When it comes to courtroom dramas in Indian cinema, most filmmakers tend to lean heavily into melodrama. Every element—from the musical cues to the lighting—is crafted to dial up the tension, making a simple exchange between lawyers feel like a high-stakes duel. While “Court – State vs A Nobody” follows the foundational beats of the genre, it proves to be a solid and engaging courtroom drama, marking an impressive Telugu debut for director Ram Jagadeesh.
Priyadarshi Pullikonda leads the film as Surya Teja, a junior lawyer working under the reputed and experienced Mohan Rao, played with commanding presence by Sai Kumar. The dynamic between the two forms the emotional and narrative core of the story. Surya, eager to prove himself, repeatedly asks Mohan Rao for a case. Each time, however, he is met not with encouragement, but with a moral puzzle—a trolley problem posed differently with every interaction. Surya’s shifting answers reflect both his internal conflict and growth, while Mohan Rao’s stoic silence adds to the tension. It seems, at first, that Surya is doomed to be stuck in his mentor’s shadow. But his real test arrives when a complex and urgent case lands at his feet.
The case centers on Chandru, a 19-year-old boy accused under the POCSO Act. Early in the film, we are shown a tender narrative between Chandru and Jaabili, a 17-year-old girl. What begins as a teenage love story soon turns into a nightmare, as Jaabili’s influential family, particularly her authoritarian uncle Mangapathi, ensures that Chandru is arrested and falsely implicated. From that point onward, the film fully transforms into a courtroom drama. Since we are already aware of Chandru’s innocence, the emotional thrust of the narrative comes from the anticipation and hope that he will be vindicated.
What makes Surya’s character arc particularly interesting is that he accepts the case not with full knowledge or evidence, but purely on instinct and the stories shared by Chandru’s friends. He is unsure, hesitant, and walking on thin ice. When Mohan Rao eventually learns about Surya taking the case without informing him, a pivotal conversation takes place. It is here that the film finds its soul. Cinematographer Dinesh Purushothaman subtly elevates this moment with careful lighting and framing. In a film brimming with confrontations and heightened emotions, this quiet mentor-disciple exchange stands out as its emotional centerpiece.
Not all performances in the film are rooted in realism. Sivaji Sontineni, portraying Mangapathi, and Harsha Vardhan, playing the opposition advocate, lean heavily into theatrics. Their characters, clearly positioned as antagonists, feel exaggerated in a film otherwise grounded in naturalistic performances. Mangapathi’s character—driven by pride and social standing—feels familiar, almost archetypal. And yet, his presence on screen commands attention. One wonders if their performances would have been more impactful had the director allowed them the same restrained treatment given to the rest of the cast. By opting for overt villainy, the film occasionally undercuts its own realism.
Ram Jagadeesh’s storytelling choices are largely conventional, and the film doesn’t necessarily break new ground narratively. But his skill lies in the details of execution. Some of the most compelling moments come through carefully composed montages. In one such instance, as courtroom testimonies unfold, the camera lingers on a photo of Ambedkar and the quote “Truth alone prevails,” offering a quiet, resonant reminder of justice. Another standout moment features a brief, almost mundane exchange where the opposition lawyer casually asks Surya whether their witness can leave. It’s the only instance where both parties interact outside the formal structure of the courtroom, and yet it leaves a striking impression.
The film is based on a series of real-life cases related to the POCSO Act. Towards the end, it attempts to comment on the complexities of such cases through a monologue, aiming for a strong social message. However, some of the arguments made during this speech come off as insensitive, diluting the film’s overall impact. Fortunately, the film quickly regains its footing with a simple but deeply moving moment between Chandru and his mother. It lasts no more than five seconds, yet it conveys with pure emotion everything the earlier monologue struggled to articulate.
In fact, the most powerful scene in the entire film is a quiet interaction between Sai Kumar and Priyadarshi’s characters. No raised voices, no dramatic outbursts—just a subtle shift in tone and expression. These moments of minimalism are where “Court – State vs A Nobody” truly shines. They serve as a reminder that sometimes, less is more.
This makes one wonder: could the film have been even greater if it leaned more towards subtlety and authenticity, rather than traditional courtroom dramatics? Despite its occasional overindulgence in theatricality, “Court – State vs A Nobody” is a commendable debut that leaves a lasting impression. It’s not a genre-defying film, but it does enough to remind you that even within the boundaries of convention, there’s room for grace and nuance.
