Category Archives: Reviews

Movie Review: Raat Akeli Hai (2020)

3.5 Stars (out of 4)

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Honey Trehan’s terrific directorial debut Raat Akeli Hai is, on the surface, an engrossing murder mystery. Dig deeper, and the film is about the way men police women’s behavior, creating conditions that are immediately bad for women, and ultimately bad for the men as well.

Raat Akeli Hai‘s opening sequence is visually arresting and chilling. A sedan drives on a lonely highway. The lights of a truck flick on. It chases the car in the dark, knocking it off the road. Silhouetted against the the truck’s blinding lights, a man steps toward the car to make sure the sedan driver and his female passenger are dead.

The shocking start transitions to a police officer’s wedding, five years later. One of the guests —  Inspector Jatil Yadav (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) — stews as his mother Sarita (Ila Arun) shows his photo to a pretty woman, hoping to find her son a bride, too. Jatil’s subsequent argument with his mom is interrupted when he’s called to a crime scene.

An elderly rich man is murdered on the night of his own wedding. It’s a second marriage for Raghuveer Singh (Khalid Tyabji) — and to a much younger woman — so it was a quiet affair. Quiet enough that no one even heard him get shot.

There are plenty of suspects in the house, including Singh’s adult children, his in-laws, a maid, and the new bride, Radha (Radhika Apte). The only thing they have in common is that they all hated the dead man.

Radha seems to be the main suspect, and her reluctance to talk to Jatil frustrates him. But she slips him a note reminding him that they’ve met before. It was five years ago, when he stopped her from jumping off a train, saving her life — only for her to wind up here.

This reminder prompts Jatil to do a proper investigation, rather than pin the murder on Radha like everyone else in the police department wants him to do.. Other members of the household had motive and opportunity, too, not to mention some lingering questions about Singh’s first wife’s death.

No one in Raat Akeli Hai is happy. Crucially, that includes Jatil. He’s bought into the thinking that women are something to be controlled. He’s still single because he wants a wife who is “well-behaved” and “knows her limits.” Presumably, he’ll be the one defining those limits.

The conundrum is his mother. Filial norms dictate that he respect her, and he does even when she does stuff that drives him crazy. But even though she doesn’t behave the way he wishes she would, it’s obvious how much she loves him. She means it when she says her son looks as handsome as Ajay Devgn in his uniform and sunglasses.

She’s also an example of what marital equality should look like, something that he finally appreciates during a conversation with her. As she’s telling Jatil the same story about his deceased father for the millionth time, she breaks down and says, “I miss him.” They were partners who cared deeply for each other and their son. They were happy.

Contrast with the deceased’s household, where everyone views each other with suspicion and distrust. Singh was a pervert, with a bedroom full of erotic art, pornography, and Polaroids of abused women. But he was also wealthy and closely connected to the shady politician Munna Raja (Aditya Srivastava). There was no way to escape Singh’s grasp, so everyone lived in survival mode.

Jatil finally understands that Radha’s hesitancy in opening up to him comes from hard-earned lessons. Though he’d always wanted a submissive, docile wife, her admires Radha for her courage and resilience. Maybe exerting control won’t get him the happy marriage that his parents had. Maybe he’d rather be with a woman who is strong and brave. Someone like Radha.

All of the character growth and theming in Raat Akeli Hai is done in a subtle, gradual way. There’s nothing heavy-handed or abrupt in Trehan’s interpretation of Smita Singh’s smart screenplay. The entire cast has the acting chops to pull this approach off, and Trehan trusts them to do it.

Trehan runs one of the production companies behind Raat Akeli Hai — Macguffin Pictures — with Udta Punjab director Abhishek Chaubey, who serves as Supervising Producer on the film. One of Chaubey’s duties included working on the English subtitles, which are outstanding. They include classic noir lines, like Radha’s response when Jatil asks who she thinks killed Singh: “Could be anyone. Someone braver than me… Someone more desperate. But I don’t know anyone like that.”

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Movie Review: Saali Mohabbat (2025)

2.5 Stars (out of 4)

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A mousy housewife narrates a story that feels a little close to home in the drama Saali Mohabbat. The film marks actor Tisca Chopra’s debut as a feature writer and director.

Quiet Kavita (Radhika Apte) lingers on the periphery of a noisy house party, fetching snacks for guests, even though she’s not the host. She catches her husband Vicky (Aalekh Kapoor) necking with one of the single women in attendance. He responds with a haughty look, rather than one of remorse.

When Kavita rejoins the party after her humiliating discovery, the group is debating whether a woman’s most important attribute is her looks. Notably, the woman Vicky was canoodling is considered prettier than Kavita. This prompts Kavita to speak up, telling a story of a woman in a distant city whose husband was unfaithful.

The woman in Kavita’s story is named Smita, and she’s also played by Apte. Smita is married to Pankaj (Anshumaan Pushkar), a handsome, jobless drunk with a gambling problem. He pushes her to sell a property she inherited to pay off his debts, but she’s loath to part with it.

Smita’s beautiful cousin Shalini (Sauraseni Maitra) gets a job in town, and Smita offers her a place to stay. This is a mistake. Pankaj flirts with Shalini, and she reciprocates. It’s not long before they are running around behind Smita’s back.

Pankaj isn’t the only one smitten with Shalini. A cop named Ratan (Divyenndu) dotes on her, and she lets him as well. Ratan’s a nice guy, but he’s greedy. He’s on the payroll of the gangster Gajendra (Anurag Kashyap) — the same man Pankaj owes money to.

Periodically, the action cuts between the depiction of Smita’s story and Kavita at the party as she retells it. Vicky listens, growing more concerned as Kavita recounts what happened after Smita discovered the affair. Is Kavita really the timid woman he thought he’d married?

Nothing that happens in the film can be classified as a twist since Chopra barely tries to disguise things. She’s content to let a seasoned performer like Apte hold the audience’s attention, which she does as capably as ever. The rest of the cast gets the job done, but none of the performances are particularly noteworthy.

The world-building in Saali Mohabbat is decent, albeit a little thin. Smita’s closest ally is an older man played by Sharat Saxena, and it’s not totally clear what his relation is to her. Is he her deceased dad’s friend? The family gardener? Both? Smita has a degree in botany and is always surrounded by plants, which makes the film visually interesting, at least. It’s not a bad effort for a first feature film.

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Movie Review: Greater Kalesh (2025)

2.5 Stars (out of 4)

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Netflix’s enjoyable Diwali movie Greater Kalesh has real affection for its characters and doesn’t overstay its welcome. Director Aditya Chandiok and writer Ritu Mago wisely opted to make their film a “featurette” with a runtime of under one hour rather than try to stretch too small a story to feature length.

Twenty-something Twinkle Handa (Ahsaas Channa) returns to her family home in Delhi to surprise her parents — dad Ranjan (Happy Ranajit) and mom Sunita (Supriya Shukla) — and younger brother Ankush (Poojan Chhabra) for Diwali. Before she can even open the door, she hears the sounds of arguing and pottery breaking.

Her folks are certainly surprised to see her, and happy as well. They try to pretend that their argument was nothing serious, but Ankush spills the beans. Turns out, the Handas don’t actually own their house. They’ve lived in it for free for almost 30 years due to a deal with Ranjan’s business partner, but now the real owner wants to sell. The family is about to be homeless.

Also, the whole neighborhood knows about Ankush’s “secret” relationship with an older woman, and Mom is sick of being gossiped about. She’s planning to move to Bangalore to live with Twinkle, which is news to Twinkle, of course.

Twinkle is furious with everyone for hiding things from her, ignoring her own hypocrisy for not telling her family her own secret: she has a serious boyfriend. Fueled by anger, Twinkle sets about trying to fix everyone’s problems, whether they like it or not — which is probably why everyone was so reluctant to tell her anything in the first place.

Chandiok and Mago do a wonderful job portraying a family in a very specific stage of development. Both of the kids are adults, and Twinkle even lives independently, yet no one has an accurate perception of how mature the kids actually are. Twinkle overestimates her worldliness, while the parents still try to shield their kids from their problems. Relationships within the Handa family are evolving in ways none of them really understand, and the changing dynamic hits a boiling point during their Diwali party.

The cast does a fine job making the family relatable. While plots driven by unnecessary secrets can sometimes drag, the actors successfully convey why every character feels like secrecy is their best option. Other than a silly subplot about a thief slowly making off with the family’s sentimental valuables, everyone acts in a way that is understandable.

The knock against Greater Kalesh is that it has a tendency toward soapiness. From Twinkle’s voiceovers to the musical cues to the lighting, all of it makes the film cornier than it needs to be. Thankfully, the filmmakers knew just how much story they had, and the movie ends before the soapy style gets too grating.

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Movie Review: Baramulla (2025)

1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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The dread in Baramulla builds slowly. It has nothing to do with the missing children or the creepy house filled with strange noises and shadowy figures. By the time an onscreen dedication rolls after the climax, one’s worst fears are confirmed: the goal of this film isn’t to tell an interesting story but to push an agenda.

Baramulla takes place in the titular city in Jammu and Kashmir in 2016. Controversial Deputy Superintendent of Police Ridwaan Sayyed (Manav Kaul) is transferred to the town after some yet-unspecified negative experience necessitated a change of scenery. He arrives with his wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli), teenage daughter Noorie (Arista Mehta), and young son Ayaan (Singh Rohaan).

The house they’re put up in is spooky as all get out, with furnishings unchanged for decades. It’s massive, with two decaying wings on either side of the main building the family occupies. From the moment they arrive, everyone but Ridwaan hears unsettling sounds, sees eerie shadows, and smells weird smells that can’t be explained.

Ridwaan is too busy with work to pay attention to his family. A boy named Shoaib disappeared during a magic show at a carnival. The cops and the boy’s father — a former politician with plenty of enemies — would prefer to blame the magician, but Ridwaan isn’t convinced. No one has sent a ransom demand, and a lock of Shoaib’s hair was found in the magician’s “disappearing” trunk. If the mage had given the boy a haircut mid-performance, there would’ve been dozens of witnesses.

Ridwaan has worked in Jammu and Kashmir long enough to appreciate the factors complicating his investigation. Politics are fraught, there are militants about, and absolutely everyone distrusts the police. But it takes more disappearances and unusual occurrences for him to accept that his perpetrator could be undead.

The setup is compelling but it isn’t sufficiently fleshed out. The taciturn characters are indistinct. Ridwaan and Noorie are supposedly in a major tiff that predates their move to Baramulla, but it doesn’t feel any different from typical teenage drama. Yet when it’s revealed what led to the frosty father-daughter relationship, it’s so terrible that it makes the characters relatively blasé behavior look bizarre in retrospect.

Director Aditya Suhas Jambhale (Article 370) — who co-wrote the film with his Article 370 producer Aditya Dhar — glosses over relationships and eschews character development. Those foundational storytelling elements are secondary to the mission: making ragebait.

Global viewers who aren’t familiar with the history of the region won’t get a lot of context from Baramulla. The film was clearly written around the post-climax on-screen dedication (which I won’t quote so as to not spoil the film). There’s nothing new about using real-world tragedy as inspiration, but Jambhale and Dhar seem to think that just doing so is enough, regardless of how well it’s integrated into the present-day story they’re telling.

The laxness about the present-day storyline is most evident in the rules governing the supernatural in Baramulla, or lack thereof. Ghosts in stories are often tied to specific locations or individuals. In Baramulla, they can be anywhere — not for any world-building reasons, but simply for plot convenience.

The climax also reinforces a pernicious thread within the film: the idea that Muslim children are all potential militants and therefore not to be trusted. Further, despite their still-developing brains, Muslim children are to be held to the same (if not higher) moral standards as adults. They are not considered victims of radicalization but equal participants.

I feel like I write this a lot, but Baramulla has all the components of a good movie. Shown through a different perspective by someone with more experience with the genre, this could’ve made a powerful emotional impact. As it is, all I can be is disappointed.

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Movie Review: Bhagwat Chapter One – Raakshas (2025)

3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Bhagwat Chapter One: Raakshas on ZEE5

Arshad Warsi gives a standout performance in Bhagwat Chapter One: Raakshas. Director Akshay Shere and writer Bhavini Bheda reunite for their first feature in fifteen years, producing a compelling and unexpected crime drama.

The film opens in the North Indian town of Robertsganj in October, 2009. An unmarried woman named Poonam fails to return home after a dental appointment, and her family knows something is wrong.

On the tenth day of Poonam’s absence, Robertsganj gets a new police chief: Inspector Vishwas Bhagwat (Warsi). This isn’t a promotion for Bhagwat. He’s reassigned to Robertsganj — accompanied by his wife and young daughter — as punishment for his violent temper. Maybe his mandated anger management courses will mellow him out.

Bhagwat immediately demands an investigation into Poonam’s disappearance, which has been dismissed by police as a simple elopement and weaponized by politicians as a case of “love jihad.” Bhagwat’s second-in-command Mahto (Devas Dixit) isn’t thrilled by his increased workload, but he and his fellow officers soon uncover more cases of missing women throughout the jurisdiction. Whether it’s human trafficking or forced prostitution, Bhagwat and his officers fear they’ve stumbled onto a conspiracy.

Meanwhile, we see an adorable romance brewing between local teacher Sameer (Jitendra Kumar) and a young woman named Meera (Ayesha Kaduska). She rebuffs him at first, but his respectful persistence wins her over. Their shy courtship is adorable, but we know the good times won’t last, given how many other women Meera’s age have disappeared.

Shere and Bheda — who previously collaborated on 2010’s The Film Emotional Atyachar — craft a story that takes unexpected turns without feeling like the twists exist for their own sake. Clever storytelling puts the audience in the same position as Inspector Bhagwat, who also can’t be completely sure how things will turn out.

Warsi is in top form as Bhagwat. Due to tragic events in Bhagwat’s past, he spends every moment trying to keep from lashing out, his sense of powerlessness manifesting as violence. We don’t see any of his anger management sessions, but they must work, as he gets better about holding back as the movie goes on. His newfound patience is rewarded with the information he needs to find justice for the missing women.

Kumar and Kaduska do a wonderful job as the lovebirds. A lot is asked of both of them as the film progresses, and they’re more than up to the task. Also credit to Dixit for doing a fine job as Bhagwat’s beleaguered assistant, who grudgingly accepts that his boss may know what he’s doing.

I hope that Bhagwat Chapter One: Raakshas truly is the first in a series. The lead character is interesting, with plenty of room to grow and backstory to explore. Shere and Bheda set a tone for their thriller that is emotional and gripping without being so intense that one might not want to go back for more, as with an anxiety-inducing crime flick like Sector 36. There’s real franchise potential here.

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Movie Review: War 2 (2025)

1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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It was always going to be hard for a sequel to reach the heights attained by War in 2019, but War 2 crashes hard.

Years after the original, India’s best soldier — well, one of India’s best, given that the War films are part of the Yash Raj Films Spy Universe of movies — Kabir (Hrithik Roshan) has left India’s R&AW spy agency and works as a mercenary. Kabir’s swoony intro in the original film is the stuff of legend, so how does he make his first appearance in the sequel?

By staring down a clunky-looking CGI wolf.

The scene somehow gets worse as Kabir faces off against a bunch of ninjas in a Japanese castle. Unlike Khalid’s (Tiger Shroff) tightly choreographed, dynamic opening fight scene in War, Kabir dodges swords in slow motion. He punches and chops dozens of helpless dopes with rapid edits between shots. There’s no sense of flow to the fight since we rarely see Kabir execute more than two moves in sequence.

Kabir’s assassination of a Japanese mob boss catches the eye of a syndicate known as Kali. Made up of wealthy representatives from India and its neighboring countries, the group wants to end democracy and take over the region — and they want Kabir to help them.

Of course this was all part of Kabir’s plan to infiltrate them, coordinated by his mentor from the original film Colonel Luthra (Ashutosh Rana). What they didn’t expect was that Kali would force Kabir to kill Luthra to prove his loyalty. Kabir does, just days after Luthra’s daughter Kavya (Kiara Advani) is awarded a medal from the Air Force for bravery as a combat pilot.

Colonel Vikrant Kaul (Anil Kapoor) takes over Luthra’s post as the head of R&AW. He grudgingly lets Kavya in on the hunt for Kabir, but he’s got an ace up his sleeve — a rogue soldier named Vikram (NTR Jr) who’s Kabir’s equal in skill and tenacity.

The Indian spies track Kabir to Spain, where he’s meeting his adopted teenage daughter Ruhi (Arista Mehta). The girl exists purely to call back to the first film and set up an action sequence. In grand Bollywood tradition, she is never mentioned again.

The Spain action sequence is inspired very, very heavily by Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. Instead of Tom Cruise and Haley Atwell in a Fiat careening through the streets of Rome chased by Pom Klementieff in an armored vehicle, we get Kabir and Ruhi in a Mini Cooper pursued through Salamanca by Vikram in a Humvee. The duo’s little car bounces down a bunch of stairs and eventually winds up on top of a speeding train about to crash — another sequence from the same Mission: Impossible movie.

There are plenty more plot parallels with the first War movie to come, with twists, betrayals, and secret relationships from the past. Kabir has his requisite dance sequences with both Vikram and Kavya (undeniably the best parts of the film). The whole thing ends with a fight in an ice cave, just like the original War did.

War 2 collapses under the immense pressure on it to be new and fresh while also being the same as War. The absence of Siddharth Anand — who directed War and co-wrote both the screenplay and the story — from War 2 makes it clear just how responsible he was for the first film’s success. Aditya Chopra is again credited for creating the sequel’s story, Shridhar Raghavan returns as screenwriter, and Abbas Tyrewala is once more responsible for the writing the dialogues. The continuity they bring is evident, but there’s no life in the sequel.

The new kid in town is Ayan Mukerji in the director’s seat. He earned his spot by directing the big-budget supernatural action spectacle Brahmāstra Part One – Shiva, but that was a passion project of his own creation. Here he connects all the dots, but the film lacks sparks — except for those created when Vikram inexplicably competes in a Formula 1 auto race in a powerboat.

All of the actors are fine, but that’s it. They’re all better than this.

War 2 is just too silly for its own good. No one person is solely responsible for its failure. Rather, it’s the product of a bunch of talented people turning in subpar work on a project too expensive and high-profile to warrant anything less than their best.

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Movie Review: Son of Sardaar 2 (2025)

2 Stars (out of 4)

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Hidden within Son of Sardaar 2‘s overstuffed story are some wonderfully executed performances — but, boy, do you have to sort through a lot of cruft to find them.

The sequel to 2012’s enjoyable Son of Sardaar finds naive nice guy Jassi Singh Randhawa (Ajay Devgn) waiting in Punjab for his British visa to come through so he can join his wife of 11 years, Dimple (Neeru Bajwa). When he finally gets it and reunites with her in Scotland, she immediately asks for a divorce.

Elsewhere in Scotland, a band of Pakistani-British musicians — Rabia (Mrunal Thakur), her step-daughter Saba (Roshni Walia), Mehwish (Kubbra Sait), and transgender woman Gul (Deepak Dobriyal) — is in trouble. Their leader Danish (Chunky Panday) — who is Rabia’s husband and Saba’s father — took off with a Russian woman, forcing Rabia to take charge of the group.

A chance encounter between Rabia and Jassi proves beneficial for both of them, even if she does stab him in the hand with a fork when they meet. Rabia gives Jassi a place to stay in exchange for pretending to be her husband and Saba’s dad. See, Saba wants to marry her rich boyfriend Gogi (Sahil Mehta), but his strict father Raja (Ravi Kishan) insists on meeting Saba’s family first. Not only does Jassi have to pretend to be Saba’s dad but a former soldier as well, while the rest of the women pretend to be Indian, Hindu, and definitely not musicians.

These are already a lot of characters to keep track of, and it gets worse when Gogi’s family is introduced. There’s his mom Premlata (Ashwini Kalsekar), his uncles Tony (the late Mukul Dev in his final role) and Titu (Vindu Dara Singh), and his white step-grandmother Kim (Emma Kate Vansittart). The step-grandmother’s backstory brings several other characters into the mix, and Sanjay Mishra shows up with a bunch of sidekicks as well. Heck, the movie even starts with Jassi dancing with Dimple and their four children, but that turns out to be a dream and they don’t actually have kids. There are too many people as-is without introducing imaginary ones.

New characters are dropped into the film following abrupt cuts, and it takes a while to figure out how they connect to the main story. Subplots sprawl and expand while previously introduced characters get less and less to do. The lack of focus forces the audience to keep track of threads and relationships when they should be allowed to sit back and laugh. Then again, there aren’t many standout bits, save one near the end involving Dimple.

Son of Sardaar 2 isn’t all bad, thanks to the actors. Devgn is still endearing as the innocent guy who stumbles into trouble. Thakur’s feisty energy pairs well opposite Devgn and keeps the story moving. Sait plays her musician character as charmingly caffeinated, and Kishan’s straitlaced performance as the strict dad defines the stakes for Jassi and crew.

The delightful surprise of the film is Dobriyal’s portrayal of Gul. Dobriyal is a tremendous actor with plenty of stellar work on his resume, but the fact that he brings such gravity and tenderness to a character in a rather silly comedy is impressive. Gul is the voice of reason and authority when things get too chaotic. I can’t speak to the authenticity of the way she’s written as a trans woman (there’s some dialogue about the man inside her versus the woman inside her that feels odd), but Dobriyal plays her respectfully. Her being trans fuels some jokes, but she is never the butt of the joke. Dobriyal won’t let her be.

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Movie Review: Homebound (2025)

4 Stars (out of 4)

This is a review of the uncensored version of Homebound. Here is my article on Which Scenes Were Censored in Homebound.

Watch the censored version of Homebound on Netflix

Two best friends find their future opportunities limited by discrimination, poverty, and systemic shortcomings in the touching drama Homebound. India’s selection committee picked a worthy submission to the 98th Oscars.

The film opens in North India around 2017-18. Best friends Shoaib (Ishaan Khatter) and Chandan (Vishal Jethwa) want to become police officers, a feat that first requires battling their way through a crowded train platform before they can even reach the admissions testing site. The crowd they navigate consists of hundreds of other young men and women vying for the same posts — a fraction of the 2.5 million applicants from across the country for just 3,500 job openings.

Shoaib is Muslim, and Chandan is from one of the Scheduled Castes. They’re sick of being looked down on by higher caste Hindus and figure that being cops armed with batons will put an end to the disrespect they’re accustomed to.

A year goes by with no word on the exam results, leaving the guys in limbo. They’ve invested so much in this dream that taking any other job seems like giving up. But there’s a hole in the roof of Chandan’s family home, and Shoaib’s dad needs knee surgery so he can get back to work in the fields. The guys can’t wait on their dream forever.

Writer-director Neeraj Ghaywan is so effective at communicating how immediate the needs of the poor are. With no financial cushion, problems quickly become emergencies. Even when the government creates opportunities intended to level the playing field — such as reserving university spots for those from castes historically denied admission — taking advantage of them requires planning and sacrifice from family members who don’t have much left to give.

One of those family members is Chandan’s older sister Vaishali (Harshika Parmar). Chandan opts to go to college to be with a woman he met at the police exam, Sudha (Janhvi Kapoor). When Chandan later drops out, Vaishali points out that he’s squandering opportunities their traditional parents would never let her have. He’s flitting between uncertain futures while she’s stuck working as a bathroom attendant at an elementary school. He needs to settle on a way to contribute to the family and stick with it.

The story takes a major turn when the guys get jobs in a garment factory over 1,000 kilometers away from home. They earn steady money that gives their families stability. Then COVID-19 hits. The government institutes same-day lockdowns that last for weeks, shuttering businesses. As money runs out, migrant workers like Shoaib and Chandan are forced to make their way home, sometimes on foot.

It was journalist Basharat Peer’s reporting on such cases for the New York Times that inspired Ghaywan to write Homebound. In fleshing out backstories for his main characters, Ghaywan draws together the various threads that create the net that traps people like Shoaib and Chandan in poverty. Sudha represents someone able to take advantage of the government’s efforts to remediate caste discrimination, but the mistreatment experienced by the guys show just how easy it is for bigots to undercut those efforts.

The cast of Homebound is wonderful. Khatter’s spent the last few years proving why he’s probably the best actor of his generation, but Jethwa makes a compelling case for why he should be included in the discussion. The friendship between Shoaib and Chandan feels so real, through all of its ups and downs.

Kapoor uses her supporting role to show just how impactful she can be when not playing a lead. Parmar likewise stands out even though she’s only in a few scenes. Vaishali is pragmatic, but her advice is also clearly motivated by her own emotional baggage. Both sets of the boys’ parents are played beautifully played as well.

Ghaywan’s sophomore effort after 2015’s terrific film Masaan was a decade in the making but worth the wait. Homebound is insightful and thought-provoking, painting a vivid picture of the challenges faced by those living in poverty in contemporary India.

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Movie Review: Saiyaara (2025)

3 Stars (out of 4)

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Cinema needs the occasional overwrought, youthful, romantic melodrama, and director Mohit Suri has made it his mission to supply them. Saiyaara nicely exemplifies the sub-genre thanks to earnest performances by its talented leading couple.

We’re introduced to the deep-feeling poet Vaani Batra (Aneet Padda) as she’s stood up at her courthouse wedding by a jerk named Mahesh. She’s so devastated that she passes out. She spends six months convalescing at the home of her supportive, progressive parents — Mom is played by Geeta Agarwal and Dad by Rajesh Kumar — before reentering society.

Mahesh’s betrayal zapped Vaani’s ability to write, and she hopes she can get it back by doing celebrity interviews for an entertainment website. On the way to her job interview for the site Buzzlist, she sees a handsome bad boy on a motorcycle. Later, the same guy hands over the journal she left outside the office — Vaani has a habit of forgetting things — before beating up one of the site’s writers for an insufficiently flattering article about his band.

The angry young man is Krish (Ahaan Panday), lead singer of the rock group Josh. Krish has temper issues stemming from his mother’s death when he was a kid, followed by his father’s turn to alcoholism, which resulted in Krish becoming his caretaker. Krish wants the world to give him all the love and adoration he missed out on as a child, and he wants it now.

Having peeked at Vaani’s journal before returning it, Krish realizes she’s got talent. He uses some of her lyrics in a song and proposes a partnership. Vaani isn’t sure she’s up to the task, but spending time having fun with Krish restores her creative abilities.

Naturally, the two fall in love. Thanks to their songwriting partnership, the band becomes a sensation, putting fame finally within Krish’s reach. Their bliss is short-lived, however, as Vaani experiences health problems that change the terms of their relationship and impact Krish’s career path.

Not to diminish the severity of Vaani’s condition, but it’s presented in a very film-friendly way, making it more of a plot point than an in-depth look at a specific condition. It’s meant to raise the stakes during a period in the characters’ lives when their emotions are already experienced at maximum volume.

The emotional intensity in the story almost makes Saiyaara feel more like a movie about teenagers than one about people in their mid-twenties. Their fervor feels like an outwardly expressed version of what the characters in Twilight were supposedly holding back via Kristen Stewart’s and Robert Pattinson’s, um, restrained performances. But Bollywood doesn’t make movies about teenagers, so instead we have college graduates yelling, “I love you, Krish Kapoor” at the top of their lungs.

That said, the passionate performances work because Padda and Panday play their parts with complete sincerity. There’s no trace of ironic detachment, and it helps to build a world where where passion can move mountains. There’s an idea in the film that one could write a song so heartfelt that it could bring a lover back no matter how far the distance between them. It’s similar to themes in some Japanese role playing video games (JRPGs) of the power of human will to alter the very nature of the universe and time itself. I really enjoyed that aspect of Saiyaara.

The undeniable takeaway from the film is the star potential of both Padda and Panday. They seem much more experienced than their collective three IMDb acting credits (all Padda’s) would indicate. She performs with a charming combination of vulnerability and strength, and he brings depth to a character that could have been one-note. They have electric chemistry together, and the film is quite sexy as a result.

As in Mohit Suri’s 2013 film about a troubled rockstar’s romance — Aashiqui 2 — music plays a central role in Saiyaara. Again, power ballads carry the soundtrack, but I like the way they work in Saiyaara better. The yearning in the title track (sung by Faheem Abdullah) fits the notion of being able to reach a loved one across time and space. The soundtrack propels the story forward and keeps it from ever losing momentum.

Saiyaara isn’t the most unique movie — it can’t be, as it’s inspired by the 2004 Korean film A Moment to Remember. But it scratches a certain itch for stories about undying devotion and all-consuming passion. What a bonus if we get two new Bollywood stars out of it.

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Movie Review: Songs of Paradise (2025)

3.5 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Songs of Paradise on Amazon Prime

Writer-director Danish Renzu’s love-letter to Kashmiri music history is vibrant and sweet. A charming cast recreates a world on the cusp of progress. Songs of Paradise is a delight.

Though not a biographical film, Renzu’s story is heavily inspired by the life of Raj Begum, Kashmir’s first female radio singer who died in 2016. Her achievements won her not just fame but also one of the Indian government’s highest civilian honors: the Padma Shree.

In Songs of Paradise, the character inspired by Raj Begum goes by the stage name Noor Begum (Soni Razdan). A framing device finds Noor in the modern day narrating her life to graduate student Rumi (Taaruk Raina), who’s writing a thesis on the history of popular music in Kashmir (and serving as an onscreen avatar for Renzu himself).

Before she started singing professionally in 1954, Noor Begum was simply Zeba Akhtar (Saba Azad). She grew up in Srinagar with her open-minded father (played by Bashir Lone) and conservative mother, Hameeda (Sheeba Chaddha).

Zeba earns money cleaning house for a music teacher, Master Ji (Shishir Sharma). Master Ji has no idea Zeba can sing, until he overhears her performing for a group of women at a family function. Recognizing her potential, Master Ji offers to train Zeba for free. He’s so impressed with her ability that he signs her up for the local radio station’s annual singing contest — something no other woman has done before.

“Freedom and progress were in the air,” the film notes. But not everyone is ready for change — not even Zeba herself. She hides her music lessons from her traditional mother under the guise of extra work hours. While Zeba enjoys her studies, she has no ambitions for them to lead to anything else. But she competes in the contest and wins decisively.

Her victory comes with a new job, performing songs live on the radio with the in-house band. Zeba’s presence causes upheaval in the male-dominated space, but soon everyone realizes the boost her heavenly voice gives the whole station. In trying to make the situation more equitable for her, Zeba champions change that makes things fairer for everyone, such as demanding grumpy station owner Mr. Kaul (Armaan Khera) read the names of every participating musician after every broadcast.

Zeba is interesting because she’s not trying to blaze a trail. Master Ji and her father want her to succeed because they care for her, and the station’s staff lyricist Azaad (Zain Khan Durrani) wants Kashmir to catch up with Bombay’s thriving film-music industry. But there’s a toll paid by trailblazers and those around them, and Zeba seems to know this. That’s the main reason she adopts the stage name Noor Begum. Yes, she’s afraid of what will happen if her mother finds out, but she’s also protective of her parents. Srinagar isn’t a huge town, and gossip travels fast.

Through her stern performance as Hameeda, Sheeba Chaddha makes sure we understand exactly why Zeba is scared of her mom. Hameeda levels a stare at Zeba that’s so withering that the film should come with a warning to protect delicate houseplants. Yet, when Noor Begum’s real identity is discovered, all of Zeba’s mother’s fears about social consequences come true.

Thankfully, Zeba and her family are saved by her greatest champion: Azaad, the station’s in-house lyricist. The two marry, and their romance is both tender and thrilling. They embody the style of the era and make a dashing couple. With Azaad’s support, Noor Begum capitalizes on the opportunities that arise as her soulful voice spreads beyond the borders of Kashmir.

One of Renzu’s points in making Songs of Paradise is to remind us how fragile history is. In an era before digital backups, physical copies of recordings were all that existed. Lose them, and you lose the performance, the song, the film. The credits of Songs of Paradise note that many of the songs used in the movie are recreations, likely due to there being no surviving physical recordings. The music in the film is a lovely augment to a charming story of progress and promise.

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