Anuj Kumar

For a change, Pakistan is not the pivot of a Bollywood script that has a terror attack at its centre. Based on real events, Tehran draws from the alleged concerted Iranian attack on Israeli embassies in India, Georgia, and Thailand in 2012. Waiting in the wings for a while, Tehran assumes importance at a time when West Asia is on the boil again because of strained relations between Iran and Israel. The film shows how the two countries attack each other’s interests, but in this case, India, which has friendly ties with both Iran and Israel, gets caught in the crossfire between the two countries fighting a war of civilisations.

In childhood, we were attracted to comic digests by their girth. One used to believe that the more the stories, the more the fun. The pages were glossy, and the packaging used to be fetching. However, the excitement often dissipated into disappointment when one discovered that it was a marketing gimmick, where the publishers added only a couple of new adventures of our favourite characters, the rest were just a repetition. Ayan Mukerji’s sequel to War gives the same feeling of a recycled product that shines. It starts with a bang but soon becomes a rudderless star vehicle. In the race to populate the spy universe, screenwriters have compromised on substance, indulging in hero worship and flag-waving to pass the box office test. Yes, the trailer looks attractive, the stars shine bright, and the post-credit scenes are appetizing. However, when it comes to telling a story, the makers prove more successful in highlighting Kiara Advani’s curves than in conveying the contours of the storyline. It features a variety of stunts with a script that appears to be powered by artificial intelligence.

In the march of civilisation, some dear words are in danger of falling by the wayside. One of them is Ghich Pich. It can be loosely translated as cramped space, but it is a state of mind that a single word can’t explain. Much like the nostalgia of the 1990s, young filmmakers continue to revisit it to tell coming-of-age stories. It is a template where the focus is on providing an experience, and in the hands of director Ankur Singla, the emotional and physical architecture feels tangible and honest as he captures a slice of life from three Chandigarh boys grappling with hormonal rush and daddy issues.

It is heartening that, in the pan-Indian wave, once in a while, a socially conscious story from the south also lands on Bollywood’s shores. In Dhadak 2, a remake of the Tamil film Pariyerum Perumal, where caste becomes the villain in a young romance, debutant director Shazia Iqbal struggles to strike a balance between retaining the voice of the original and applying a Dharma polish to a social reality that has been mainly out of the syllabus for Bollywood biggies. The result is a mixed bag. While it is brave for Bollywood standards, the storytelling fails to provide a lived-in experience and becomes a kind of explainer on how Dalit lives matter for the Kuch Kuch Hota Hai audience.

After watching Dhadak, one finds a serious layer in this infantile sequel to Ajay Devgn’s tribute to his Punjabi roots as well. The writing plays on the Bollywood Sardar stereotype, one who is innocent, stands his ground, and doesn’t show his back in a battle. Lest we forget, the makers ensure the word Punjabi keeps popping up in the dhol-centric background score as well. After a long wait for a visa, when the simpleton Jassi (Ajay) comes to London, he discovers that his wife Dimple (Neeru Bajwa) has decided to ditch her. Lost, he strikes a chord with Rabia (Mrunal Thakur), a Pakistani musician who runs a wedding band with a transgender musician, Gul (Deepak Dobriyal), and Mehwish (Kubra Sait), as well as her foster daughter, Saba (Roshni Walia), after being ditched by her philandering husband, Danish (Chunkey Panday).

While the tastemakers of Bollywood have shifted their focus to love and romance in the darkness of theatres, they continue to serve slices of the dark ages in the brightness of living rooms. What started as an avenue for experimentation, OTT content is increasingly becoming predictable and phoney. With self-censorship limiting the options for subversion, long-form content with decorative layers is becoming tiresome to watch. The latest is Yash Raj Entertainment’s largely incoherent iteration of a cult’s commitment to recreate its god out of the flesh and blood of a select group of residents in the quaint area. Someone’s murder is someone’s sacrifice. Someone’s god is someone’s demon. We get the gist, but the mood, mystery, and message take a long time to align. Created by Gopi Puthran, who, having made the chilling Mardani universe, knows more than a thing or two about telling stories of women surviving a violent, patriarchal world. Here, he puts them at the centre of conflict, but the chill feels cosmetic.

Sulking sons, duty-bound fathers, and suffering mothers make for engaging Hindi cinema. This week, emerging director Kayoze Irani revisits familiar daddy issues with mixed results. Sarzameen’s basic premise reminds me of Ramesh Sippy’s Shakti, where circumstances force a father in uniform (Prithivraj Sukumaran) to choose between his son (Ibrahim Ali Khan) and his duty. Set in the picturesque political cauldron of Kashmir, the stakes get higher here when the neglected son stutters his way into the enemy camp led by dreaded militant Kabil (K.C. Shankar). As expected, the mother (Kajol) tries to be the connecting link, but a past that needs to be addressed remains unhealed, leaving wounds unresolved.

After delivering logs of deadwood, Mohit Suri, who loves to paint doomed romance on celluloid, returns to his Aashiqui roots with a fresh coat of mush whose ebbs and flows make one feel volatile and vulnerable in equal measure. An uplifting tale of unalloyed love whose pathos leaves its soot on the young souls, Saiyaaracarries the brooding intensity of a Mahesh Bhatt romance in the body of a maudlin Yash Raj love story. With mental health as the villain of the piece, the story echoes the times when love is reduced to a lollipop by market forces. In the digital age, Mohit dials back to the pre-rom-com era, when heartache travelled through the screen on the wings of melodies, sacrifice was considered a virtue, and selfless love was celebrated. Led by Irshad Kamil’s Saiyaara mera badla nahin hai, Mausam thoda badla hua hai (My love, you are the same, only the time has turned its back on us), the tripping soundtrack, put together by five composers, grows on your senses.