reality and see the world through the eyes of this lovelorn couple.

Where 29 loses steam is in the detour to a subplot featuring actor Mahendran. This is the part where Rathna addresses Sathya’s identity crisis, and while it seems all harmless on the surface, it can leave you scratching your head. Because one feels quite unsure about the meaning of self-discovery that the writer ascribes to. Can’t a man who settles for the comforts of his unexciting nine-to-five fall in love and lead a happily-ever-after? Should his ‘purpose’ always be larger than life? At one point, a dialogue by Sathya’s roommate and friend Mani makes one wonder if the film might pivot towards how matters of money, status, and class could wedge a gap between a couple. That could have been a more relatable endeavour; however, what we end up getting muddies it all and feels too misaligned with the reality the film had been portraying until then.

Similarly, not all the moments between Sathya and Viji — especially the climax — feel organic. However, Rathna deserves credit for how he depicts the many small worlds that together make us who we are. Sathya isn’t just Sathya of Viji. He’s a Sathya to his friend Mani, a Sathya who lives in a small rented room in a terrace, a Sathya to his mother and father, and a Sathya to himself. These dimensions ensure that these characters appear lived-in. Vidhu imbues his performance with a lot of anxious energy, helping us witness Sathya’s inner turmoil and confused mind space. However, the star of the film is Preethi, whose Viji is easily one of the most effortlessly elegant depictions of a woman who learns to choose herself over others, especially when she must make some difficult decisions. Through her half-smiles and measured eye movements alone, Preethi brings Viji to life with utmost ease and conviction.

During our pre-release interview, director Rathna had stated some important requisites for a love story to work — good performers, confident producers who trust you, a catchy music album, a different script, and a unique treatment. “Everything should work, or else, people might say ‘they are talking a lot’ or ‘they are always lovey-dovey’,” he had said. In this regard, 29 is a film that ticks all the right boxes, and yet, there’s one key element that would determine whether the film works for you: the experience of outliving the fantasy of love. At its core, 29 is a film about two people learning to grow out of the fantasy of love. And so, it wouldn’t work if you end up questioning the authenticity of its beats. It would even come across as cringe-inducing in that case. However, 29 is a film that celebrates those who know what it is like to believe in a snowstorm in Chennai.

29 is currently running in theatres