Arnab Banerjee

There’s something innately delicious about a good mystery — the kind that tightens its grip with every scene, whispering secrets just out of earshot, inviting the viewer to lean in, connect dots, and squint into the cinematic shadows. Alas, Lord Curzon Ki Haveli is not that film. Instead, what unfolds is an overwrought chamber drama that aspires to Hitchcockian suspense but lands somewhere between amateur theatre and a particularly awkward dinner party.

Can two ex-lovers rekindle an old flame, amicably, no less? Even if it involves impersonations, preposterous plans, and enough emotional confusion to make Freud reconsider his career path? Of course they can—especially if they’re in a 135-minute Bollywood rom-com, a genre that continues to churn like a butter factory run by hopeless romantics. Now, while global cinema gallops into bold territories—where genre-bending narratives and offbeat themes are embraced with open arthouse arms—our beloved Hindi films remain steadfast in their commitment to unearthing every last angle of the same timeless theme: love.

Homebound, directed by Neeraj Ghaywan and written with Varun Grover, Shreedhar Dubey, and Sumit Roy, is a poignant exploration of caste, faith, friendship, and survival in contemporary India. The marginalised have never had it easy—but in our own fractured land, their journey is not just arduous, it is often soul-scarring, as Neeraj Ghaywan’s Homebound reveals. Arnab Banerjee’s review of the film. With unforgettable performances, sharp social commentary, and emotional depth, Homebound stands as an unflinching cinematic mirror to caste oppression, religious prejudice, and human dignity in India today.

Film ideas often originate from a simple “spark”—a personal experience, a keen observation, or even an arbitrary thought—that is subsequently nurtured through creative techniques such as brainstorming, research, and writing. Once an idea takes root and begins to blossom, there’s no turning back for the creator. Following the phenomenal success of Jolly LLB (2013), writer-director Subhash Kapoor drew inspiration from the complexities of the Indian legal system, rather than from a specific case, and capitalized on this concept with the sequel Jolly LLB 2 (2017). Now, the third instalment in the series, Jolly LLB 3, continues this tradition, promising yet another legal comedy-drama that blends elements from real judicial cases into entertaining, and often humorous, narratives that highlight both the legal system and its human side. Directed by Kapoor, the film stars Akshay Kumar, Arshad Warsi, and Saurabh Shukla, with Amrita Rao and Huma Qureshi reprising their roles from the previous films. The plot is inspired by the 2011 land acquisition protests in Uttar Pradesh.

Ah, the age-old tale of twin brothers with identical looks but vastly different values. It’s been done to death in Hindi cinema, and yet, here we are again—because why not revisit a classic, right? In Nishaanchi, Anurag Kashyap takes another swing at his Gangs of Wasseypur-like canvas, complete with brotherly brawls, betrayals, love affairs, and the occasional redemption arc. You know, just your typical Bollywood recipe for family dysfunction. Produced by Ajay Rai, Vipin Agnihotri, and Ranjan Singh under JAR Pictures, in collaboration with Flip Films, this film stars newcomer Aaishwary Thackeray alongside Monika Panwar, Vedika Pinto, Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub, and the inimitable Kumud Mishra. Kashyap once again takes a deep dive into the murky waters of small-town India, where politicians are corrupt, cops are bent, and men are generally itching to pull the trigger. It’s not just about a bullet to the head, though—no, no. The real violence here is much more intimate, and yes, we’re talking about the good ol’ Purabiya slang. Let’s be real: this is not the polite underworld; it’s the kind where you need to duck every five seconds.

Cinema, in its kaleidoscopic array of expressions, occasionally offers us stories of rare splendour—narratives that shimmer with originality, thematic boldness, and imaginative audacity. While not all Indian films aspire to transcend conventional storytelling, every so often emerges a cinematic gem that dares to diverge. Jugnuma, directed by Raam Reddy and released this week, is precisely such a departure—a masterstroke of magical realism, a genre seldom explored within the realms of Hindi cinema. Set against the resplendent backdrop of spring in 1989, Jugnuma unfolds in an isolated colonial mansion perched precariously atop a Himalayan cliff. Here resides Dev (essayed with quiet intensity by Manoj Bajpayee), alongside his wife Nandini (Priyanka Bose), daughter Vanya (Hiral Sidhu), and son Juju (Awaan PoKoot). Revered by the surrounding villagers, Dev is a benevolent landowner who generates employment through his vast and flourishing orchards. Yet, this pastoral idyll is soon shattered when he discovers a patch of mysteriously charred trees. What begins as a small anomaly gradually spirals into a series of inexplicable conflagrations, each one more disturbing than the last.

The Bengal Files directed by Vivek Agnihotri continues his polarising Files Trilogy after The Tashkent Files and The Kashmir Files. With a cast featuring Darshan Kumar, Saswata Chatterjee, Pallavi Joshi, Mithun Chakravarthy, and Anupam Kher, this 205-minute political drama revisits the 1946 Great Calcutta Killings and the Noakhali riots. Framed as historical revelation, the film blends propaganda, performative outrage, and distorted memory into a cinematic spectacle. Positioned conveniently before the 2026 Bengal elections, The Bengal Files raises questions about political cinema in India, propaganda-driven storytelling, and the weaponization of Partition-era trauma. Political cinema in India has long mastered the art of selective amnesia—where history is less a chronicle of facts and more a buffet of “patriotic” fiction, seasoned heavily with rage bait. Most of these films claim to “speak truth to power” while actually whispering sweet nothings into the ears of a very specific, very angry demographic. The result? Predictably controversial, conveniently banned (wink wink), and almost always marketed as “the film THEY didn’t want you to see.”

Param Sundari, directed by Tushar Jalota and starring Sidharth Malhotra and Janhvi Kapoor, attempts a North-meets-South romance but falls flat. Laden with clichés, forced chemistry, and predictable tropes, the film struggles despite Kerala’s beauty, sidekick humour, and forgettable music. At 136 minutes, this Bollywood rom-com offers visual delight but little substance, proving yet again that cross-cultural love stories need more than recycled stereotypes and surface spectacle. India’s diversity has long been the go-to spice rack for Bollywood romances, and our filmmakers haven’t missed a single masala. From Raanjhanaa to Two States and Goliyon Ki Raasleela Ram-Leela, we’ve seen lovers playing Romeo and Juliet across caste lines, language barriers, and angry elders wielding moral outrage like a family heirloom. So, it’s no surprise that Param Sundari joins the tradition—this time with a Punjabi munda and a Malayali miss, thrown together in a cross-cultural curry that aims to be spicy but ends up more sambhar-lite.