About halfway through Cactus Pears (2025), Anand (Bhushaan Manoj) eats a cactus pear gifted to him by Balya (Suraaj Suman). One of his relatives warns him to watch for thorns before enjoying, but Anand marvels that Balya took the time to pluck all the thorns out for him.

This seemingly small gesture perfectly encapsulates the energy of the relationship at the center of Rohan Kanawade’s tender queer romance. 

When Anand’s father passes away, he must return from Mumbai to the countryside of Western India to participate in a ten-day mourning ritual. Much to the dismay of his extended family, he remains unmarried even though he is thirty years old. Despite feeling suffocated by the expectations of his family’s traditions and customs, Anand rekindles his childhood connection with local farmer Balya.

The moment Anand arrives home, we see the disconnect between him and his community; his family complains about his bachelor status, his lack of visits, and how he doesn’t properly participate in their traditions. It isn’t until later that we learn that Anand’s mother (Jayshri Jagtap) and father know he is gay and have crafted a story that Anand is recovering from a woman who cheated on him as the reason he remains single.

Manoj carefully constructs Anand with a tense physicality so that we immediately understand his plight without being told. He carries a very visible tension in his body and constantly shrinks himself in the presence of family. It isn’t until he’s with people who really see him (his mother and Balya) that his shoulders drop, his breathing eases, and he fills the space he’s in. Anand doesn’t say much verbally, but because of Manoj’s detailed character work, his body speaks volumes. 

Suman is equally lovely as Balya, presenting a warm counterpart to Anand. He wears Balya’s gentle nature proudly like a suit of armor that shimmers brighter when he’s in Anand’s presence. While farming, he becomes robotic, just going through the motions. But when he makes contact with Anand—touches his hair, hugs him—it’s like he’s holding a rare treasure.

Manoj and Suman both make their feature film debuts as actors here which makes their dynamic all the more impressive. They aren’t afraid to nestle into the quiet allowing moments to emerge rather than force something. Their connection is palpable and you buy into their tender romance. It’s an incredible site to watch Suman quietly “pluck the thorns” out of Manoj’s hardened exterior enabling him to soften and brighten up the scene.

Kanawade demonstrates remarkable restraint behind the camera. The rollout of Anand’s arc is deliberate and detailed. For example, Anand’s family’s comments culminate in the audience’s ability to piece together his predicament. Kanawade doesn’t inundate us with exposition; he shows and trusts the audience to fill in the blanks. 

His use of a soft, quiet soundscape enhances the slow-burn pacing. Sometimes, the film starts to teeter into tedious territory; but the dynamic at the center keeps the entire thing anchored. In fact, the scaled-back, unrushed nature of the film allows the tenderness to take center stage.

Cactus Pears juggles many things, but, at its core, it is about a man learning to shed traditional expectations of a man and embrace modernity. Kanawade frames our characters looking up at the sky, yearning for its limitless possibility, craving to step outside the confines placed upon them. 

Ironically, Kanawade also aims for possibility when it comes to Anand and Balya. Part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop or for the story to stumble into common tropes of queer romance where trauma takes center stage. Yet, Kanawade opts to subvert that path and focuses on the beauty of two people in love and the freedom that provides. The film bares the grief and the silent struggle that comes with navigating queer identity (specifically in India). He presents the suffocation in a tangible way that will make you ache; however, he also presents a light at the end of the tunnel. 

It’s a thorny path but, little by little, he removes the thorns much like Balya, allowing the audience to enjoy the sweetness laid out before them.

Review Courtesy of Adam Patla

Image Courtesy of Vikas Urs via Mashable