Balan review: A mother-son bond forged through lies, love and survival

Balan, directed by Chidambaram and written by Jithu Madhavan, is best understood as an outlaw mother-child dyad, a survival drama that deliberately resists the comfort of moral clarity. It is neither a sentimental ode to motherhood nor a tragic lament for lost innocence. Instead, it is a film that lives in the grey, where love, crime, survival, and identity blur into one uneasy continuum.

At its core is a dyadic relationship, we can call them Indu and Abhijith Kumar, and that was their first identity outside the prison before moving through aliases like Mary and Benny, Sherly and Vasudev (The filmmaker even uses the real names of the actors, Farzana and Aadiseshan, at one moment).

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This is not the familiar cinematic mother who suffers silently, endures endlessly, and sacrifices nobly. Nor is the child a vessel of untouched innocence. Both exist in a morally fluid space. They lie, they adapt, and they survive. The bond between the two is the only stable thing in their lives. They do not allow anyone to come between them. The outside world is not a place to belong but something to evade. The film refuses to judge them, and in doing so, forces the audience to sit with its discomfort.

Setting the stage

The narrative opens inside a women’s prison, a setting that immediately frames the story within confinement and consequence. From here, the film moves into its most gripping stretch, the first half, where the mother and child slip through identities, locations, and situations with instinctive precision. These sequences are tightly written and staged, creating a rhythm of constant movement and low-grade tension.

Survival here is not dramatic but procedural. Each lie, each shift in identity, each escape feels like a small negotiation with danger. The “outlawed family survival” framework works best in these moments, where the bond between mother and child is both their shield and their vulnerability.

Narrative loses momentum

The second act, however, dips into more familiar territory. Set against the underbelly of Mangalore, with its Tulu-Kannada milieu, the film briefly leans into predictable tropes of petty crime networks, coastal underworld textures, and a coming-of-age arc for the boy.

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Tovino Thomas appears in a cameo that is earnest in intent but slightly unconvincing in execution, particularly with the prosthetic choices that distract more than they add. This portion, while competently made, lacks the urgency and unpredictability of the first half. The writing here feels functional rather than inspired, and the narrative seems to pause rather than progress.

Powerful pivot

Just as the film risks settling into this familiarity, it sharply overturns itself. The final act is a startling reclamation that is a narrative pivot that reframes what we have seen and restores the film’s emotional and thematic intensity. The climax is not just effective, but it is destabilising. It matches, and arguably rivals, the kind of endings that have recently drawn critical acclaim in films like Eko by Diljith Ayyathan.

Chidambaram and Jithu Madhavan use this final stretch to bring the story back to its central question - what does it mean to survive in a world that constantly seeks to define and confine?

Powerful performances

The performances are where Balan finds its strongest footing. Casting, overseen by actor Ganapathi, who happens to be the brother of director Chidambaram, is impeccable. Farzana Palathingal, a newcomer who has already begun to generate buzz among film circles, carries the film with remarkable presence. Her performance is not loud or overtly dramatic; it is internal, controlled, and deeply physical. Her eyes do much of the work, conveying calculation, fear, resolve, and a fierce, almost animalistic protectiveness. It is easy to see why the director reportedly auditioned over 2000 profiles before arriving at her. The choice feels precise and justified.

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The child actor Aadisheshan and his teenage counterpart Mohammed Sinan are equally compelling. Their performances avoid the usual pitfalls of child acting. There is no forced innocence or exaggerated vulnerability. Instead, the boy is perceptive, adaptive, and aware. One of the film’s most striking choices is how it treats the loss of innocence. It is not mourned. It is not framed as tragedy. It is presented as a logical outcome of circumstance. The boy knows they are living constructed lives. He learns his cover stories. He asks his mother what their next “story” will be. This normalisation of deception becomes one of the film’s most unsettling ideas.

Supporting performances add texture without overwhelming the central dyad. Jean Paul Lal brings a quiet menace to his morally ambiguous police role. Gireesh A D, appearing as an inspector, adds an unexpected freshness. The grandmother character, played by Dolly June, stands out as an offbeat, almost unpredictable presence, while Jinu Joseph’s voice performance from the UK adds an interesting off-screen dimension. And Archana Padmini, who plays the real Sherly, brings in subtle, layered nuances.

Beyond innocence

Visually, the film embraces a sort of murky dampness, not just in lighting but in tone. The scenography reflects a world where comfort is never within reach. Stability is fleeting, and safety is always provisional. This aligns with the film’s central idea that comfort is not what these characters seek, but it is what constantly eludes them.

What ultimately sets Balan apart is its refusal to romanticise or condemn. The mom’s driving force is simple but unsettling: she will not let her son become a demon or a slave. The film hints at a past where she herself was enslaved by a “devil,” someone she ultimately killed and buried. This backstory is not over-explained, but it informs every decision she makes. Her morality is shaped by survival, not by societal norms.

The film does not end on a reassuring note. There is no redemption arc neatly tied up, no promise of a better future. Even after everything, the mother tells her son that she will let him know what their next story will be. It is a chilling, matter-of-fact conclusion that reinforces the film’s core truth, for them, life is an ongoing act of reinvention.

Balan is not a painful ode to lost innocence. It is something far more unsettling, a recognition that innocence, in certain lives, is not lost but never afforded in the first place.