Arnab Banerjee

Ajay Devgn returns as Vijay Salgaonkar in Drishyam: The Conclusion, the third and final chapter of the Hindi-language Drishyam franchise, directed by Abhishek Pathak. Tabu, Shriya Saran, Ishita Dutta and Rajat Kapoor reprise their roles, while Jaideep Ahlawat and Prakash Raj join the ensemble as the story moves towards its promised denouement. The franchise has always revolved around a deceptively unsettling question: if a lie is constructed convincingly enough, can it eventually become indistinguishable from truth? The concluding chapter now has the unenviable task of giving that question a final dramatic meaning.

A film may possess an ingenious premise, an assured director and a cast brimming with talent, yet still lack the one intangible quality that can make or break a genre exercise: the right vibe. Not vibe in its loose, fashionable sense, but the precise tonal alchemy of mood, rhythm, atmosphere and attitude that tells us how seriously—or how gleefully—we are expected to take what unfolds on screen. For an action-comedy, that equilibrium is particularly precarious. Too much solemnity makes the jokes feel intrusive; too much frivolity diminishes the stakes. Vibe, for the most part, negotiates this tonal tightrope with considerable assurance.

Do the ends ever truly justify the means? Can justice be meted out by those sworn merely to enforce the law? When two starkly contrasting police officers are drawn into the investigation of a young girl’s brutal disappearance and murder, these questions—among several others—confront the edifice of law with unsettlingly plausible answers. Meghna Gulzar’s latest offering, Daayra, starring Kareena Kapoor Khan and Prithviraj Sukumaran as the two investigating officers, reopens an age-old debate: the tension between law and morality, between justice and vengeance. The narrative unfolds against a harrowing crime scene, framed by a mother’s desperate plea for justice.

Some thrillers are so absorbing that they persuade us to surrender logic at the door and simply follow the action wherever it takes us. A good mystery, particularly one built around a cat-and-mouse chase, can make even the most improbable turn feel plausible because the characters, the atmosphere, and the suspense are persuasive enough to keep disbelief suspended. Haiwaan begins with precisely that promise — a potentially engrossing tale of guilt, vengeance, betrayal, and retribution, populated by characters whose secrets could have sustained a gripping psychological thriller. Instead, Priyadarshan’s remake of his own 2016 Malayalam film Oppam gradually loses sight of the thriller it could have been, drowning a promising premise in star power, implausible action, and a screenplay that repeatedly mistakes excess for excitement.

Few commodities have proved as bankable on celluloid as crime, and the enduring appetite for bloodshed, betrayal and underworld intrigue shows little sign of abating. It is perhaps no great surprise, then, that after three seasons of mayhem and moral disintegration on Prime Video, Mirzapur should make the leap from the streaming screen to the big screen. Mirzapur: The Movie reaches back to the world established in the first season in 2018, when Akhandanand Tripathi, better known as Kaleen Bhaiya (Pankaj Tripathi), presides over Mirzapur like its self-appointed monarch, controlling an intricate empire built on the twin pillars of drugs and firearms. Yet his seemingly impregnable dominion is already beginning to show fissures, as challenges emerge from within his family as well as from increasingly formidable adversaries beyond it.

Every nation carries within it a wound that history refuses to let heal. Few events in the history of the subcontinent have left a wound as profound, intimate and enduring as the Partition of British India in 1947. More than 15 million people were uprooted from their ancestral homes, while the death toll is estimated to have reached as high as two million. But statistics, however staggering, can never adequately convey the human cost of Partition—the homes abandoned overnight, families torn apart, identities violently rearranged, and memories passed from one generation to the next like an inherited grief. Batwara 1947 attempts to enter that vast historical tragedy through the intimacy of one household.

There is something intrinsically disarming about dogs in cinema. Whether they are steadfast companions on perilous journeys, mischievous family pets, or silent witnesses to human joys and sorrows, dogs possess an emotional currency that few cinematic characters can match. Their loyalty is uncomplicated, their affection unconditional, and their ability to connect with children almost magical. Ohh My Dog, directed by Amit Rai, attempts to tap into precisely this potent emotional space—evoking the warm, uncomplicated pleasures of a time when Indian cinema could tell children stories that were entertaining, humane and morally resonant without talking down to them.

Every successful franchise eventually reaches the point where artistic inspiration begins to resemble a financial reflex — another sequel, another remake, another reassuring reminder to studio executives that nostalgia remains a dependable currency. Unless a fresh perspective reshapes the narrative or the story boldly charts unfamiliar waters, these revisits often feel less like cinematic adventures and more like corporate accounting exercises with a generous visual-effects budget. Disney’s Moana (2026), the live-action adaptation of its beloved 2016 animated classic and the third instalment in the franchise, sails directly into this familiar predicament. Directed by Thomas Kail in his feature-film debut from a screenplay by Jared Bush and Dana Ledoux Miller, the film reunites Dwayne Johnson with his larger-than-life role as the swaggering demigod Maui while introducing Catherine Laga’aia as the spirited Moana. Produced by Johnson alongside Hiram Garcia, Dany Garcia, Beau Flynn and Lin-Manuel Miranda, the production possesses all the ingredients of a prestige Disney spectacle. Yet, despite its glittering credentials, it struggles to justify its own existence. Competently assembled though it is, the film rarely inspires wonder, and its visual splendour, while undeniably polished, seldom evokes genuine amazement. It is less a voyage of discovery than an expensive exercise in déjà vu.