Anuj Kumar

The greatest superpower of cinema is the ability to make us believe again. Jackie Shroff’s little summer adventure, The Great Grand Superhero: Aliens Ka Aagman doesn’t just ask us to believe in flying grandfathers or marauding aliens, it invites us to believe in something far more radical in these times of attention and trust deficit. The film tells us that a wrinkled, mischievous Dadaji can still be the mightiest hero in a child’s universe, and that childhood imagination isn’t childish — it’s the original superpower. Intelligent, imaginative, but lonely, young Dipu (Mihir Godbole is pitch-perfect) fabricates grand stories to win over new friends in new schools and new towns where his father gets transferred. In his script, his grandfather (Jackie Shroff) is a superhero who fights aliens. The tone is secretive, and Dipu limits the age group to under-18 because he perhaps knows his adventure will not pass the adult scrutiny.

We often believe that Northeastern society enjoys far greater gender parity than the Hindi heartland. Yet, watching Shape of Momo, we realise that while the shape of patriarchy may vary, its taste remains exactly the same. Here, the humble dumpling becomes a brilliant, tactile metaphor for the rigid social architectures women are forced to inhabit. Between the geometry of conformity and imperfection as resistance lies a tender coming-of-age story worth savouring. Often, the luminescence of cinema lies not in loud rebellions but in the mapping of invisible boundaries. Tribeny Rai’s debut feature delivers a gentle, sharp-witted exploration of autonomy, inheritance, and the friction of modern ideals against ancestral soil. Along the way, the film effectively dismantles romanticised views of Himalayan communities, highlighting economic disparities, migrant labour issues, and gender expectations in a cultural context.

Another week, another commentary on uncomfortable societal truths packaged in the form of a mystery where solid performances and subtext are marred by predictable beats. At first glance, Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari’s System masquerades as a legal thriller, but beneath its polished exterior, it promises to lay bare the facade of institutional neutrality. It positions the courtroom not as a temple of justice, but as a theatre of social stratification where truth is a manufactured commodity. The narrative (penned by Arun Sukumar, Harman Baweja, and Akshat Ghildial) forces a meta-textual collision. Neha Rajvansh (Sonakshi Sinha), a public prosecutor fighting the suffocating shadow of her iconic legal patriarch (Ashutosh Gowarikar), is subtly challenged from the margins by Sarika (Jyotika), a humble yet resilient stenographer who weaponises the very bureaucratic machinery designed to keep her invisible.

At a time when mainstream romance usually oscillates between airbrushed fantasy and comedy, with a dash of toxic masculinity, Vivek Soni’s Chand Mera Dil arrives as a grounded, mature counter-narrative. It subverts the grammar of a Bollywood musical melodrama, or what we call the Dharma production tropes, to deliver a sharp dissection of modern intimacy with a melancholic flourish. After a long time, a love story doesn’t dump career and bread and butter issues. Aarav (Lakshya) and Chandni (Ananya Panday) are not flaky cardboards. Besides the raging hormones, they come across as believable engineering students facing rigorous academic pressures. They do not drop out when life gets messy. The writing (Vivek, Tushar Paranjpe, and Akshat Ghildiyal) respects their intellect and ambition, showing that pursuing career ambitions isn’t an alternative to a love story, or vice versa. It is a heavy framework within which the love story must exist, and Ananya Panday and Lakshya strike a delicate equilibrium to anchor the film’s transition from a lyrical college romance into a stark, mature reality. They establish an effortless physical and emotional intimacy early on, making the eventual fracture sting all the more.

These days, OTT films flirt with hinterland politics but settle for safe social commentary. They are conceived with the data-driven rigour of a journalistic research project, but executed with the unfinished, compromised soul of a half-written novel. The trending themes are child abuse and caste honour, but the actual grit remains strictly dialogue-heavy and dialect-deep. The volatile social issues get diluted by a cautious approach. The narrative feels distinctly over-vetted, leaving one with the inescapable impression that a legal team sat directly beside the editor, scrubbing away uncomfortable truths.

n a cinematic universe that has long portrayed Indian elders — particularly widows — as embodiments of quiet sacrifice or burdensome relics, Daadi Ki Shaadi arrives as a gently subversive, commercially packaged provocation. Neetu Kapoor, still radiant and effortlessly charismatic, steps into the lead as a spirited grandmother who dares to assert her right to companionship and romance in her later years. The premise reminds of Badhaai Ho (2018) where a middle-aged mother gets pregnant. While Daadi Ki Shaadi doesn’t feel as lived-in or organically rooted as Neena Gupta-led dramedy, it still delivers several sparkling moments that make it an enjoyable watch.

After a drunken Thakur Lal, driving in a daze, dies in an accident on a desolate Rajasthan highway, his modest Luna or Dug Dug bike begins mysteriously returning to the crash site despite being locked away at a police chowki by seemingly clueless policemen. This inexplicable event sparks rumours, then belief, and eventually a full-blown cult. A priest suggests devotees offer Thakur’s favourite items to the ‘divine’ two-wheeler. Soon, followers start pouring alcohol and offering bidis at the site with the hope that their wishes will be fulfilled. What starts as a quirky mystery evolves into a commentary on the rapid birth, intoxication, and commercialisation of a new religion.

At a time when the box office menu is brimming with masala entertainers, Ek Din tastes like a palate cleanser, blending mood and memory with a touch of magic. A gentle, heart-tugging alternative to spectacles and morally twisted love stories, the film leans into a quiet, introspective, and emotionally tender atmosphere. Set amidst the corroding corporate culture, where relationships tend to be transactional, it explores how a single shared memory or a single day of connection can feel like an entire relationship. Not a fantasy but a light whimsical sprinkle that makes the impossible feel real, raising questions about identity, fate, truth, and what lingers when everything else fades.