Tag Archives: 3 Stars

Movie Review: Tu Yaa Main (2026)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Tu Yaa Main on Netflix

Tu Yaa Main (“You or Me“) is more than just a creepy creature feature. It has quite a lot of to say about wealth inequality, class differences, and the commodification of the individual in the age of social media.

Yet director Bejoy Nambiar employs two truly disappointing uses of the flash-forward in this film. The technique is trendy, and maybe it’s even something he borrowed from the 2018 Thai film The Pool on which Tu Yaa Main is based. Either way, there’s no reason to use the technique the way he does.

The film opens with a woman and two men flirting in a lake somewhere in southern India. One of them is eaten by an unseen animal, letting the audience know what threat the main characters will eventually face. It’s a classic monster movie setup.

Inexplicably, the next scene is a flash-forward of the two main characters Maruti (Adarsh Gourav) and Avani (Shanaya Kapoor) — who haven’t been officially introduced but whom the audience will recognize from the movie poster and trailer — arguing while trapped in a very deep, empty swimming pool. They aren’t in any immediate danger, and nothing exciting happens. The title graphic floats into frame as Avani yells for help.

What is the point of this scene? It’s like Nambiar forgot that he already had an opening sequence — one that was more interesting than two people bickering. Was he worried that people would be confused when they didn’t immediately see Gourav and Kapoor? Then he could’ve started with a pool scene and cut the animal attack sequence. It makes no sense.

The main story gets a proper chronological start after that. Avani is a popular lifestyle influencer known as “Miss Vanity,” and Maruti is an up-and-coming rapper called “Aala Flowpara.” He gets in trouble with her security guards while filming a music video in front of her mansion, and she’s amused when he flirts with her in the middle of the scuffle.

They meet again at a concert, and he follows her (and her manager and other staff members) home from the event. She hops out of her SUV and spends the night riding around with him on his motorcycle.

Privately, the pair start dating despite the huge class divide that separates them, bonding over their complicated relationships with their parents (Maruti’s dad absconded, and Avani’s are dead). Being associated with Avani is good for Maruti’s career, but he genuinely likes her. Being with Maruti affords Avani a degree of freedom she doesn’t have as “Miss Vanity,” who is as much a business as it is a persona. Her manager’s shriek when Avani discloses that she ate carbs while out joyriding with Maruti is very funny.

Both characters have people who depend on them financially, but their relationships with their dependents are quite different. Maruti’s trying to provide stability and material comfort for his mother, sister, and her infant, all of whom share an apartment with him that’s smaller than Avani’s swimming pool. Avani’s dependents are her employees. The couple’s romantic relationship comes with huge questions about its effect on both of their future earning potentials, a fact they are happy to ignore — until they can’t.

Gourav and Kapoor are both wonderful at humanizing their characters and making them more than superficial stereotypes. They communicate so much with glances that it holds your attention. A killer soundtrack of tunes largely co-written and performed by Gourav enhances the experience. The track “Jee Liya” — which Gourav sings with Lothika — is terrific.

Around 45 minutes into the movie — well after the audience has become invested in the main couple and right after an emotional sequence in which Avani tells Maruti about her parents’ tragic deaths — the movie again flashes forward to the couple stuck in the empty pool. Maruti finds a way out through a drain, but they don’t escape. No monster, no excitement.

Why?

Did Nambiar think we’d forgotten how the movie opened? Did he think we missed the foreshadowing when Avani mentioned the possibility of dying in her own large swimming pool or the significance of the scene of her parents’ drowning? Is the flash-forward supposed to benefit people who walked into the theater 20 minutes late or were scrolling on their phone?

If it’s because of the second question, well, tough luck to those viewers. Show up on time and pay attention. If it’s because of the first question, it’s an insult. How movie-illiterate does Nambiar think we are?

The empty pool finally comes into play in the second half of the film. The couple fight about their future and are sent away by Avani’s people to figure things out. Maruti’s motorcycle breaks down en route to Goa, and they get stuck at a rundown hotel that’s closing for the season. The hotel has a 20-foot-deep swimming pool with no shallow end that’s used for scuba training. They accidentally wind up stuck in the drained pool, but they aren’t alone.

Tu Yaa Main‘s pivot from relationship drama to survival thriller is well-handled and quite fun. The creature effects are very good, and the story finds inventive ways to keep our heroes imperiled. It’s especially proficient at emphasizing the physical toll on the characters. When they fall while trying to climb out of the pool, you feel it when they land on the hard tiles.

The film is otherwise so well done that it makes the two in medias res scenes extra jarring. I don’t know if they come from Nambiar’s (or his producers’) lack of confidence in himself or his audience, but the scenes are confounding distractions.

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Movie Review: Nukkad Naatak (2026)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Nukkad Naatak on Netflix

It’s rare to find a contemporary Hindi social issue movie that trusts its narrative to make its point without addressing the audience directly. Gimmicks like having the main character give a speech about the issue or closing the film with slates of statistics are so overdone that audiences just tune out.

Nukkad Naatak (“Street Theater“) is an example of the good kind of meaningful storytelling. It uses the framework of a coming-of-age story about two college students to convey a sophisticated explanation of the interconnected factors that entrench poverty, sans speeches and statistics.

Best friends Molshri (Molshri) and Shivang (Shivang Rajpal) are in their final semester at college. They became friends through a street theater group Molshri runs on campus, enacting plays about societal problems she and the other members feel passionate about. Performing gives timid Shivang an emotional outlet as he struggles privately to accept that he is gay.

When the pair see the owner of the campus canteen harass his poor employee Mukund (Lalit Saw), Molshri ropes Shivang into a revenge plan. They sneak into the canteen at night and steal drinks and snacks, which Molshri gives to Mukund as compensation. The duo are caught and expelled from school.

A chance encounter with the college’s director (played by Danish Husain) gives Molshri and Shivang a possible path to reinstatement. The director recognizes that the pair are driven by a desire for justice, but that they lack worldly knowledge. He takes them to the slum where Mukund lives, and he points out the dozens of children there in the middle of the day. If Molshri and Shivang can enroll just five kids from the slum in the local school, the director will reinstate them.

The challenge is almost too easy for Molshri and Shivang to believe — until they try to accomplish it. They run into roadblock after roadblock as they begin to understand the complicating factors that keep children out of school and, in turn, perpetuate generational poverty.

As Molshri and Shivang run up against obstacles, they grow as people while they — and the audience, by extension — learn about systemic poverty. It’s basic storytelling, but it feels novel compared to the standard Hindi-cinema approach to informative entertainment. Perhaps it matters that the film’s writer-director Tanmaya Shekhar is based in New York.

Shekhar keeps the main duo’s character growth at the center of Nukkad Naatak‘s story. Molshri has always been sure of her path in life, but the college director’s challenge throws everything up in the air. The opportunity to help Mukund’s younger sister Chhoti (Nirmala Hajra) learn to read becomes an obsession, but one Molshri’s unprepared to meet. It feels like starting from scratch, unless she can figure out how to integrate who she has been with who she wants to be.

Shivang’s growth arc is the opposite. He’s never seen a way to live his truth in India, so he’s only focused on getting into a North American graduate school, assuming he’ll figure out how to be comfortable in his own skin once he gets there. Expulsion forces him to confront how he’d have to live as a gay man if he had to stay in India — a fate he’s unwilling to accept until he realizes he doesn’t have to figure everything out on his own.

As actors, Molshri and Shivang are really skilled, considering their limited professional experience. Same for young Nirmala Hajra. Even the supporting cast of students and people who live in the slums make the world of Nukkad Naatak feel believable. Director Shekhar strikes the right balance, trusting that if he can hold the audience’s attention with an entertaining story, they’ll absorb his message as a matter of course.

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Movie Review: Hamlet (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Hamlet opens in US theaters April 10

Director Aneil Karia’s new version of Hamlet re-imagines Shakespeare’s tragedy as a modern-day business succession drama. Riz Ahmed’s bold turn as Hamlet enlivens the drama for a contemporary audience, even as it retains the play’s original dialogue.

Karia’s interpretation of a screenplay by Michael Lesslie sets the story in present-day London. Hamlet (Ahmed) returns home from abroad for his father’s funeral. His father was the owner of a firm called Elsinor, a wealthy construction company that builds high-rises. The night of the funeral, Hamlet’s paternal uncle Claudius (Art Malik) announces that he’s going to marry Gertrude (Sheeba Chaddha): his brother’s widow and Hamlet’s mother.

The wedding news comes as a shock to Hamlet, and he’s even more troubled by the fact that no one seems bothered by it but him. We don’t know where Hamlet was before his father died or how much he knew about his condition, but multiple people point out that his dad had been ill for several months. His father’s mattress still bears his silhouette in the form of a deep indentation created over his long convalescence. Everyone else has had time to mourn him and make plans for what comes next. Hamlet is the only one who experiences all this as breaking news.

In this fragile state, drugs and booze are the last things Hamlet needs, but his friend Laertes (Joe Alwyn) takes him out clubbing. Buzzing and overstimulated, Hamlet stumbles into an alley and sees the ghost of his father (played by Avijit Dutt). The ghost leads Hamlet to the top of one of Elsinor’s buildings under construction where he reveals that he was murdered by Claudius via poison dropped into his ear.

Hamlet believes the ghost and intends to prove his uncle’s guilt. The only person he confides in is Ophelia (Morfydd Clark), his former flame and Laertes’ sister. She’s concerned about Hamlet’s increasing agitation but agrees to keep his supernatural encounter a secret.

Thus Hamlet sets about trying to confirm his uncle’s guilt via a convoluted plan that involves a very direct piece of performance art at the wedding. It isn’t until the night of the wedding that Hamlet finally gets to speak privately with his mother, even though she’s been shooting him pointed looks that communicate variations on “I need to talk to you” and “We’ll talk about this later.” Chaddha is an elite talent when it comes to sending messages with her eyes.

The conversation goes poorly and comes too late to prevent the tragedy that follows, particularly when family advisor Polonius (Timothy Spall) — father of Ophelia and Laertes — interrupts mid-argument. The violent climax to the story is visceral and shocking.

Lesslie’s screenplay cuts out some major parts of the play, including Hamlet’s “Poor Yorick” speech and the characters Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Anyone who didn’t know about them before won’t miss them, as their absence makes for a quicker narrative pace and keeps the film’s runtime under two hours.

The famous “To be or not to be” monologue is shot in a really inventive way, with Hamlet delivering it while driving. The screenplay ads a nice contemporary hook by blaming Elsinor Corporation for displacing homeless people, a variation on the “something rotten in the state of Denmark” line from the play. Hamlet only realizes this after he returns home, a further indictment that he’s been neglecting his duties as heir to the family business.

Ahmed vibrates with intensity the entire film, effectively conveying Hamlet’s sense of disconnection and his declining mental state. The casting all around is solid, with Chaddha being an inspired choice for Gertrude. Even Malik is quietly good as Claudius, who’s trying to give off “just a regular guy” vibes after killing his brother and marrying his wife.

My biggest complaint about Hamlet could be due to the fact that I watched it on a digital screener and not in a theater or on Blu-ray, but it’s worth mentioning in case it’s simply how the audio is designed. It’s very hard to hear the dialogue at times. There’s a constant murmur of background noise — whether its music or chatter — that’s meant to indicate that locations are busy and populated. In order to have a private conversation under these conditions, Hamlet whispers a lot, which is hard to hear over the background noise. Not to mention, these lines were originally written to be delivered from a stage by an actor without a microphone (because they hadn’t been invented yet). They weren’t meant to be whispered. I wish I didn’t have to spend as much time adjusting the volume as I did.

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Movie Review: Subedaar (2026)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Subedaar on Amazon Prime

Filmmaker Suresh Triveni’s latest movie Subedaar is so tense it’s almost unbearable at times. In terms of achieving the intended tone, it’s an undeniable success. However, that single tone makes it hard to maintain the story momentum.

The first few moments of Subedaar are light-hearted misdirection. Elementary school boys Bablu and Mannu ponder how people in airplanes go to the bathroom and come up with a funny answer. But as the cheerful boys start to run between the heavy machinery dredging sand from the local river, the music becomes ominous. The boys jump in the water. Mannu doesn’t resurface.

He’s not the first kid to drown in the river as a result of industrial mismanagement. The dredgers are controlled by gangster Babli Didi (Mona Singh). She’s currently imprisoned awaiting trial for murder, but her shadow hangs over the town. Mannu’s uncle demands justice, so Babli Didi’s reckless half-brother, Prince (Aditya Rawal), kills him.

Arjun Maurya (Anil Kapoor) is new to this city governed by fear. He recently retired from the military, where he achieved the rank of Subedaar (a junior commissioned officer). His beloved wife just died, and he’s trying to form a relationship with his college-aged daughter Shyama (Radhika Madan). He hardly knows her because his career kept him away from home for most of her life.

The transition from highly organized military life to civilian chaos is unnerving for Arjun. He looks like he’s barely holding it together even while trying to do something ordinary, like closing his wife’s bank account. The frazzled bank clerk is so self-focused that he doesn’t register Arjun’s taut expression and the danger that lurks behind it.

The bank offers an early lesson in how the town operates. No one within the structures of power will help. They only protect themselves, particularly when Babli Didi and Prince are concerned. The mantra of the police chief is: “See very little, and forget everything.”

Prince is dangerous because he insists on controlling every interaction, enjoys humiliating people, and resorts to violence fast — and he never faces negative consequences for his brutal behavior. When Arjun refuses to be belittled by Prince and his cronies, it makes the former soldier a target. Arjun’s best friend Prabhakar (Saurabh Shukla) urges him to apologize and move on, but Arjun’s pride won’t allow him to do so.

At the same time, Shyama exposes one of her fellow students for his lewd behavior and is threatened with retaliation. She doesn’t tell her father about this, and he doesn’t tell her about Prince. When goons lurk outside the house at night or throw things at their home in the morning, father and daughter both assume they are the intended target. They’re both right, just at different times of day.

Though not always the main focus of the story, the relationship between Arjun and Shyama is the film’s most compelling. She has every reason to be angry with him, and he feels plenty of guilt mixed with his grief over his wife’s death (Khushbu Sundar plays Arjun’s wife Sudha in some sweet flashbacks). He’s doing the best he can to act like a parent to Shyama, but there’s no quick fix.

Troubled relationships between parents and children featured in Triveni’s two previous directorials as well: 2017’s Tumhari Sulu and 2022’s Jalsa. What makes the storylines work in each film is tremendous acting. Subedaar might be Triveni’s best yet, in that regard.

Kapoor is in top form as Arjun, trying to hold back the sea of emotions inside him. Madan shows us that Shyama’s hostility comes from a place of great pain. Both Kapoor and Madan are very good in their action scenes. Shukla’s Prabhakar says volumes with a single look, and Singh steals every scene she’s in.

Rawal is utterly loathsome as Prince, which is just what the role calls for. He’s particularly good at invading people’s personal space, because in his mind, it’s all his space. His presence is oppressive because we know there are no good guys coming to the rescue.

That said, a little goes a long way with Prince, especially since he doesn’t change or evolve. The only subplot to offset Prince’s lopsided feud with Arjun is Shyama’s own struggle against stronger opponents, so the experience of watching Subedaar becomes emotionally fatiguing over time. It’s a classic case where chopping twenty minutes from the runtime would actually make things more impactful.

Triveni is improving as a director with each movie. Subedaar is another step in the right direction, with clearer character motivations than in previous films. I’m happy to see it.

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Movie Review: Raat Akeli Hai – The Bansal Murders (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders on Netflix

Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s Inspector Jatil Yadav returns in the Netflix Original sequel Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders. His new case is bigger and more convoluted, but the sequel retains a lot of the qualities that made the first film special.

Though this new story is built around a crime totally separate from the one in 2020’s Raat Akeli Hai, some characters from the original carry over. While nothing about that constitutes a spoiler, character development and relationship building is an important part of the first film. For the best possible experience, watch Raat Akeli Hai before this new movie (just watch it anyway because it’s a great film).

The Bansal Murders opens with a disturbing sequence. Meera Bansal’s (Chitrangda Singh) prayers are interrupted by the incessant noise of crows. One of her uncles — I think it’s an uncle, though the Bansal family tree is large and a bit confusing — feeds them outside of the palatial family mansion daily, but their cries sound frantic today. Meera walks out to find dozens of crows dead and bleeding on the ground next to a severed pig’s head.

Inspector Yadav is called to the scene, as it seems someone is trying to send the Bansal family a message. Yadav’s new superior officer DGP Sameer Verma (Rajat Kapoor) wants this handled discreetly but quickly, a request made more challenging since the family spends so much time in prayer with their spiritual leader, Guru Ma (Deepti Naval). When Yadav finally gets to question the Bansals, he discovers weak points in their security system. Guru Ma dismisses the flaws — she says they can’t stop the bad things coming for the family.

The next day, Guru Ma’s prediction comes true. The three brothers who head the family, their wives, and a few of their adult children are all murdered with a machete. Only Meera and two of the grandchildren survive. One of the security guards slept through the attack while another was seriously wounded and placed in a coma.

There is an obvious culprit. Meera’s cousin Aarav (Delzad Hiwale) was an addict, and she saw him attack the wounded security guard Om Prakash (Rahaao). Moments later, she hears Aarav fall out of a window into the pool, an apparent suicide. This answer satisfies DGP Verma, who wants to reassure the public that a killer isn’t on the loose.

However, the head of the forensics team Dr. Panicker (Revathi) wants to be thorough, and she’s the only one with enough seniority to stall Verma. That gives Yadav time to explore a few nagging suspicions. Of course Yadav is right — the case isn’t as simple as it seems.

Even with most of the family dead, there are a ton of possible suspects. One of the things writer Smita Singh — who wrote the first film for director Honey Trehan, who also returns — is great at is keeping track of all the potential plot threads. Working backwards, the solution to the mystery makes complete sense. Trehan includes just enough shots along the way to hint at the truth.

The beats of this story are very similar to the first film, and they include some lighter moments between Yadav and his mother, Sarita (Ila Arun). She’s still desperate for him to get married, even more so now that she knows he has a girlfriend, Radha (Radhika Apte). Given the otherwise serious tone of the movie, Trehan gets these scenes right. They’re amusing, but not laugh-out-loud hilarious. Going that route would’ve broken the spell.

Siddiqui is again terrific playing a character who isn’t yet the best version of himself, but he’s working on it. Apte and Arun play off him perfectly. It’s also nice to see Shreedhar Dubey back as Yadav’s junior officer and friend, Nandu. The rest of the actors are good as well, behaving suspiciously without being cartoonish.

The exception is Naval as Guru Ma, but I think that’s the fault of the director more than the actor. They lean so heavily into Guru Ma being suspicious that it becomes silly. She speaks slowly, and only in riddles. Every sentence is accompanied by a blaring horn theme.

That’s one of the ways in which the shadow of Netflix hangs over Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders in a way it didn’t over the first film. There’s even a scene where Nandu tells Yadav to stop investigating, scolding him: “We could have had a press conference by now, media would be praising us, and Netflix would be making a movie.”

Despite that, Trehan and Singh are able to make insightful critiques into the way corporations, media, and the police all work to stoke public anger and fear, then use that public sentiment as a pretext to do what they want. They also created a core group of characters and a winning story formula that could easily be brought back again and again. Here’s hoping they do.

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Movie Review: Bhagwat Chapter One – Raakshas (2025)

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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: Saiyaara (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Saiyaara on Netflix

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: Inspector Zende (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Inspector Zende on Netflix

1970s serial killer Charles Sobhraj is a popular entertainment subject for a reason. He used his charisma to recruit followers to help him steal money and murder tourists across Southeast Asia to fund his lavish lifestyle. He earned the colorful nickname “The Bikini Killer” due the attire several of his victims were wearing when they were discovered deceased.

Inspector Zende turns the lens away from the flashy criminal and onto the police officer who caught him — not once, but twice. Perfectly-cast lead actors make the most of an amusing comedy that loses steam as it goes along.

Inspector Madhukar Zende is played by Manoj Bajpayee. The character is based on a real person — who makes a cameo at the end of the film — and uses his real name. To make it clear that this is a fictional story and not strictly biographical, debutant Hindi writer-director Chinmay Mandlekar changes the villain’s name from Charles Sobhraj to “The Swimsuit Killer” Carl Bojhraj (played by Jim Sarbh).

Zende first apprehended Bojhraj in India back in 1971, when the criminal specialized in fraud and property crimes. After escaping from various international prisons over the years, Bohjraj breaks out of Tihar Jail in Delhi in 1986 after drugging the dessert he served to prisoners and guards to celebrate his birthday (it wasn’t even his actual birthday).

Immediately, Zende knows that he has to be the one to capture Bojhraj. He knows how Bojhraj thinks and where he’s likely to be. But a lot has changed in the 15 years since he first caught the villain. Zende is older, and he has responsibilities he didn’t back then, namely a wife Viju (Girija Oak) and a couple of kids. Viju — whom he affectionately calls “The Commissioner at Home” — wonders why someone else can’t catch the escaped killer.

The sweet, flirty relationship between Zende and Viju is a real highlight of the film. According to an interview Bajpayee did with the real Madhukar Zende for Netflix India’s YouTube channel, this part of the story is absolutely true. Zende’s family is more important than his sense of professional pride.

But Zende holds himself to high moral standards that are worth quoting directly: “One who does not commit injustices on others is a noble man. One who does not let others do injustice to himself is a good man. One who stops injustice from happening to others is a true man.” (Credit to Natasha Acharya for the great English subtitles.) Zende can’t be a “true man” if he leaves this task to others, potentially allowing innocent people to get hurt in the process.

Acknowledging this older, less agile Zende enables the film to take on a more lighthearted, humorous tone. What Zende lacks in speed he makes up for in guile. Not that his hand-picked crew of fellow cops are in prime shape either, be it his humorless second-in-command Jacob (Harish Dudhade) or his bumbling assistant Patil (Bhalchandra Kadam). The inspectors need more smarts than strength as they follow Bojhraj’s tracks across Mumbai and eventually to the international tourist hotspot Goa.

For movie fans like me who are happy to watch Bajpayee and Sarbh in just about anything, Inspector Zende delivers. Bajpayee finds the right mix of earnestness and playfulness for a movie that is supposed to be fun, despite its grim inspiration.

Sarbh’s performance adds to that sense of humor while still making Bhojraj dangerous. The killer’s foreign origins and taste for luxury means that Sarbh plays the role with a French accent and wearing a wig that evokes Prince on the cover of his self-titled 1979 album. It’s an amusing persona, but appropriate for the character.

The trap Mandlekar falls into with his first feature directorial is making a comedy that overstays its welcome. Some of the film’s best physical comedy is saved for a climax that arrives ten to fifteen minutes after the movie should have ended, and the bit doesn’t land as well as it should as a result.

Still, there’s more than enough going for Inspector Zende to warrant a watch. And writing an Indian police officer character who sees himself as a protector of the innocent rather than a one-man judge, jury, and executioner is a refreshing change of pace. We need more of this.

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Movie Review: Aap Jaisa Koi (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Aap Jaisa Koi on Netflix

R. Madhavan and Fatima Sana Shaikh play two lonely singles on the bumpy road of love in the romantic comedy-drama Aap Jaisa Koi (“Someone Like You“). Despite a few hiccups, director Vivek Soni’s film is exactly the kind of movie Netflix India needs more of.

Madhavan stars as Shrirenu Tripathi, a high school Sanskrit teacher in Jamshedpur. A misguided attempt at courtship in his teenage years resulted in the target of Shri’s affections cursing him to be forever single — a curse that appears to have worked. Shri’s a 42-year-old virgin who’s been turned down by every woman who’s ever seen his matchmaking bio-data sheet.

When even Shri’s students — lead by class clown Rakesh (Sachin Kavetham) — start teasing him about his nonexistent love life, he takes action. Shri’s roommate and best friend Deepu (Namit Das) gets Shri on a sex chatting app, figuring Shri might be more confident over the phone than face-to-face. Shri talks to an unnamed woman who is charmed by his lack of guile. When she asks, “What’s your love language?” he replies, “Sanskrit.”

Days later, Shri’s brother’s neighbor Joy brings a marriage proposal for Shri. Joy’s 32-year-old niece Madhu Bose (Shaikh) is interested in him. She teaches French in Kolkata, she’s never been married, and she’s beautiful. She sounds too good to be true, but a covert investigation by Deepu and Rakesh turns up nothing scandalous. Shri and Madhu love spending time with each other and are quickly engaged.

To this point, Aap Jaisa Koi is a cute movie peppered with delightful song picturizations. It’s easy to enjoy and feels like a throwback to movies from decades ago. We know there has to be a problem to fix in the second half, but things are going so well, it’s not clear what the problem could be.

A conflict between Shri and Madhu reveals a problematic ideology simmering under the surface of the story. In his life, Shri is surrounded by men. His roommate is a guy, he teaches at an all-boys school, and his brother Bhanu (Manish Chaudhari) rules his household. Even though Shri adores his sister-in-law Kusum (Ayesha Raza Mishra) and his adult niece, he watches in silence as Bhanu routinely denigrates both women and forbids them from pursuing their passions.

Shri’s environment is nothing like Madhu’s house, where she lives with her doting grandmother, loving parents, and supportive aunts and uncles. It’s a shame that the film doesn’t afford Kusum any female friends, but she’s surrounded by plenty of open-minded well-wishers.

The main characters’ contrasting social spheres highlight the dangers of rigid gender separation. Shri has so little experience dealing with women he’s not related to that he doesn’t realize how he’s negatively influenced by the men around him. When he voices his concerns, it’s to the same men who believe women should be virgins before marriage and shouldn’t work outside the home.

Though Soni’s film — based on a screenplay by Radhika Anand and Jehan Handa — is message-driven, I’m not gonna complain when the message is: “Don’t be an incel.” To the story’s credit, the conflict resolves in an unexpected, yet believable way. Shri digs himself a deep hole, but the way he gets out is ultimately satisfying.

The story is helped by quality performances by the whole cast, especially the leads. Madhavan is always watchable, and he makes Shri a guy who’s unduly insecure. Shaikh is particularly good, conveying so much emotion with the slightest change of expression.

Aap Jaisa Koi draws on a long history of “woman teaches man not to be a dumbass” films, but it distinguishes itself through a refined blend of classic stylistic choices and modern relationship drama.

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Movie Review: The Diplomat (2025)

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3 Stars (out of 4)

Watch The Diplomat on Netflix

The Diplomat offers a compelling cinematic perspective on India’s relationship with Pakistan, offering an alternative to the usual military conflicts and spy dramas. Though less action-packed than those two sub-genres typically are, the bureaucratic processes in The Diplomat generate just as much tension.

The film — based on a true story — opens in a remote, mountainous region of Pakistan in 2017. Two rustic-looking men and one burka-clad woman drive from a compound to the Indian embassy in Islamabad. As they wait for the office to open, the men tell the woman, “You know what to do.” When the men go out for a smoke, the woman sprints to a receptionist. She begs for help, claiming to be an Indian woman tricked into marriage and held against her will.

Letting her in isn’t an easy a decision. Is she telling the truth? Is she a terrorist? The Indian embassy staff is split on what to do, so they leave the call to Deputy High Commissioner J.P. Singh (John Abraham). The woman’s name is Uzma (Sadia Khateeb), and she holds to her story of abuse and deception even under J.P.’s fierce interrogation. When her passport details check out, she’s given sanctuary inside the embassy.

Anywhere else in the world, the story ends with Uzma on a plane back to India. However, The Diplomat lays out all the conflicting agendas surrounding what J.P. considers to be a humanitarian case, not a political one. Indian External Affairs minister Sushma Swaraj (Revathy) wants J.P. to handle things discreetly. Pakistan’s diplomatic wing seems content with that as well, but their spy branch — led by Director General Malik Sahab (Ashwath Bhatt) — sees the opportunity to stoke public hostility toward India.

With Sahab’s encouragement, Uzma’s husband Tahir (Jagjeet Sandhu) — one of the men from the beginning of the film — files a case that she’s being illegally detained inside the embassy. That leaves the Indian consulate with no choice but to resolve the matter in Pakistani court, where Uzma will have to face her abuser.

Director Shivam Nair and writer Ritesh Shah do a good job handling this aspect of the story. Flashbacks to Uzma’s imprisonment by Tahir don’t explicitly show her rape. Rather, Nair has cinematographer Dimo Popov push in for an extreme closeup on Uzma’s eye during the abuse. Witnessing her fear from such an intimate distance is disturbing.

Both minister Sushma and embassy employee Seerat (Vidhatri Bandi) explain to J.P. that he may not be the best equipped to understand the fear Uzma feels following her sexual assault. Rather than treat J.P. as a superhero who can fix every problem single-handedly, the story has him defer to the women’s judgment about how to help Uzma proceed.

It’s easy to forget that J.P. is supposed to be an ordinary man, given that he’s played by John Abraham (who also produced the film). With Abraham’s hulking frame and action-heavy filmography, one almost expects J.P. to solve more of his problems with violence. That said, Abraham does a nice job breaking type and playing a character so, well, diplomatic.

Khateeb also does fine work in a challenging role, as does the rest of the cast. Though the film shows the dangers the embassy employees face in keeping Uzma safe, it would’ve been nice to hear more from the peripheral characters about their feelings. For example, Seerat seems nonchalant about acting as Uzma’s body double despite the death threats from Tahir’s people. Maybe an embassy worker’s job description involves less paperwork and more general badassery than I realized.

The Diplomat is noteworthy for how it depicts the Pakistani government’s relationship with terrorism as complicated, as opposed to a film like 2024’s Fighter, which characterized the government as being subservient to terrorists. While Sahab’s spy branch sees terror outfits like Tahir’s as useful tools — albeit unpredictable ones — there are like-minded people J.P. can work with in Pakistan’s diplomatic wing. He has a local lawyer (played by Kumud Mishra) he can rely on, and the court system is portrayed as legitimate. There are a few off-handed remarks about Pakistan being chaotic, but the film resists blanket condemnation. In doing so, it emphasizes the importance of India’s diplomatic efforts and the respect deserved by the people tasked with carrying them out.

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