K Ramp, starring Kiran Abbavaram, is a cinematic experience you might wish to avoid. The film’s protagonist, Kumar Abbavaram, is an entitled, silver-spoon-fed individual who prioritizes local bars and ‘mass numbers’ over his education, relying on his family’s wealth.
His approach to romance is equally troubling. When he pursues Mercy (Yukti Thareja), his declaration isn’t “I love you,” but rather, “Naa Peru Abbavaram… Istha neeku varam.” (I am Abbavaram, let me do you a favor). He refers to her as a “heavy figure” for her kindness after his drunken antics. His behavior is further normalized by the presence of a ‘tharki’ (lecherous) uncle, played by Naresh, who openly ogles women and makes inappropriate advances.
Shockingly, the film doesn’t portray Kumar as the problem. Instead, it frames him as a victim, caught up with a girl suffering from PTSD and severe trust issues. The narrative then shifts to Mercy’s struggles, presenting a flashback intended to evoke sympathy. However, the depiction of mental health is deeply problematic. For instance, a doctor absurdly suggests that Mercy’s family should collectively threaten suicide to gauge her reaction to unmet expectations – a truly ridiculous and insensitive approach to a serious disorder.
K Ramp (Telugu)
The second half of the film awkwardly pivots, attempting to cast Kumar as a “saint” for simply acknowledging Mercy’s condition. The only genuine reprieve comes from Vennela Kishore’s comedic subplot, where his character’s exasperated, sarcastic remarks echo the audience’s growing frustration. Disturbingly, the film’s casual misogyny persists, exemplified by a scene where director Jains Nani uses ice and hot sambar to compare women’s waistlines, an embarrassing attempt at humor in what is marketed as a family entertainer.
K Ramp sadly falls back on a tired cinematic formula—a situational comedy built around a character’s health condition—but lacks sincerity. Kumar’s character seems like an unfortunate echo of past films that glorified problematic male behavior. Kiran Abbavaram, after a seemingly course-correcting film last year, appears desperate to maintain a “mass hero” image, neglecting genuine acting depth. Yukti Thareja is left with a largely clueless, victimized role. While Naresh retains his comedic timing, his character ages with anything but grace.
Sai Kumar and Muralidhar Goud deliver honest performances despite their poorly written roles. Chaitan Bharadwaj’s music is unmemorable, and the cinematography often plays into the characters’ perversions with odd camera angles. Ultimately, K Ramp attempts to address a health problem but inadvertently exposes a deeper issue within Telugu cinema: its persistent insensitivity in depicting mental health and an unhealthy obsession with glorifying perverse male protagonists.