Tamil/2h48m/2025

Synopsis: Kittan, a young lad, is fond of playing Kabaddi, but the caste tension in his local village affects his game plan. In addition to this, his father constantly warns him not to take part in the sport. Can Kittan escape the shackles of abuse and make it to the big stage? 

Review: 

Most of them would’ve guessed the plot of Mari Selvaraj’s Bison as soon as the trailer came out—it is going to be the story of an underdog achieving something big. It gave off strong Sarpatta Parambarai vibes, reminiscent of Pa.Ranjith’s film. Now that Mari’s Bison has finally hit the theatres, we must say that our predictions about its storyline were only partially accurate. Why? It is actually more about a father wanting his son to escape their homeland and less about making it to the big stage. 

(the importance of Bison) 

Bison’s core idea goes against the typical Tamil cinema trend of glorifying homelands. It also makes the audience feel uncomfortable, not hesitating a bit to question their privilege. Typically, Tamil cinema follows this pattern: the protagonist leaves their village, moves into a metropolitan city, blames it for some reason, and returns to the village for some reason. In most cases, the urban lifestyle is shown negatively, while the village life is shown positively. 

The films made of such ideas hardly question any barbaric practices that are quite common in rural areas, and the protagonist is hardly affected by them. They can enter and exit their homelands whenever they want to, without facing a major setback. But for a person like Kittan (Dhruv) in Bison, this isn’t the case. For him, life is a war wherever he goes or stays. We understand this when we come across a particular scene, where Kittan’s family travels to a nearby town to perform a ritual. 

A bad gesture of Kittan’s beloved goat sparks a violent breakdown, turning everything into a slaughterhouse in the blink of an eye. Soon, Kittan’s dad (Pasupathy) pours out his frustration over their lack of freedom and the fact that they are constantly subjected to caste-based abuse. Later in the film, when Kittan comes back to his house, the first thing his dad asks is, ‘Why are you here?’ Like, who even asks that when someone returns to their sweet little home? It clearly shows that their lives are torn apart by various political tensions. Such scenes clearly state that Kittan’s life is different from the lives of other protagonists in Tamil cinema—his life is also different from yours. 

(Mari Selvaraj’s impeccable writing) 

We can’t talk about Mari’s Bison without appreciating how he has meticulously crafted his characters and handled certain nuances. For instance, the sports teacher (Aruvi Madhan) comes from the very background Kittan’s village conflicts with, yet embodies sportsmanship and supports Kittan through hurdles; he also rejects casteist beliefs—and even goes to the extent of removing caste armbands (they are often used to identify and segregate people by caste) and other symbols displayed by schoolchildren. Crafting characters this way makes the film inclusive, as it avoids portraying anyone as purely evil. 

We must also credit the staging of Kabaddi tournaments—it is realistic and technically solid, and it shows that the film’s creators have utmost respect for the sport. 

What makes Bison even more compelling is the bond between Kittan and his dad. More than Kittan, we deeply empathise with Kittan’s father. Whenever he secretly fits a knife in his Veshti, we understand that he would run miles for his son’s dreams. When he hesitates about Kittan playing Kabaddi, we feel his inner agony—especially when he illustrates his past experience and what happened to the person he once idolised. The father-son relationship is similar to Mari’s earlier films, Pariyerum Perumal and Maamannan, and none of it would hit so hard without Pasupathy’s immaculate performance. 

Now comes the not-so-great part. Although the film accurately captures the political drift between two local leaders, Pandiyarajan (Ameer) and Kandasamy (Lal), it still kind of messes up the portrayal of Kandasamy. 

Since he appears as the leader of a caste group, the film should have explored how he organizes his clan and orchestrates caste atrocities against Pandiyarajan’s community. So, that aspect is missing, as the film reduces everything to a decade-old personal grudge. It also puts the character in a state of helplessness—as if Kandasamy doesn’t have enough resources to stop his clan’s caste fanaticism. The film can be ‘inclusive’ for all, but it simply can’t portray a ‘landlord’ in a good light—Mari should have dealt with it more responsibly. 

There are also other aspects that could have been better—like the female characters have limited scope, some places feel too dramatic, and the background score feels overdone, although Nivas Prasanna has nailed it in most of the parts. ​

The Final Verdict? 

These flaws aren’t deal breakers. Bison remains a well-made, rooted sports drama that refuses to romanticise village life. At its heart, the father–son bond gives it emotional weight. Kittan—much like Mari Selvaraj himself—stands as a ray of hope for those striving to break free from the chains of their birth.