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Michael Review: Jaafar Jackson Shines in a Tribute That Stops Short of Inquiry

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min

Michael as a biopic does something unique: it actively measures the audience’s threshold for acceptance.

There is a lot at stake. A musical superstar whose legacy feels almost untouchable. A once-in-a-century phenomenon, original to the core. A dancer who seemed to invent his own language of movement. An artist who could write, compose, and choreograph his own songs. The kind of genius some would call divine.

And then, the shadow that trails the genius.

The film chooses to foreshadow it all, offering glimpses of what lies ahead without fully confronting it. Some may call it cautious, even safe. But in a deeply polarized world, where restraint feels less like evasion and more like calculation, you must check the water before you swim.

That is the prevailing mood of Michael. The makers opt for tribute over interrogation.

But does it hold up as a piece of cinema?

Story and Screenplay:

The story begins in 1966 in Gary, Indiana, where Joseph Jackson is determined to mould his sons into the Jackson 5. At just eight, Michael Jackson emerges as the lead voice. The narrative then follows his ascent, from early recognition by industry figures like Suzanne de Passe and Quincy Jones, to his eventual break from the group and pursuit of a solo career by 1988.

Across this 22-year arc, the writing places sustained emphasis on his fraught relationship with his father, examining how control, conflict and ambition within the family shaped both his drive and his vulnerabilities. The film attempts to map how these early experiences informed his creative instincts and personal choices, without over-explaining them.

It also makes a concerted effort to enter the artist’s mind. There is attention to the finer details of how he wrote, composed and choreographed his music, and to the impulses that sparked some of his most defining work. These moments offer a glimpse into process rather than mythology, grounding genius in craft.

However, foreshadowing runs consistently through the screenplay. Recurring motifs such as his affinity for animals, his ease with children, and allusions to Peter Pan and the idea of Neverland Ranch are threaded across timelines. The film repeatedly signals his sense of otherness from an early age but stops short of drawing conclusions.

That said, a substantial portion of the film’s runtime is devoted to the staging of songs and their making. For fans of Michael Jackson, this functions less as narrative progression and more as an extended tribute, where the music itself becomes the central storytelling device.

Performances:

The film devotes considerable attention to the central father–son dynamic, and Colman Domingo brings a simmering menace to Joseph Jackson. The hostility is evident well before any overt abuse; a glance or pause often does the work. The character remains firmly in a dark shade of grey throughout. A touch more backstory might have added dimension, but the performance itself establishes the tension effectively.

As the young Michael Jackson, Juliano Krue Valdi carries much of the opening stretch with assurance. There is a natural ease to his presence that makes the early portions of the film feel grounded, even as the narrative moves quickly through formative years.

Nia Long plays Katherine Jackson with restraint, presenting her largely as a protective yet subdued figure. She conveys warmth and concern, though the writing around her leans towards a more sanitised portrayal, limiting the scope of the character’s internal conflict.

Michael ultimately rests on Jaafar Jackson, and his performance is the defining factor. Rather than an interpretation, it feels like a full inhabitation of the role. For a debut, the control is striking, from physicality to emotional transitions across the two decades depicted. The continuity holds even outside linear shooting, with no visible breaks in character. By the closing stretches, the distinction between actor and subject begins to blur. The prosthetics and makeup teams contribute significantly to the visual transformation, but it is the performance that sustains the illusion. The dance sequences, in particular, are executed with precision, reinforcing the sense of authenticity the film strives for.

Conclusion:

Michael works best when it leans into what it sets out to be, a character study anchored in performance and music rather than a definitive portrait. The writing occasionally holds back, especially in exploring contradictions, but the emotional throughline, the focus on craft, and a committed central performance ensure that the film remains engaging. By the final act, the distinction between narrative and nostalgia begins to blur, and the experience shifts gears. The theatre, almost inevitably, turns into a concert hall, with the audience humming Michael Jackson’s songs, swaying to the beats and tapping their feet. For fans, Michael is a glowing tribute to one of the greatest pop artists of all time.

A sequel to the film is already in development, with a tentative release window between 2027 and 2029. It is expected to chart Michael Jackson’s life from 1988 until his death in 2009, a period that saw him scale unprecedented heights as a global superstar while also becoming one of the most contested figures in modern American cultural history. It is, by any measure, the more complex chapter to attempt on screen, demanding not just scale but conviction. The success of Michael provides a foundation, perhaps even the confidence, to venture deeper. As audiences, the expectation now shifts, from admiration to insight, in the hope that the next chapter moves beyond tribute to deliver a more searching, unflinching portrait. For cinephiles that will be a compelling watch.

Verdict:

IMDb rating: 7.7/10

My rating: 3.5/5

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

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by whatsonsidsmind

The Devil Wears Prada 2 Review: A Worthy Sequel Balancing Legacy and Relevance

Written By: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read


Perhaps the most significant challenge facing The Devil Wears Prada 2 is simple: it arrives two decades after the original. In that time, the world has shifted dramatically, and weaving those changes into the fabric of a story so loved by its audience is no small task. In many ways, this challenge outweighs even the burden of legacy.

Then there are the characters. Their likability and relatability were so profound that we carried them home with us. They have lingered, almost personally, in the audience’s memory. Since then, Anne Hathaway and Emily Blunt have evolved into two of Hollywood’s finest actors, while Meryl Streep has only deepened her status as a legend. Any misstep with these characters now carries far greater risk.

Layered onto this is nostalgia. The film means something intimate to many who watched it, emotions that are difficult to replicate, let alone surpass. The challenge, then, is not just creative but deeply emotional.

Yet, in David Frankel, who returns to direct, the film has a steady hand that has lived with this story from its inception to its present evolution. Alongside him is writer Aline Brosh McKenna, who returns to write, ensuring continuity of voice. With a largely unchanged core cast, including the ever-brilliant Stanley Tucci, the film attempts to balance fidelity with the inevitability of change.

The question, then, is inevitable: does it resonate emotionally the way the original did?

The Story:

Two decades on, the sequel opens with Andy Sachs (Anne Hathaway), now an established journalist whose career abruptly collapses the very night she wins a major award, getting laid off along with her entire team. The irony is sharp, almost cruel. Yet within days, a call from the CEO of Runway pulls her back into the very world she once left behind.

Miranda Priestly (Meryl Streep), now older, still formidable, but no longer untouchable is the one Andy must collaborate with once again as the magazine’s features editor. Tasked with navigating a rapidly shifting, digitally driven media landscape where print feels increasingly obsolete, Miranda finds herself on uncertain ground. She remains as exacting as ever, but the cracks are more visible this time. Age, irrelevance, and the speed of change weigh on her in ways the original never allowed.

Complicating matters further is the return of Emily (Emily Blunt), the once harried assistant now turned powerful executive at a rival luxury brand. Her evolution sets up a compelling counterpoint to both Andy and Miranda, turning past loyalties into present-day rivalries.

As before, the film draws its strength from the shifting dynamics between these three women. Their relationships carry the narrative, even as the sequel folds in a measured commentary on corporate culture, the disruptive force of digitisation and AI in creative industries, and the shrinking attention spans shaped by social media.

The film makes a sincere attempt to stay rooted in its time while remaining faithful to characters that audiences have carried with them for twenty years. It does not always balance both seamlessly, but when it does, it finds echoes of what made the original endure.

Screenplay:

One of the defining choices shaping the sequel’s writing is an acute awareness of how audiences have evolved over the past two decades. That shift is evident in the screenplay’s rhythm and tone. The film understands that theatrical viewing now demands more immediacy and engagement, especially in an era where OTT offers a comfortable alternative. As a result, the narrative moves at a quicker pace, leaning into sharper twists, punchier one-liners, and a more pronounced sense of humour.

At the same time, the film weaves in contemporary social commentary. Themes around digital disruption, shifting workplace dynamics, and the changing nature of influence are present, but they unfold organically within the story rather than announcing themselves.

What screenwriter Aline Brosh McKenna gets right is resisting the temptation to let style overpower substance. She keeps the story rooted in its emotional core, preserving what made the first film resonate so deeply. There is a conscious effort to retain the humanity of these characters, allowing moments of humor to sit comfortably alongside those of vulnerability and introspection.

The result is a screenplay that delivers both levity and weight. It offers several genuine laugh-out-loud beats, but also moments of quiet catharsis that ground the film emotionally. While the original felt more restrained, almost brooding in its stillness, the sequel embraces a more layered and kinetic energy. It is more overtly entertaining, yet manages to remain just as emotionally engaging, even if it doesn’t always match the cinematic finesse of its predecessor.

Performances:

Much like its predecessor, the sequel places significant demands on its actors, and it’s reassuring to see a clear continuity in how these characters are brought to life. There’s an attention to detail in ensuring that Miranda, Emily, and Andy feel like natural extensions of who they once were, shaped by time but not disconnected from their core selves. That evolution, rather than reinvention, is what stands out.

All three actresses deliver performances that reflect not just physical ageing, but a deeper internal shift. There’s a lived-in quality to their portrayals, balancing chaos, restraint, and a certain hard-earned clarity with ease. It never feels forced.

The film’s pulse lies in their comedic timing and the chemistry they share, which remains as sharp as ever. That said, the sequel tilts more toward wit and rapid-fire exchanges, with fewer of the quieter, introspective pauses that once gave the story its emotional weight. It’s a conscious shift in tone, with the makers choosing a more entertaining, slightly edge-of-the-seat approach, driven by clever twists and well-placed surprises that keep the narrative engaging.

Conclusion:


Two decades on, the sequel to The Devil Wears Prada knows legacy alone won’t suffice, and adapts to a faster, more demanding audience. It preserves the core of its beloved characters, allowing them to evolve without losing their essence. The performances anchor the film, with chemistry and timing doing much of the heavy lifting. The writing leans into pace, twists, humor, and relevance, trading some depth for immediacy. The result is an entertaining, worthy sequel to a franchise whose legacy continues to endure.

Verdict:

IMDb rating: 7/10

My Rating: 3.5/5

***

About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

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by whatsonsidsmind

Dhurandhar: The Revenge Review — A Visually Explosive Sequel That Misses Emotional Depth

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 6 Min Read

Chapter 1: Confession Before the Storm

Dhurandhar: The Revenge opens with an extended disclaimer, even more elaborate than its predecessor. It covers depictions of violence, substance use, and clarifies that the film does not intend to offend any community or endorse the views expressed by its characters.

A measured Hindi voice-over guides viewers through these caveats, emphasising that the film is a work of fiction, albeit one “inspired by true events.” It sets the tone for what follows, a narrative across timelines, sometimes blending fact with fiction, that asks to be viewed as cinema rather than commentary.

Not a documentary. Not a history lesson.

Much like this piece you’re reading, which is meant to be taken as a review, not mistaken for an essay or an opinion column.

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Chapter 2: The Birth of a Spy

The sequel builds on the foundation laid in the first instalment, where the promise of revenge was already established. What this chapter seeks to address is the motivation behind it.

The film opens with the backstory of Jaskirat Singh Rangi, an aspiring army recruit who finds himself on death row after committing a brutal act of violence tied to a land dispute involving a local political figure. The killing of his father and the assault on his sister serve as the emotional trigger.

The setup is effective, giving context to the character’s transformation. Ranveer Singh brings a measured balance of vulnerability and rage, anchoring the opening stretch.

The narrative then shifts as Jaskirat is recruited by Indian intelligence and drawn into a covert world, marking the beginning of his evolution into Hamza.

Director Aditya Dhar re-establishes the film’s universe with confidence, maintaining continuity with the tone and scale of the first part.

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Chapter 3: Chaos, Blood and Distance

A key shift in the sequel lies in its pacing. Where the first film allowed its narrative to unfold gradually, the second opts for density, layering multiple plot developments, twists, and action set pieces in quick succession.

While individual sequences are effective, the cumulative impact is uneven. The film struggles to sustain emotional engagement, often prioritising momentum over depth. Attempts to humanise its central characters remain brief and underdeveloped.

The treatment of Major Iqbal illustrates this imbalance. Positioned as the primary antagonist, he is given a detailed backstory, including personal and historical motivations. However, limited screen time restricts the character’s impact, preventing it from reaching the memorability of the earlier antagonist, Rehman Dakait.

In the first part, Dhar juxtaposed real-life footage of terrorist attacks in India with fictional scenes. In the sequel, he plays with timelines. In both cases, the creative liberties are evident, but it is the blending of truth and fiction that is a bit jarring. At times, this mix becomes so seamless that an unassuming viewer may find it difficult to distinguish fact from fiction. It is perhaps on the viewer to remain aware that the film is, ultimately, a work of fiction.

The film, however, maintains narrative tension. Dhar relies on frequent twists to sustain interest, ensuring that the story remains engaging. The trajectory may be predictable, but the execution keeps the viewer invested.

The violence, more intense than in the first instalment, remains highly stylised. It is designed for visual impact rather than realism, contributing to the film’s spectacle while reinforcing a sense of detachment.

Even with a runtime approaching four hours, the film sustains momentum and is seldom boring.

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Chapter 4: The Sound of War

The film’s music continues to be a defining strength. Composer Shashwat Sachdev blends Indian classical, Sufi, qawwali, and folk elements with electronic music, rap, and techno, all while staying rooted in the demands of the script. The result is a soundscape that fuels the film’s high-octane moments with adrenaline, while also evoking a lingering sense of nostalgia.

The reuse and reinterpretation of older tracks is particularly effective, with lyrics and placement aligned to narrative moments. While the first film’s soundtrack had immediate recall value, the sequel’s music operates more as a slow burn.

Tracks like Mann Atkeya (Vaibhav Gupta, Shahzad Ali), Main Aur Tu (Jasmine Sandlas), and Phir Se (Arijit Singh) fall into this category. At the same time, the film delivers crowd-pleasing, foot-tapping numbers like Aari Aari by Bombay Rockers, reimagined for this outing, and Khaled’s Didi, both of which tap directly into millennial nostalgia.

Overall, the sound design and score contribute significantly to the film’s atmosphere and pacing.

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Chapter 5: The Men, the Masks, the World

The ensemble cast delivers consistently. Alongside Ranveer Singh, performances by Arjun Rampal, Rakesh Bedi, R. Madhavan and Sanjay Dutt reinforce the film’s dramatic weight. Sara Arjun, while effective in parts, is limited by a role that lacks sufficient development.

However, the sequel is largely driven by Ranveer Singh, whose dual portrayal of Hamza and Jaskirat forms its emotional core. There is a distinct emotional and physical shift between the two, and he navigates both with control and conviction. It is the kind of rare, layered role that not only anchors the film but also stands to become a defining addition to the actor’s filmography.

The effort put in by the costume design, hair and makeup, and prosthetics teams is also noteworthy. The production design, spanning different parts of India and beyond, plays a crucial role in building a believable and immersive world.

Dhurandhar is not a perfect film by any means, but it is technically accomplished and hard to fault when it comes to attention to detail.

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Chapter 6: Borrowed Guns

Dhar’s filmmaking reflects a blend of influences. The stylised violence and narrative rhythm show traces of Quentin Tarantino and Guy Ritchie, particularly in the staging of action and use of montage.

At the same time, the film’s rawness and treatment of violence recall the work of Ram Gopal Varma, particularly films like “Satya”, “Company” and “Shiva”.

While these influences are evident, the film attempts to integrate them within a commercial Hindi cinema framework, combining stylisation with music, star-driven performances, and large-scale storytelling

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Chapter 7: The Verdict

Dhurandhar: The Revenge is an ambitious sequel that prioritizes scale and spectacle over emotional depth. Aditya Dhar expands the narrative world with confidence, supported by strong technical execution and sustained narrative momentum.

Anchored by Ranveer Singh’s performance, the film remains engaging despite its structural excesses. While it does not fully match the emotional impact of its predecessor, it succeeds as a visually compelling continuation. With its blending of fact and fiction, whether it reads as propaganda or provocation is open to interpretation, but it remains a work of fiction, not reportage.

Rating: 3.5/5

Dhurandhar: The Revenge is playing in a theatre near you.

Read the review of Dhurandhar (part 1) here: https://whatsonsidsmind.com/2025/12/16/dhurandhar-review-a-taut-spy-thriller-that-delivers-on-craft/

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About the Author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

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by whatsonsidsmind

THERE IS NO WAR THAT ENDS ALL WARS | AN OPINION ESSAY

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 2 Min Read

(Here is a short YouTube video adaptation of this piece – click this link)

THERE IS NO WAR THAT ENDS ALL WARS.

History has never witnessed such a thing.

We have always been at war in one form or another because war is sustained by a story.

And stories are powerful.

Just like religion, gods, ideology, money, and institutions. They exist because we collectively believe in them. They are sustained by shared faith.

And human beings do not surrender faith easily.
Not the right.
Not the left.
Not anyone who has built identity around belief.

In any conflict, labels may suggest ideological differences between warring parties.

Yet they all lean toward the same hunger. Power.
Because it was never truly about God.
It was never about religion.
It was never even about righteousness.
More often than not, it has been about control.

Those who seek power understand the force of narrative. They invoke religion, race, caste, nationalism,
and fear. They tell stories potent enough to move millions.

Stories that blind.
Stories that divide.
Stories that convince ordinary people to defend the very structures that exploit them.

Because when belief is weaponized, truth becomes collateral damage.

No war ends because one side wins. Wars truly end when the people who fuel them refuse to participate in the story any longer.

When they pause, question and see through the script.

Wars end only when enough people wake up and recognize the machinery behind it.

Not when leaders decide.
When people do.

In all this, if humanity is to find any method in the madness,
it must do something far more difficult than winning wars.
It must unite.
It must search for one reason,
one greater story,
one truth large enough
to rise above the smaller stories that divide us.
A story powerful enough to end all wars.

But what could that story be?
And is it even possible?

(Here is a short YouTube video adaptation of this piece – click this link)

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

All rights reserved by http://www.whatsonsidsmind.com

by whatsonsidsmind

Jugnuma Review | A Himalayan Fable that Lingers like Smoke

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

Jugnuma premiered at the Berlinale Film Festival in February 2024, and took nearly a year and a half to arrive at Indian theatres. In his second directorial venture in a decade, Raam Reddy, who made the brilliant Kannada film Thithi (2015), ventures into a Himalayan village to tell a fable. The story follows Dev and his family, who live in a colonial mansion they have inherited, surrounded by hundreds of acres of fruit estates, abundant, picturesque, and seemingly at peace. But something mysterious begins to set the estates and the surrounding forests ablaze. Unravelling the reasons behind this slow annihilation of a once-harmonious world forms the crux of the film.

If Thithi was rooted in social realism, Jugnuma marks a striking shift, blending magic realism into its narrative, a rarity in Indian cinema. Mythology, folklore, the unexplained, and the magical seep into the film’s fabric. Yet, beneath it all lies a resonant truth that shines through like the first morning sun over the Himalayas. This is auteur cinema, not for everyone, but for those who love pure cinema, Jugnuma could turn out to be an exciting watch.

There is an unmistakable sense of newness to the storytelling. It announces itself right from the opening sequence, a single, continuous five-minute shot that begins in the realm of the utterly mundane, before unexpectedly taking flight into uncharted territory. Raam Reddy trusts the intelligence of his audience, leaving much not just to interpretation, but also to imagination. He never over-explains his ideas. With a stellar cast that includes Manoj Bajpayee, Priyanka Bose, Deepak Dobriyal, and Tillotama Shome, the film has the space and the craft to bring its complex ideas to fruition.

Jugnuma explores several themes: disconnect with nature, inheritance and privilege, the exploitation of indigenous communities, and quieter undercurrents of escapism and identity. None of these ideas are thrust at the viewer. Instead, they unfold allegorically, expressed through whimsical tales, mythology, folklore, and moments of the fantastical.

Shot entirely on 16 mm film, the imagery is dreamlike, almost painterly, transporting the viewer to the late eighties. These grainy, textured frames deepen the film’s magic realism. They are rich with information and subtle hints, yet remain gentle on the eye, inviting contemplation rather than demanding it.

The performances in Jugnuma significantly elevate the storytelling. Manoj Bajpayee, as Dev, a man born into privilege yet grappling with a quiet identity crisis and a tendency towards escapism, brings the full weight of his craft to a demanding role. Deepak Dobriyal, as Dev’s estate manager, delivers a finely nuanced performance within limited screen time. His character also serves as the film’s narrator, grounding the story even as it drifts into the ethereal.

However, some aspects of the film have invited criticism. In its refusal to over-explain, the writing leaves several threads unresolved. Whether this is a deliberate artistic choice or an invitation for the audience’s imagination is open to interpretation. There are also characters whose presence feels fleeting, appearing for a scene or two without their narrative purpose fully crystallising, Tillotama Shome’s character being a case in point. This avoidance of neat resolution may leave sections of the audience unsettled.

Yet, this very refusal to explain itself is also where Jugnuma distinguishes itself. The film is never sanctimonious. Instead, it invites repeat viewings, rewarding patience with the quiet pleasure of discovery, and the possibility of revealing new meanings and textures each time one returns to it.

Conclusion:

With Jugnuma, Raam Reddy continues to evolve as a filmmaker unafraid of ambiguity and risk. Moving away from the grounded social realism of Thithi, he embraces magic realism, mythology, and folklore to craft a fable that reflects our fractured relationship with nature, privilege, and belonging. Shot on evocative 16 mm film, anchored by assured performances, and guided by a director who trusts his audience, the film asks not to be consumed casually, but to be experienced with patience and openness. It may frustrate those seeking clarity and closure, but for viewers willing to surrender to its rhythms, Jugnuma offers the rare pleasure of cinema that lingers, invites introspection, and rewards repeat viewings.

Verdict:


IMDb rating: 6.6/10
My rating: 3.5/5

You can watch Jugnuma: The Fable on Prime Video.

***

About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Dhurandhar Review: A Taut Spy Thriller That Delivers on Craft

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 8 Min Read

Dhurandhar opens with an unusually long disclaimer, firmly announcing itself as a work of fiction. What follows therafter is a mingling of fact and fiction, a narrative that is “inspired by” rather than “based on” real events. From the very first scenes, which reference the Kandahar hijack and the 2001 Parliament attack, where real life footage is juxtaposed with fictional scenes, the director makes his position clear: that creative liberties have been taken. However, I choose to take him at his word and engage with Dhurandhar for what it claims to be: a film, not a documentary. The real question then is this. As a film, is Dhurandhar any good, and does it live up to the hype?

The Story:

Dhurandhar starts off with a bang, referencing historical events, and then gradually transporting us into a world we have only glimpsed through news reports and documentaries. It is a landscape of terror, dirty politics, and hardcore brutality, where morality has long collapsed. Power, money, and domination are the only currencies that matter. The story unfolds through the eyes of Hamza (Ranveer Singh), an Indian spy tasked with infiltrating the very heart of terrorism in Pakistan by Ajay Sanyal (R.Madhavan) from the Indian Intelligence. He enters a dog-eat-dog world where survival demands savagery. Hamza must learn how these men think, identify their strengths and vulnerabilities, and make his moves with calculated invisibility. The two-hour-long first half patiently builds the world of Lyari, where crime is a way of life and rogue men commit despicable crimes. To earn their trust, Hamza must first become one of them.

Despite its longish first half, this is where the film is at its most engaging. The introduction of characters is riveting. Enter Rehman Dakait, played with chilling restraint by Akshaye Khanna, a Baloch leader determined to conquer Lyari, carve a path into Karachi’s political corridors, and secure long-denied respect for his community. Standing in his way is the vile minister Jameel Jamali, portrayed by Rakesh Bedi, a man willing to align with the devil to cling to power.

Then there is Major Iqbal, played by Arjun Rampal, a crafty ISI operator who will stop at nothing to unleash chaos in India, relying on a toxic alliance of gangsters and politicians to do his bidding. Completing this volatile quad is SP Chaudhary Aslam, played by Sanjay Dutt, a man driven by a deeply personal vendetta against Rehman Dakait and thirsting for blood. Trapped within this ruthless ecosystem, Hamza must navigate the dark alleys of Lyari, becoming an invisible presence that quietly works towards dismantling Pakistan’s terror networks from within.

Screenplay:

The screenplay, written by director Aditya Dhar, is intelligent and perfectly paced, offering several edge-of-the-seat moments. The one that lingered with me is the montage where the top goons of the rival gang are wiped out with chilling brutality by Rehman Dakait’s men. Dhar, skillfully crafts these big moments, and when they arrive the action choreography, camerawork, background score and editing operate in complete sync.

Despite the heavy use of expletives, which feels organic to the milieu and not gratuitous, the dialogue delivery remains cold and restrained, recalling the stark realism of Satya or another RGV classic, Shiva. This restraint lends the narrative a strong sense of authenticity. The only element that does not fully land is the love story between Hamza and Yalina, where the conviction that defines the rest of the film feels slightly diluted. Still, this remains a minor blemish in an otherwise tightly written film that is thrilling, dark, often funny, and unquestionably entertaining.

Technical Aspects:

From a technical standpoint, even the harshest critics will find little to fault in Dhurandhar. Lyari emerges as a character in its own right, recreated with remarkable authenticity in Thailand by the production design team. The stark landscapes of Ladakh convincingly stand in for Baloch tribal regions, while stretches shot in Mumbai and Punjab blend seamlessly into the film’s geography. Costume, hair and make-up departments show meticulous attention to detail, with several actors, notably Arjun Rampal and R. Madhavan, appearing almost unrecognizable in their transformations.

The action of Dhurandhar is another of its highlights. There is a fine art to staging brutal action. In Hindi cinema it often tips into excess, and even big-budget Hollywood films do not always make the violence feel grounded or raw. It begins with strong writing and is sustained by precise choreography, cinematography, prosthetics and sound design working in unison. Dhurandhar achieves this balance with assurance. Shashwat Sachdev’s music plays a crucial role in shaping the film’s impact. The background score is fresh, experimental and finely attuned to the film’s shifting moods. The songs too integrate naturally into the narrative.

What ultimately stands out is the synchronicity between departments. Nothing draws attention to itself. Every technical element serves the storytelling, allowing the film’s world and its scenes to unfold with controlled, unsettling effectiveness.

Performances:

Mukesh Chhabra’s casting is spot on. Every actor fits their part so organically that, after a point, you stop seeing the performer and only see the character. This level of immersion has been rare in mainstream Hindi cinema in recent years. Unsurprisingly, the performances emerge as the film’s biggest strength.

Much has been said about Akshaye Khanna’s role as Rehman Dakait. The real stroke of genius lies in the casting itself. There is an element of surprise in seeing him in this role, but it also plays perfectly to his strengths. The character demands restraint, menace, and control, with much of the emotion conveyed through silence and expressive eyes, something Khanna handles with chilling precision.

That said, Dhurandhar is ultimately carried on Ranveer Singh’s shoulders, and he delivers a performance that hits it out of the park. As Hamza, an Indian operative working in the shadows, Ranveer completely inhabits the role. The physical transformation is impressive, but it is his internal work that truly stands out. He captures Hamza’s vulnerability, intelligence, and quiet resolve with remarkable balance. Present in almost every frame, yet required to remain invisible within the narrative, Ranveer approaches the part with restraint, maturity, and exceptional control. This is easily among the finest performances of his career, possibly his best so far. With a second part slated for release in March next year, promising deeper revelations about Hamza, it is a prospect that cinegoers can look forward to with genuine excitement.

Conclusion:

Despite the controversies surrounding it, Dhurandhar emerges as one of the finest films of the year. Does it pander to a certain degree of propaganda? Yes, it does. But so have countless films in the past, across ideological spectrums. The question then is not whether propaganda exists, but whether one kind is deemed more acceptable than another. In my view, a film should be watched for what it is: a film. It is not the place to seek historical or political truth. For that, there are books, research papers, and documentaries, many of them available on this very subject.

As a reviewer, I do not believe in bringing personal ideology into the act of criticism. The responsibility is to engage with the film on its own terms. If one wishes to be an activist, that is a different calling altogether. Film criticism demands a certain distance, and an honest evaluation of craft.

The past few years have seen several so-called hyper-nationalistic films fail at the box office, not because of ideology, but because they were poorly made. No narrative can rescue a bad film. Dhurandhar succeeds because it is a well-crafted piece of cinema that delivers exactly what it promises. From its trailer, the intent is clear: a specific worldview, a hard-edged language, unflinching violence, and an adult-only viewing experience. Approaching such a film with a fixed confirmation bias is the surest way to miss what it is trying to do.

All said, it is difficult to deny the film’s technical and narrative strengths. Across departments, Dhurandhar comes out triumphant. While it may momentarily lean into a particular narrative, these instances do not derail the momentum of its gripping screenplay. The only caveat is a wish for greater honesty in its disclaimer.

Ultimately, Dhurandhar deserves to be seen for its taut writing, commanding performances, experimental score, and sustained edge-of-the-seat drama. This is cinema designed for the big screen.

Verdict:

IMDb rating: 8.6/10

My Rating: 4/5

Watch Dhurandhar in a theatre near you.

Read the review of Dhurandhar: The Revenge (Part 2) here: https://tinyurl.com/29vda96j

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Recommended watch:

If you are interested to know more about Lyari and its gang culture watch this documentary by Vice made 13 years ago – Pakistan’s most violent city.

Pic credits: Jio Studios & B62 Studios

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Weapons Review: Zach Cregger Delivers Fear, Depth, and the Most Despicable Villainess in Recent Horror

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

Weapons (trailer) uses a narrative structure inspired by the Rashomon style of storytelling, where events unfold through multiple viewpoints. The technique is familiar, ever since Kurosawa shaped it in his 1950 film Rashomon. But Weapons does not aim for the classic Rashomon effect, where perspectives diverge so sharply that the truth becomes elusive. Instead, it shows the same moments from different angles, offering variations of truth but within a narrower field of vision.

The story unfolds in Pennsylvania, where 17 children from the same third grade class wake in the dead of night, leave their homes at exactly 2:17 am, and vanish. CCTV footage shows them running into the darkness, yet no one knows where they have gone. Only one child returns to class the next morning. As police and parents search desperately for answers, Alex, the lone child who is safe, may hold the key to the mystery.

The narrative moves through six characters. Justine (Julia Garner), the class teacher whose students have disappeared. Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of one of the missing children. Paul Morgan (Alden Ehrenreich), a police officer and Justine’s ex-boyfriend. Andrew (Benedict Wong), the school principal. James (Austin Abrams), a homeless drug addict and burglar. And Alex (Cary Christopher), the only child who returns to class the next day.

It is difficult to call Weapons a classic horror story. It does not try to scare you in the conventional sense for much of its run time. The first half moves at a steady pace, with each chapter revealed through a different character, as if they are passing a baton in a relay or placing pieces of a puzzle together. This portion of the film leans into emotions like paranoia, distrust, helplessness, trauma and psychological strain. There are touches of humour and moments of ambiguity that add to the sense of confusion. A quiet dread runs beneath the surface, but it never pushes into full suspense or horror until Gladys, Alex’s aunt, appears midway through the film. From that point onward, the story shifts entirely.

Weapons is deceptive, even though its storytelling carries a quiet simplicity. Many scenes are layered with allegory and symbolism, and almost everything carries meaning. The film explores themes of addiction, grief and loss, and the failure of communities and institutions to protect the vulnerable. But watching it with the urge to decode every moment can diminish the experience. It is best approached with a clear mind, allowing the film to work at its own pace. At no point does it force its ideas on the audience, and it remains an engaging and entertaining film despite its intellectual weight and nuanced narrative.

In Aunt Gladys, Weapons brings to life one of the most despicable characters in recent memory, rivalled perhaps only by Dale Ferdinand Kobble from Longlegs (2024), played by an unrecognisable Nicolas Cage. Amy Madigan’s performance as Gladys is menacing in a way that can give the faint hearted sleepless nights. Awards buzz already suggests she might be headed toward Oscar and Golden Globe nominations for Best Supporting Actress.

Cary Christopher, who plays young Alex, also delivers a terrific performance. Much of the second half unfolds between Alex and Gladys. Their scenes together are terrifying and oddly entertaining, and they hold the film in a tight grip.

It is believed that Weapons is a deeply personal story for director Zach Cregger, drawing from lived experiences as a child, and this is where the film’s allegories and symbolism originate. Yet while watching the film, these ideas never intrude. It is easy to experience Weapons exactly as it presents itself and be fully drawn into its world. The world building, camerawork that shapes moments of dread, and the performances create an absorbing film experience.

Along with Ari Aster, Robert Eggers and Jordan Peele, Zach Cregger brings a sense of novelty to the horror genre, creating films that are thought provoking as well as entertaining. If you enjoy horror, this is not a film you want to miss.

Verdict:
IMDb rating: 7.5/10
My rating: 4/5

You can rent Weapons on Amazon Prime Video or BookMyShow for Rs 89.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Homebound Review: A Mirror That Is Both Subtle and Stark

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

Homebound deals with a heavy subject: discrimination. Not just in one form, but through caste, class, religion and gender, even though caste-based discrimination remains central. It takes a filmmaker of rare maturity to handle such themes with the skill and nuance it deserves. While Neeraj Ghaywan’s directorial debut, the exceptional Masaan was more purist in its approach and leaned heavily on visual language, his second full-length feature, Homebound is more conversational. It rests on deep, lived-in exchanges between its characters.

Although, the film is India’s official entry to next year’s Oscars in the Best International Feature category, it struggled to secure a theatrical release at home. The CBFC ordered 11 cuts, amounting to just 77 seconds, yet enough to potentially blunt the emotional force of certain scenes. Did it dilute the film’s impact? Perhaps. But a film, beyond its hype, its controversies, its festival run, and the reputation of its creators, must still move its audience. It must linger and become a conversation starter. That, for me, is the mark of a great film. And when such films endure, they become classics.

So does Homebound belong in that realm?

The film draws from true events, inspired by a 2020 New York Times article by Basharat Peer. It follows two childhood friends from a small North Indian village, Chandan (Vishal Jethwa), a Dalit, and Shoaib (Ishaan Khatter), a Muslim, who share a dream: to become police constables. They believe that the uniform will become their escape from the poverty, discrimination and loss of dignity that have shadowed their families for generations.

With no college degrees, the police exam is their only opportunity for a different life. Failure means returning to the same manual labor their forefathers endured. The road ahead is unforgiving. Their friendship strains under the pressure of circumstance, while a system stacked against them keeps pushing them back. Yet they do not break. They adapt, endure, and hold on to hope, until Covid arrives and alters their fate in ways they could never have imagined. What unfolds after forms the emotional core of Homebound.

Though sparked by a newspaper article, the screenplay is deeply personal to Ghaywan. In an interview to the Indian Express before the film’s India release, he spoke of hiding his Dalit identity for 35 years. “When you masquerade, your confidence dies,” he said. While watching Homebound, you sense that what plays out on screen is born from lived experience. There is an honesty in the storytelling that you cannot turn away from.

In conversations following its festival run, Ghaywan has been clear that the politics in his films can never overshadow the filmmaking. If that happens, he believes he risks becoming a propagandist. During a Cannes interaction, with the Hollywood Reporter India, co-producer Karan Johar echoed this sentiment, stating, “There is no activism in the film, there is just filmmaking.” Legendary filmmaker Martin Scorsese, who joined as an executive producer and mentor, also spoke highly of the script and of Ghaywan’s craft.

What truly stands out is the film’s quiet simplicity. The narrative is layered and nuanced, yet expressed with clarity. In a film like this, it is easy for dialogues to become preachy. But Ghaywan, along with Varun Grover and Sreedhar Dubey, keeps a firm grip on realism. The film never overexplains its ideas. The scenes feel textured, unpolished in the best sense, and deeply human. This quiet authenticity is the film’s true strength. It does not sermonise. It simply holds up a mirror to society and leaves it there. As an audience, what you choose to see in that reflection is entirely up to you.

One of the film’s most powerful moments arrives when the exam results are announced. Chandan has passed. Shoaib has not. Chandan’s concern is genuine, but Shoaib, shattered and ashamed, cannot receive it as anything but pity. What begins as an argument soon turns into a fight. Yet it is the reason behind that confrontation that reveals who they really are. It is heartbreaking, but also deeply revealing. Until that moment, they appear to have risen above every identity imposed upon them. In this scene, Ghaywan strips them back to their most human selves, grounding the film in its deepest intention: humanism.

Made on a modest budget of ₹3–4 crore, it reportedly took nearly three years to ready the script for production. The shoot itself was completed in approximately two months. That care in the writing is visible in the way the scenes land, and there are several that are likely to linger. The attention to detail, in both costumes and locations, is equally precise. Much of the story unfolds in a North Indian village, filmed largely in and around a village near Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh.

The cinematography is restrained and grounded, never departing from the characters’ world. Every frame feels rooted in their reality. The color palette and lighting choices subtly enhance the film’s shifting moods without drawing attention to themselves.

In a performance driven film like this, the actors had to deliver, and they do so with conviction. At no point do they feel out of place. The two leads, Ishaan Khatter and Vishal Jethwa, bring the artistry, maturity and nuance their roles demand. Even with limited screen time, Jahnvi Kapoor makes her presence felt. Shalini Vatsa in the role of Chandan’s mother, was exceptional, anchoring the film with a quiet, heartbreaking authenticity.

Conclusion:

Homebound speaks to everyone, cutting across class, caste, religion and social standing. It draws the viewer into a world that unsettles, challenges the conscience, and forces a confrontation with uncomfortable realities. Yet, it does so with rare grace and empathy, making the experience feel deeply cathartic rather than overwhelming.

Homebound easily qualifies as one of the finest Indian films of the year and stands tall as a worthy Oscar contender. It has the depth and craft to endure, much like the director’s debut. Whether it will be remembered as a true classic, only time will tell.

Verdict:

IMDb rating – 8/10

My rating – 4.5/5

You can watch Homebound on Netflix.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

120 Bahadur Review: A Sincere Film that Doesn’t Stir Enough

Written By: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

When you think of the great war films of the past, you remember their sheer technical power: the sweeping cinematography, the visceral action, the stirring background score, the meticulous production design, the prosthetics and of course the performances. Yet beneath all that craft, those films endured because they moved you. A war film cannot afford to falter there.

That is why 120 Bahadur, a film about one of the Indian Army’s greatest battles, feels incomplete. Its heart is in the right place, but it needed a sharper mind to match the intelligence and spirit of its own protagonist.

Critics have largely called out the first half for being slow and occasionally dull. The common verdict is that the film takes too long to warm up before it starts landing its punches. That may be true, but for me the issue ran deeper. Something felt missing throughout, even when the second half gathers momentum. And that missing piece was emotional force. The makers seemed to play it too safe when the story needed a touch of madness, especially in the latter half where the stakes demanded bolder choices.

The story of the Battle of Rezang La is the stuff of legend. It is so astonishing that one could easily mistake it for fiction. Having recently visited the Rezang La War Memorial in Ladakh, standing on the very land where the 120 brave soldiers of the 13 Kumaon Regiment’s Charlie Company (almost all from the Ahir community in Haryana) were cremated after facing a 3000 strong Chinese force with outdated ammunition, the enormity of their sacrifice still feels impossible to grasp. They fought till the last man, taking down nearly 1300 enemy soldiers before falling. None of the bodies were found with a bullet to their back. It sounds unreal, yet it happened.

Though this story is well known within the Army, it is tragically unfamiliar to most citizens. And in that sense, I understand the instinct to sanitise the violence so the film can reach a wider audience. On that front, the film succeeds. It is technically strong, shot on real locations, with a powerful story, a capable ensemble cast and in Major Shaitan Singh Bhati a protagonist who stands taller than a hero, almost mythic.

But this was a story that demanded the brutality of war to be shown. It was an essential part of the narrative, unlike many recent Hindi films where violence is used merely as a stylistic choice. If the film had focused solely on camaraderie, bravery and sacrifice, the restraint would have worked. But with an entire second half devoted to the battle, the raw, unforgiving truth of war was needed for the script to fully come alive.

Another criticism the film faced was its restrained performances. I felt this was not a flaw but a conscious and sensible choice by the makers. Imagine a group of soldiers at sixteen thousand feet, in minus twenty four degree cold, conserving every last ounce of energy during a battle that stretches through the night. Shouting stirring lines in such conditions is not only improbable, it breaks authenticity. In choosing restraint, the makers chose truth, and it was the right call.

Where the film does falter is in its dialogue. While avoiding loud, jingoistic monologues was the correct direction, the lines still needed to carry weight, to leave you with the lingering ache that a war film should. They fall short of that. Even the constant humour does not fully land.

Farhan Akhtar, as Major Shaitan Singh, is another important anchor in the film. His performance is balanced and mature, yet there is a sense of something missing. The issue again lies in the screenplay, which does not create enough intrigue or deliver the emotional shocks the story deserves. This is a true event, one that can be easily looked up online. The power, therefore, had to come from how the story was told. Instead, the makers chose a conventional, familiar template seen in films like Border, Shershaah and LOC Kargil.

This story needed a treatment closer to Saving Private Ryan, where the war itself becomes a visceral and shattering experience. A more immersive and relentless portrayal could have left the audience shaken. But the film takes a simpler and more straightforward route, and the impact is not as deep as it could have been.

To conclude, 120 Bahadur is not a bad film by any measure. It approaches one of the Indian Army’s greatest battles with sincerity. But the creative decisions, especially in the screenplay, keep it from reaching the heights it was capable of. Despite its shortcomings, I would still urge audiences to watch it. It is a story of exceptional courage, sacrifice and the true cost of war, one every Indian should know.

Verdict:
IMDb rating: 7/10
My rating: 3/5

Pic Credits: Excel Entertainment

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Good Boy Movie Review: Emotional, Inventive, and Powered by a Dog You Cannot Look Away From

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

Good Boy (2025) runs on a slender plot, and on an emotional theme that is deceptively simple. But what it delivers both visually and technically is something the makers can genuinely be proud of.

Written and directed by Ben Leonberg, in his feature debut, and featuring his own dog as the protagonist, Good Boy follows Todd, a young man with a chronic lung disease, who moves from New York to his late grandfather’s isolated house in the woods. His sister Vera believes the place is haunted, and could even have played a part in their grandfather’s death. Todd disagrees. For him, the wilderness is sanctuary. His dog Indy though senses something darker, a presence Todd cannot see. What follows is a battle of instinct versus ignorance. Will Indy keep his master safe, or will both be consumed by something hiding in the shadows?

Leonberg got the spark for this film while rewatching Poltergeist (1982), specifically a scene involving a dog. As a lifelong horror fan, having consumed every conceivable sub-genre, I can say with conviction that there is nothing left in horror that is truly new. Innovation now lies in how familiar tropes are reimagined, in how writing and craft can twist the known into the uncanny.

Good Boy is that kind of horror.

Writers Alex Cannon and Ben Leonberg are smart with their writing. They find ways to keep the audience guessing, even with a deceptively thin storyline. One criticism the film has received is that it is too convoluted. I see that as a strength. The writers play with the viewer’s mind. It is entirely possible to have multiple interpretations of the scenes that unfold, especially the slightly bizarre ending that leaves you with many questions. Despite its narrative limitations, Good Boy challenges you as a viewer. The real genius is in showing everything from the dog’s point of view. It makes the scenes tense, emotionally charged, and keeps you uncertain because you are never fully sure what is happening inside Indy’s mind.

The film’s editing is one of it’s strong points. The interplay of past and present, the use of dream-like sequences before snapping back into present reality, is impactful. It adds to the intrigue. There is also a clever rhythm in the cutting. Quick jump cuts are broken by long pauses and silences. This creates mood, dread, and a constant expectation of something evil about to reveal itself.

Just like the editing, the cinematography does not follow a single pattern. For most of its seventy-three-minute runtime, the camera is focused on Indy’s face. It is the need of the script. The camera follows him wherever he goes. The angles are fluid, constantly shifting to capture his expressions and the subtle changes in his behaviour. The action on screen demands that the camera be quick and kinetic in some moments, and completely still in others.

None of this feels like the work of a first time director. There is a visible sense of craft and confidence in how frames are composed. The static shots are haunting and atmospheric. When the camera moves, it injects energy and adrenaline. There are a few sharp jump scares as well, which add to the film’s thrill.

From a technical standpoint, I believe the editing, the sound design and the camerawork elevate Good Boy beyond its limited story. They give the film its power.

But all said and done, the true star of the film is the dog, Indy. It is through his eyes that the entire story is told. The writing and the technical craft would not have saved this film if the performance had failed at this level. As an audience, you are glued to his face. He has the most expressive eyes and a deeply innocent presence. You start rooting for him. You fear for him. You are fully invested in his journey. Although it looks effortless on screen, there is clearly a lot of preparation behind this. The training, the timing, the precision of camera placement, all of it has been done with care.

IndieWire says this about the canine’s performance: “one of the most emotive actors of his generation, regardless of species.” I agree. I cannot remember another dog performance that has left me this stunned. Dog films usually make you laugh or cry or feel a sense of warmth. They often carry messages of loyalty, companionship or healing. But here, I was engaged because of the dog’s sheer emotional pull. I could not take my eyes off him. That is the magic of this film.

Made on a modest budget of $750000, Good Boy, went onto gross $8M worldwide from its theatrical release. Commendable for a small film with high ambitions.

Verdict:

Despite its limitations, Good Boy challenges you as a viewer and keeps you emotionally invested. It is technically inventive, smart in its writing, and more layered than it first appears. At the heart of it all is a protagonist, a dog, whose emotive ability is mesmerizing. Indy carries the film like a star.

IMDb rating: 6.2 out of 10
My rating: 3.5 out of 5

Good Boy is currently running in select theatres in India.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).