‘Toxic: A Fairytale for Grown-Ups’ Review: A Grand, Gory Spectacle Searching for Its Soul

Thirty minutes into Toxic, a circus has already been set ablaze, a pair of siblings has successfully executed a treacherous act of revenge, and a mother has stabbed her husband in front of her children. These are undeniably remarkable events, but the problem is that they arrive one after another without the film taking enough time to establish a meaningful connection between them.

As the narrative progresses, 'Toxic' continues to rely on a series of larger-than-life entrances. While each entry is designed to elevate the scale and celebrate its characters, the constant repetition gradually diminishes their impact. When everyone receives a grand introduction, eventually, no introduction feels grand enough.

The film is also weighed down by dialogues that often fall into familiar territory. Lines such as, “Usne toh mujhe bistar diya hai, tujhko toh woh biscuit bhi nahi dega,” may be intended to establish the characters’ dynamics, but they rarely rise above the clichés associated with the genre.

Visually, however, 'Toxic' is constantly trying to create a world of its own. Muddy, dimly lit lanes, sharply dressed men in armour-like outfits and long cigars in hand give the film a distinct aesthetic. Yet, at times, this visual universe feels like a desperate attempt to establish parallels with 'Peaky Blinders'. The gang rivalries, power struggles and the constant battle to gain control and rule over Goa further strengthen that impression.

At the centre of this chaos is Raya, who, like the protagonist of many classic gangster dramas, finds himself falling for the daughter of one of the most powerful men around him. But the film deliberately leaves the audience questioning the authenticity of his emotions. Is Raya genuinely in love, or is his relationship simply another calculated move in his climb towards an unbeatable position of power?

The answer begins to reveal itself when the charmer of a circus enters his life and takes his breath away. “Raya never leaves any faulty person alive. But he left her unharmed,” the film reminds us, signalling a shift in the protagonist.

Perhaps the most symbolic moment comes when Raya pulls away the scarf from the neck of his former lover, played by Tara Sutaria, only to wipe the blood off the circus charmer, played by Kiara Advani. It is a subtle but powerful visual transition—one woman representing a past he is willing to leave behind, while the other begins to represent a vulnerability he never knew he possessed.

As Raya spends more time with her, it becomes increasingly evident that his feelings have grown beyond attraction. This is where the words of his sister Ganga, played by Nayanthara, begin to carry greater significance. For Raya, Ganga's words are almost sacred—a Holy Grail that has shaped his ambitions and his understanding of power.

He is eventually left confronting a choice: Does he continue climbing the ruthless ladder of power, building a legacy alongside his sister? Or does he abandon the world he has fought so violently to conquer and settle down with the person his heart desires?

By the interval, Toxic almost becomes a story governed by women, fought by women and driven by women. The title, 'Toxic: A Fairytale for Grown-Ups', however, feels somewhat misleading. There are no fairies in this fairytale. Instead, there are women armed with massive guns, willing to spill blood and destroy anyone standing in their way.

As the film moves beyond the interval, its dystopian undertones begin to intensify. Raya's battle gradually shifts from the outside world to his own mind. The man who has butchered countless bodies without hesitation now finds himself struggling to butcher his own thoughts.

The external violence that once defined him slowly gives way to an internal conflict. Raya is no longer simply fighting rivals, enemies or those standing between him and power. He is fighting regret, guilt and the thoughts he desperately wishes he could silence.

And perhaps that is where 'Toxic' becomes most interesting—not in its explosions, its elaborate entries or its bloody power struggles, but in the moments when its seemingly invincible protagonist begins to realise that the one enemy he may never be able to defeat is himself.