Arnab Banerjee

A sequel is always a perilous undertaking. Once a film has established its tonal register and moral grammar, the space for reinvention narrows considerably. The past looms large, often shackling imagination and circumscribing execution. Jaspal Singh Sandhu’s Vadh 2 negotiates this terrain cautiously. While it is not a narrative continuation of Vadh (2022), it inhabits the same ethical cosmos, tethered by mood rather than plot. The connection is atmospheric, not anecdotal, and viewers are best served by leaving memories of the earlier film at the threshold.

The inherent dilemma of a successful franchise lies in its creative confinement. Once a central premise has been firmly established, subsequent chapters often circle familiar terrain, offering variations rather than reinvention. Mardaani 3 is no exception. Shivani Shivaji Roy returns once more—unyielding, razor-sharp, and morally incandescent—to dispense justice, this time in pursuit of girls who vanish without a trace.

The directorial debut of Vir Das and Kavi Shastri, Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos, introduces us to Happy—played by Das himself—a 34-year-old, UK-based wannabe secret agent whose most dangerous skill is assembling a sandwich so good it brings joy to his British dads. He is earnest, clumsy, and armed with optimism rather than competence. Naturally, chaos follows. Written by Vir Das and Amogh Ranadive, the 121-minute film operates on hope—hope that a goofy British spy of Indian origin can carry a full-blown absurdist comedy. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it really, really hopes it works.

Set against the turbulent dawn of the 1970s, Ikkis opens on the formative years of Arun Khetrapal (Agastya Nanda), a young army officer of exceptional promise undergoing rigorous training to command a tank regiment. Distinguished early for his leadership, Arun appears poised for a life defined by purpose and quiet fulfilment. Love, too, smiles upon him in the form of Kiran (Simar Bhatia), and the future stretches before him, radiant with possibility. History, however, is rarely so benevolent. The outbreak of the 1971 war with Pakistan violently disrupts this fragile equilibrium, thrusting Arun—just twenty-one—into the crucible where youth, duty, and destiny irrevocably converge.

What further encomium can one lavish upon a cult classic that has not merely entertained but profoundly enthralled three successive generations of devoted cinephiles? Little, indeed—save for the recognition that an evergreen classic endures not solely by virtue of the nostalgia that sustains it, but because certain monumental works of art, having already inscribed their place in history, stand as enduring exemplars of sublime creative achievement, etched forever into the world’s collective memory.

In the last decade, Hindi cinema has witnessed a surge of patriotic historical dramas, each striving to present tales of courage rooted in pivotal moments of India’s past. Within this landscape, 120 Bahadur, directed by Razneesh “Razy” Ghai, sets its sights on one of the most stirring chapters of the 1962 Sino-Indian conflict. Farhan Akhtar steps into the challenging role of Major Shaitan Singh, the charismatic commander whose steadfast leadership during the Battle of Rezang La has long been revered but insufficiently explored on film. The result is a work that marries emotional solemnity with the visceral spectacle of war, aiming to honour a legacy that remains vital to national memory.

That an older gentleman should tumble helplessly into infatuation with a sprightly young woman is hardly the stuff of headlines; it is practically a civic tradition in our cinema. But that a vivacious, bubble-gum-bright twenty-something should lose her heart to a much-married man with two full-grown offspring is an exotic rarity—particularly in the hallowed halls of Hindi films. The former trope has been inspected from every possible angle: by R. Balki with his Big-B-powered reverie Shabd, by Rakesh Omprakash Mehra’s Aks, and even by Basu Chatterjee’s Shaukeen, that unabashed comedy of lecherous seniors on the loose. Yet the idea of a 50-plus man seeking romantic renewal with a partner who isn’t his first, but his wife—round two—remains something our storytellers regard with the suspicion usually reserved for budget overruns.

In 1978, Shah Bano, an elderly Muslim woman from Indore, filed a petition seeking maintenance that her estranged husband, Mohammed Ahmad Khan, had abruptly ceased paying. What began as a private plea for sustenance evolved into one of India’s most seminal legal battles. The litigation culminated in a historic 1985 Supreme Court judgment—Mohd. Ahmad Khan v. Shah Bano Begum—which upheld a divorced Muslim woman’s right to maintenance under Section 125 of the Criminal Procedure Code.