If you’re on the verge of making your film, I swear to god… check if Anirudh is free. Get him in, and half your work is done. He lifts LIK with such energetic, happy music, and when you couple it with the colourful, neon-flavoured digital world, complete with funky sunglasses, hairstyles and costumes, there’s already more for the senses than you’d get in your average film. Dheema is great (and you have known that for a year now), Pattuma is great (especially for its lack of typical percussions), Adaavadi is great… and then they’ve brought back Enakkena Yaarum Illaye (from Aakko?) as well. It’s a largely fun soundscape, staying true to the film’s broad mood.

The futuristic world of LIK itself is a bit of a gimmick, I think. This story could very well unfold today, given the volume of data being collected on us and the companies that quietly manipulate us into making choices. The flying cars or digital umbrellas hardly affect this film in any meaningful way. There’s some fancy robot-fighting at the end, but even there, the enjoyment isn’t really the robots. It’s in the personalities; it’s in SJ Suryah’s antics (Kommmpeny!); it’s in the laughs you get from his henchman HA Subbu failing again and again. The futuristic fantasy world is just, well, there.
So if you’re looking for a Black Mirror-esque critique of technology or a layered commentary on its dangers, I’m afraid this isn’t it.

What this is, instead, is a fairly generic love story: about a man who falls in love at first sight and refuses to accept anything but a lifelong, happily-ever-after marriage. To a cynic like me (or perhaps a realist?), that is the highest fantasy in a film filled with flying cars and talking robots. But I liked the film’s conviction, even with this idea. That’s why Dheema says what she loves most about Vassey is not the man himself, but his love for her. It fits, because she has only ever experienced conditional love, from her millions of followers and even from her mother. So even for a a pessimist like me, such romanticism—Vassey wanting to hear her repeat her name over and over again, with Ani’s music swelling each time—is hard to resist. Or perhaps I’m a secret romantic.

Vignesh Shivan is great at creating engaging, original moments out of ideas that are, on paper, fairly generic. LIK may feel like a straightforward, almost AI-generated story (which is ironic, considering what the film indicates as evil), but the plot is besides the point here. I think you ought to lose yourself to the experience if you can: to the film’s absurdities, cameos, one-liners, exaggerations. There’s more value, for instance, in a woman being named Thamizhselvi just so she can call herself Thamizhselfie, than in the film’s treatment of her death. Meanwhile, the hero, Vibe Vassey, bites two nails off his friend (?!) just to impress his beloved. The villain, Suriyan (SJ Suryah), meanwhile fixates on a man named Kunjacko and repeats his name endlessly because… well. This clearly isn’t a film that takes itself too seriously. So it would be a mistake for you to.

But don’t mistake that for a lack of sensitivity. There are small choices that suggest the film is trying to make each moment count. Watch that fleeting micro-reaction of pride from Pradeep Ranganathan when he listens to his own voice after installing LIK. Or how even a brief appearance from a mistrustful boyfriend (Abhishek) gets a bit of an arc. Or Dheema herself who’s performing for the world, but often hides inside a laundry basket to cry alone. An adult with millions of followers, but no one, really. She says she hopes to smile in it someday… and I think the film forgets to give her that moment.

Vignesh Shivan is particularly clever about using real-life personas. He casts an influencer like Deepika to play an influencer. He leans into Pradeep’s theatrics, the head shake from yes to no becoming a repetitive idea across the film, with a clever twist at the end as well. He gets SJ Suryah celebrating a win with that unforgettable Mayilirage dance. He brings in Seeman to deliver punchlines in a brand of Tamil that might feel foreign even to Tamil speakers. It’s all a riot.

My biggest grouse is with Krithi’s Dheema. I wish she weren’t written as such a delicate princess in need of rescue (or perhaps it’s my distaste for that kind). I wish she didn’t need a fight sequence to decide that Vassey is the one. Any kind of success, even something like gaining millions of online followers, must come from a certain strength, and that’s a strength this film (and many others) never quite acknowledge. I was also uncomfortable with what the camera chooses to linger on sometimes, in its gaze of Dheema and her mother (Malavika).

But LIK’s lifeblood lies in its steady stream of clever, sharp moments. The father who realises his child just cares about a song, not necessarily one that comes from the phone. The irony of Dheema saying she cannot risk loving a man without the LIK app. Suriyan’s brief backstory, which suggests that in another film, he might not be such a monster (perhaps it might have been a nice touch to see him acknowledge Vassey’s love for Dheema at the end?). Also, the idea that these apps can truly confuse you: as we see Kalki (Gouri Kishan) helplessly bounce between friendship and love.

And above all, that lovely idea of Vassey recreating a reel experience for Dheema in the real world, with sight, smell, touch and taste. These ideas may be old-fashioned. But then, what is more old-fashioned than unreasonable love?

In a world rushing towards nothing in particular, there is still something comforting about holding on to old-fashioned love, I guess, especially when served with all the laughs.
Hmph, I guess I might still be a bit of a romantic.