Priyanka Roy

In the deadline-driven world of film review writing, I find time hanging, every Friday afternoon, like the proverbial Sword of Damocles over my head. I write most of what I absorb; in hindsight, I feel I have invariably left out some observations. But that holds true for almost everything in life. With Satluj, there was so much to take in, feel, assimilate and ponder, that I allowed the film to stay and grow within me for a day before I put my emotions into words. But Satluj wasn’t allowed to breathe for more than 48 hours. Dropped silently on Friday evening, it was pulled off Zee 5, without a doubt the most courageous streaming platform out there, within Sunday night. The platform — whose triptych of bold storytelling (Berlin, Kennedy) was crowned by Satluj — put out a statement saying that the film would be “unavailable in India until further notice” owing to “current developments”. It also vowed to bring back Satluj, as well as continue its endeavour to promote creators with artistic integrity and conviction. We hope the platform will come through with its promise and purpose every time.

There is something invigorating about watching two women coolly pow-wow and pummel their way through a horde of frothing-at-the-mouth men in scene after scene of expertly-crafted choreography. Not only is the vibe visceral, it also gives the feel that these women are punching down patriarchal barriers — both literal and metaphorical — to finally get their moment on screen. Unfortunately, it is only in this aspect that Alpha leaves an impact. The first female-led film in the Yash Raj Films Spy Universe — till now populated with the Tigers, Pathans and Kabirs of the world — gives women a toe-in in its latest addition to the franchise, with Alia Bhatt and Sharvari doing all they can to step up to the challenge. But Alpha, which starts off semi strong and throws in some interesting bits (more action than emotion) along the way, eventually fizzles out to deliver a largely ineffective watch which is neither surprisingly good nor shockingly bad. It is simply dull.

It is but a coincidence that Super Subbu has released a day before Pritam and Pedro. Besides the fact that the titles of the two series are based on the names of their protagonists, Super Subbu takes a leaf out of the Rajkumar Hirani (who makes his digital debut as producer with Pritam and Pedro) book of mirth-meets-message, camouflaging bitter truths and taboo life lessons with humour, managing to pack in some succinct social commentary along the way.

Supergirl is more in the zone of a girl-power film than a superhero flick. Director Craig Gillespie’s new outing is the sophomore instalment in the newest iteration of a superhero-movie universe (DCU), starring Mily Alcock in the titular role. Supergirl, however, isn’t technically ‘Supergirl’ until way into the film, supremely coming into her own in the climactic battle scene. For most of this 108-minute film, she is Kara Zor-El, a not-so-regular girl who wants to drown the sorrows of her 23rd birthday by bar-hopping across the universe, specifically near red suns, which is something that makes her “normal” and not the superhero she is/ supposed to be. Also, unlike her cousin Superman — David Corenswet pops up every now and then — she doesn’t want to get into the business of helping anyone. In other words, she can’t be bothered with being a superhero, even when her more famous (and far more responsible) cuz tries his best — via video messages — to keep reminding her of her DNA (and her larger goal).

Cocktail was penned by Imtiaz Ali. Cocktail 2 has been written by Luv Ranjan. Imtiaz Ali is the genius behind iconic scripts like Jab We Met, Rockstar, Tamasha, Amar Singh Chamkila and last Friday’s Main Vaapas Aaunga, to name just a few. The three Pyaar Ka Punchnama films, Sonu Ke Titu Ki Sweety and Tu Jhoothi Main Makkaar belong to Luv Ranjan. This review could have ended here itself, but I am not that lucky. Well, I watched Cocktail 2, so I didn’t exactly wake up clutching a fortune cookie on this particular filmi Friday.

You feel the violence in Raakh before you see it. It is present right from the first few moments, in something as innocuous as two teenage siblings excitedly getting ready for a much-awaited evening out, the good-natured bickering between them and their lively banter with their mother. But you, as the viewer, find your nerves on edge, holding back a threatening lump in your throat. For you know that once they walk out of that door, the Arora siblings will never come back home again. The year is 1978. The series is Raakh, Prime Video’s eight-episode watch, streaming now, which is, without a doubt, inspired by the Sanjay and Geeta Chopra double murders. Taking place in the capital, the heinous crime shocked the country, elicited a nationwide manhunt and ultimately resulted in the death sentence for perpetrators Billa and Ranga. The case shaped India’s capital punishment jurisprudence, fundamentally altered children’s safety policies, and set landmark media rights precedents. Since then, it has been touched upon on screen, with varying degrees of fact and fiction, quite a few times, with the most recent example being the Netflix winner Black Warrant.

In the fall of 2007, Anton Chigurh walked on to our screens and drove fear into our hearts, one which deepens with every rewatch of No Country For Old Men. The neo-Western crime thriller, directed by the irrepressible Coen Brothers, starred Javier Bardem as Chigurh, with the versatile Spanish actor turning in a deathly, remorseless, unemotional act that is unanimously cited as a masterpiece of cinematic villainy. The chilling Chigurh won Bardem a host of awards — including an Oscar, a Golden Globe and a BAFTA — with one important footnote being attached to his portrayal for posterity: the cold, unstoppable killer-for-hire, distinguished by that iconic bowl-cut, has been crowned as “the most realistic film depiction of a psychopath” in the Journal of Forensic Sciences.

Samar Mehra is not a has-been actor. His career never took off and at 50, acting opportunities have shrunk considerably, and so have his relationship prospects. Samar — played by an almost opaque Bobby Deol, a necessity for the part and not an encumbrance — sustains by lip-syncing to his old hits (C’mon baby, with him looking like a shiny disco ball, is addictive) at weddings and entertains himself by being on a dating app. His rent is overdue, so is surgery for a bad back. Unmarried, his current on-off date is Khushi (a refreshing Saba Azad). Cynical and exhausted, one night Samar finds his life upended when cops unceremoniously land up and herd him off to jail. A disbelieving and distraught Samar learns that he has been accused of rape by Gayatri (Sapna Pabbi), a woman he claims he had right-swiped on, got intimate with a few times and ghosted when she got obsessive. But in a post #MeToo society skewed against the man in such cases — “I am a victim,” Samar laments. “You are the accused until proven innocent,” his lawyer (Riddhi Sen is solidly cast) says bluntly — he finds that the stakes are heavily stacked against him.