Anuj Kumar

The rank of Subedaar evokes humble authority in the Hindi heartland. As the army’s backbone, these quiet mainstays, often drawn from the subaltern classes, are more respected than idolised. Anil Kapoor’s status in Hindi cinema is similarly earned. The analogy finds shape in director Suresh Triveni’s emotionally charged action drama, with the repurposed folksy number “Balam Subedaar” underlining the title’s regional draw, where a culture of entitlement is pervasive.

These days, the Kashyaps seem keenly interested in stories that probe the steep personal toll exacted by success, ambition, and power. Even as Anurag Kashyap’s Bandar gets a date in theatres, sister Anubhuti Kashyap observes the post-#MeToo landscape through a perceptive lens in this Netflix original. A cross between psychological drama and a taut thriller, Accused stars Konkona Sensharma as Dr. Geetika Sen, a celebrated queer surgeon, and Pratibha Ranta as her partner, Dr. Meera, who has travelled from a conservative Meerut to the accepting lap of London.

Before the curtain rises on Anurag Kashyap’s latest noirish adventure, William Wordsworth’s famous words, “We poets in our youth begin in gladness; but thereof come in the end despondency and madness”, flash on the screen. This struggle between resolution and independence holds for both Kashyap and Kennedy.

When the trailer of Ravi Udaywar’s romantic drama Do Deewane Seher Mein surfaced online, one was hooked to the tune of Gulzar’s melancholic Do Deewane (Gharaonda), searching for home and sustenance all over again. The haunting voice of Bhupinder Singh and the melody in Runa Laila’s timbre continue to capture the dreams, hope, and loneliness that lovebirds face in big cities. However, it turns out that old gold is being refashioned to win over a new audience, but the carat is compromised in the process.

Javed Akhtar once famously said art and culture are the vocal cords of society. This week, writer-filmmaker Anubhav Sinha and co-writer Gaurav Solanki give a sarkari statistic on rape, a scarred face, an unflinching voice, and a social context. The outcome is deeply disquieting as the film investigates the pervasive rape culture, institutional complicity, and the gruelling aftermath for survivors. Sinha’s relentless expression of the state of helplessness and depravity makes one leave an impression of anguish on the seat’s armrest.

In the middle of ‘O Romeo, Afshan, the revenge-filled girl from a rich music background, tells Ustara, the razor-wielding contract killer of the Mumbai underworld, that she is from Muzaffarnagar, but her gharana is Gwalior. Ustara responds as if his home is Lucknow, but his gharana is Mumbai. The conversation is writer-director Vishal Bhardwaj’s way of reminding us that his home is Bollywood street, but his gharana is Shakespearana.

There has always been a gap between the Punjab we watch on screen and the one we actually experience off-screen. Of late, there has been an attempt to look beyond the lavish weddings, bhangra beats, and bucolic humour. Carrying forward the Maachis that Gulzar lit in 1996 and Gurvinder Singh nurtured over the years, Sudeep Sharma’s Kohrra is one such significant attempt to pierce through the miasma that hangs over the mustard fields.

This Valentine’s week, love floats in a pool infested with primal danger as Bejoy Nambiar blends genres to create a triangle between two contrasting social media influencers and a crocodile in Tu Yaa Main. Playing out like a nightmare with a message, when a privileged, polished Avani Shah and a gritty, ambitious rapper, Maruti Kadam, collide in Mumbai’s content scene, their calculated collaboration ignites a passionate romance that bridges class chasms and exposes raw vulnerabilities beneath curated personas. Beneath the swag, we discover that both are survivors who want to change their existing profile. She wants to escape her luxurious loneliness, and he is eager to climb the social ladder.