Tag Archives: Kanwaljit Singh

Movie Review: Satluj (2026)

4 Stars (out of 4)

Perhaps no film better exemplifies the dysfunction in India’s Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) than Satluj, formerly known as Punjab 95, and before that known as Ghallughara. After years spent in release limbo and in defiance of the Board’s demands for over 100 cuts, Satluj released on the streaming service Zee5. It was pulled from the streamer in India two days later and taken down internationally days after that. Whether or not it will ever be available again or in what edited state remains to be seen.

I was able to watch Satluj before it was pulled from Zee5, and it’s a fantastic film. It’s shameful for the CBFC to withhold this from the viewing public.

Satluj tells the story of state-sponsored crimes uncovered by the human rights activist Jaswant “Jassi” Singh Khalra (Diljit Dosanjh) in Punjab in the mid 1990s. After a decade of local insurgency, police across Punjab have carte blanche to do whatever they want in the name of fighting terrorism.

The film opens with a group of people executed in a field by the police. Two are specifically shot to pad the murder tally of one of the junior officers — the gruesome metric by which promotions are earned. Some of the bodies are thrown into the river Satluj to drift toward Rajasthan, but not all of them.

Bank loan officer Jassi learns what happened to the others by accident. The mother of his friend — who himself was murdered by the cops — goes missing. After fruitless queries at police stations and hospitals, Jassi finds the woman’s name in a book at the local crematorium. The police never informed her family that she died, but they did submit her name and hometown when they handed over her body for cremation, along with the name of the officer who killed her. The government only pays the crematorium for the wood to burn a body when there is a name and address attached, hence the paper trail.

Jassi finds himself with a goldmine of evidence in the crematorium log book: a record of six hundred people who were killed by police and whose families were never informed of their deaths. In many cases, the police refused to file missing persons reports on behalf of the family. In others, the cops demanded money for information on the whereabouts of the abducted person, only to kill them later. If all of the crematoriums across all of Punjab have similar numbers, that would mean about 25,000 people were killed by the cops in the state.

This isn’t what Jassi expected to find when he went looking for his friend’s mother. As the numbers climb and the evidence mounts, he finds it impossible to look away. His wife Pammi (Geetika Vidya Ohlyan) is understandably alarmed by the danger to their family once Jassi makes his findings public and demands legal action. He acknowledges her concerns but can’t risk the justice movement dying if he steps aside.

As he’s depicted in Satluj, Jassi is the best kind of hero. He isn’t a firebrand or a politician. Dosanjh presents him as an utterly normal guy asking for answers and accountability for the harms done to his neighbors. Even in the face of danger, he makes fighting for justice look doable, no special skills required. The doing is the important part.

The scale of the crimes is horrifying, but the ease with with they are committed and condoned is particularly terrible. Director Honey Trehan includes plenty of scenes in which bureaucrats talk about mass murder as a public relations problem. The loathsome Director General of Police, Inderpal Singh Bitta (Kanwaljit Singh), tells reporters that the missing people are probably driving taxis in Canada. When officials from Rajasthan complain about their water supply being contaminated with dead bodies from Punjab, he says that people fall into canals all the time.

Though Satluj is about a particular place at a particular time, it lays out the problems with policing as an institution. When the state has a monopoly on violence, people who want to cause harm without facing consequences have an incentive to join the force. SSP Surjit Singh Sugga (Suvinder Vicky) is a great example — the rare cop so dangerous that he was actually sent to jail for violence committed while in uniform. When DGP Bitta wants to put an end to public complaints without having to change tactics, he gets Sugga out of jail and puts him in charge of Jassi’s local police station, ratcheting up instances of brutality.

The institution itself is incentivized to protect the power it has, which means protecting those who work within it. That also prevents any reform from taking place from within the institution. As Constable Satnam Singh, Saurabh Sachdeva wears an expression of utter defeat throughout the movie. He doesn’t want to participate in violence, but he lacks the authority to stop it and knows too much to be left alive were he to resign. The power of the police force can be turned inward as easily as it is projected outward.

Trehan’s direction of a screenplay he wrote with Niren Bhatt and Utsav Maitra isn’t heavy-handed or preachy. He trusts the facts of the story to stand on their own merits and the humanity of Jassi’s cause to connect with the audience emotionally. Every performance in Satluj is superb, something that doesn’t happen by accident. The film is an incredible achievement by everyone involved. It’s a fitting tribute to a true hero, and a testament that those who were lost have not been forgotten.

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Movie Review: Mrs. (2023)

3.5 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Mrs. on ZEE5

A bride’s newlywed bliss is slowly crushed under household demands and unattainable standards set by her new husband and his father in the relentless drama Mrs.. The film isn’t presented as a thriller, but it elicits some of the same oppressive feelings as movies in that genre.

Mrs. is Cargo-director Arati Kadav’s adaptation of Jeo Baby’s 2021 Malayalam movie The Great Indian Kitchen (which I haven’t seen). The Hindi version stars Sanya Malhotra as Richa Sharma, the leader of a dance troupe. Through an arranged marriage, she weds Diwakar Kumar (Nishant Dahiya). He’s a handsome doctor who is kind and attentive in the run-up to their wedding.

Upon moving into Diwakar’s family home with her in-laws, Richa notices that her mother-in-law Meena (Aparna Ghoshal) spends her day in near-constant labor, waking before everyone and going to sleep last. Father-in-law Ashwin (Kanwaljit Singh) is particular about his meals, so Meena has to do a lot of work by hand that could be done by a machine more quickly.

Diwakar’s sister lives far away and is expecting her first baby. Richa offers to take over the household chores so that Meena can go help with her new grandchild. Meena happily takes Richa up on the offer, but she knows that her daughter-in-law is in for a hard time.

A learning curve is to be expected, but Richa’s lack of familiarity with the house is not the problem. Even when she does as she’s asked, her father-in-law finds flaws. When she executes a recipe perfectly, he invents problems. She just can’t seem to do anything to his satisfaction.

That’s exactly the point. Giving Richa approval would give her leverage, and that’s the last thing the Kumar men would ever do.

The relationships between men and women in Mrs. are defined by power imbalances. The methods used for maintaining that balance are less obviously villainous than, say, locking Richa in a closet, but are just as abusive nonetheless. It’s the cumulative weight of indignities, insults, and lack of agency — designed to make Richa too exhausted to resist — that reveal them as the control tactics they are.

That’s even before mentioning the fact that Diwakar subjects Richa to daily, painful sexual intercourse. He’s never noticed that he’s hurting her or cared that she’s not having a good time. It’s more important for him to get her pregnant, giving her yet more to do and making it that much harder for her to leave.

Kadav is careful not to be too heavy-handed with the tone of her film. She lets the audience draw their own conclusions from the actions of the characters, without relying on things like melodramatic music. It’s clear what’s happening.

Kadav also knows how to use her greatest asset: Sanya Malhotra. An opening dance number show’s Malhotra for the star she is, and she’s just as skilled through the rest of the film. She portrays Richa as a woman who is sincerely doing her best while she being pulled farther and farther away from the woman she was before marriage. She’s not a quitter, so it takes her a long time to accept that her best will never be enough.

Dahiya and Singh deserve a lot of credit as well for playing their characters with restraint. The point of the film would be lost if Diwakar and his dad were cartoon villains. Everyone knows them to be upstanding citizens and devoted family men, and that’s how they see themselves. They act in a manner that will get them what they want while still maintaining that image.

I really enjoyed Kadav’s film Cargo, which is delightful to watch. Mrs. is anything but delightful, but it’s an impressive achievement all the same.

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Movie Review: Shimla Mirchi (2020)

2 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Shimla Mirchi on Netflix

Sholay director Ramesh Sippy’s Shimla Mirchi spent five years on the shelf before it found a buyer, but the content feels even more dated than that.

The romantic comedy stars Rajkummar Rao as Avi, a grumpy single guy who’s been dragged along on his family’s annual vacation to Shimla. His mood changes when Naina (Rakul Preet Singh) sprints by him, fresh from a photo shoot at her friend’s bridal boutique. One look at Naina’s heaving bosom and toned abs, and Avi is in love.

It is important to note that, in Shimla Mirchi, “love” happens the instant a man sees a beautiful woman. It is also important to note that a woman’s most lovable attribute is her torso, hence why Naina wears crop tops almost exclusively throughout the film. Avi is frequently shown ogling her bare waist, because he’s in love.

Avi’s problem is that he gets tongue-tied whenever he tries to tell a woman that he loves her. (Could the problem be that his instinct is to introduce himself to women he’s never met with “I love you” before “Hi, I’m Avi”?) He takes job at Naina’s cafe in the hopes of getting to know her better. When he still can’t muster the courage to speak up, he writes her an anonymous love letter.

Naina’s not interested in her own beau, but she sees the letter as an opportunity to cheer up her mom, Rukmini (Hema Malini), who’s lonely after her husband Tilak (Kanwaljit Singh) left her for a younger woman. Naina readdresses the love letter to her mom and has Avi deliver it — leading Rukmini to believe that Avi is her secret admirer.

The high-concept story by writers Kausar Munir, Vipul Binjola, and Rishi Virmani yields a number of cute moments, as when Rukmini stops her dance practice to sneak after Avi, bells around her ankles jingling whenever she moves. When Naina realizes that Avi is way overqualified to work as her handyman, she jumps to the wild and funny conclusion that he’s involved in a nefarious international plot that inexplicably begins with the takeover of a small cafe in Shimla.

There’s a nice relationship between Naina, Rukmini, and Tilak’s mother (Kamlesh Gill), who lives with them. Naina has cut off contact with her father, and even his own mother thinks he’s a jerk. They want Rukmini to rediscover her sense of self-worth, and the film doesn’t even hint at trying to reunite the family.

Yet even the best elements of the film are good, but not great. The acting is fine, if uninspired. The story is cute but forgettable. Shakti Kapoor plays the quirkily-named Captain Uncle, who exists to move the plot along when the writers couldn’t think of a better way to do so.

Then there are the elements that make Shimla Mirchi seem like it came out of a time capsule. The mistaking of lust for love and the objectification of Naina’s body are the worst examples. Captain Uncle makes some racist jokes about East Asian languages. Avi has a friend, Jude (Tarun Wadhwa), who rotates through a series of indistinguishable white girlfriends who don’t speak but are always wrapping themselves around him. He ditches the last one when he spots a pretty Indian girl in Desi attire and immediately falls in love with her (naturally).

Shimla Mirchi feels like the product of a filmmaker who started his career back when times were different. When objectifying women was the norm. When you could crack racist jokes because there was no internet and few people outside your intended audience would watch your movies. There’s nothing outrageously offensive in Shimla Mirchi. It just doesn’t feel current.

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