Priyanka Roy

The real and the magical collide pretty early in Jugnuma. Translating roughly to ‘firefly’ (jugnu) ’tale’ (nama), the sophomore directorial of National Award-winning filmmaker Raam Reddy is distinguished by a surreal yet warm moodiness. It commences with a single continuous shot. One that defines the rest of this film which is quite unlike anything the Indian space has seen. Dev (Manoj Bajpayee) walks out of his British-styled bungalow that breaks through the mist-capped hills somewhere in the northern part of the country. The camera feverishly follows his back as he makes his way to the outhouse in front, nodding a greeting to those who come within his eye view. Once inside the outhouse, he carefully slips on what look like a pair of giant feathered wings, walks out to the edge of a wooden board jutting out of a cliff and jumps off it. A few seconds later, we see Dev’s silhouette, the wings attached to his back, gloriously ‘flying’ around. It is a beginning that immediately arrests attention, making you want to know more, even as you are entranced by the mesmerising and mellifluous atmospherics of the film.

Think of the worst film you have ever watched. Now multiply that by the biggest number you can think of. Baaghi 4 is that film, and somehow even that math falls short of describing what a mangled (pun fully intended) mess this movie is. However bloody you thought this film was going to be, to whatever extent you assumed this film would be a brain-dead watch — Baaghi 4 surpasses all expectations. Of course, not in a good way. Blood banks in Mumbai and creativity in Bollywood have run dry, both courtesy Baaghi 4. Granted that the DNA of the Baaghi films is mind-numbing action with very little space for nuance or story. But the fourth instalment is an all-round torture fest with nothing to redeem it. Red paint flows with abandon as humans are killed like cockroaches on screen, but it is you the viewer who bleeds in your seat (my eyes! my eyes!) in a nearly empty theatre.

Picture this: A cup of steaming hot chocolate in hand, you snuggle up in your warm quilt on your favourite couch by the window and watch the rains hit the greens outside making it even more verdant. That same fuzzy feeling of familiarity and comfort is what you experience when you watch The Thursday Murder Club. Based on the best-selling 2020 whodunit by Richard Osman (who has gone on to write a few more in the series), The Thursday Murder Club takes you into the world of old-school sleuthing. One which relies on both smarts and intellect to fit together the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle to solve more than one murder, without having to rely on Gen-Z-coded cinema loaded with high-octane car chases and gravity-defying action sequences. If one were to quote a journalistic analogy, The Thursday Murder Club is the equivalent of good ol’ shoe leather reporting.

Does the truth even exist if no one believes it?’ This line — loaded with, well, the truth of life in general and particularly with what transpires in this claustrophobic retelling of a horrific real-life story, sums up The Twisted Tale of Amanda Knox. Streaming on JioHotstar — the first two episodes of the eight-episode Hulu series are now available, with subsequent weekly drops — this is the dramatisation of what is undoubtedly one of the most keenly followed murder trials of the millennium. The Twisted Tale of Amanda Knox, in its telling, feels sensationalist, and even stagey in parts, but the case itself is compelling enough to want you to stay with it.

Similar in spirit to the Dardenne Brothers 2014 drama Two Days, One Night and, more recently, the far inferior Straw, front lined by Taraji P. Henson and directed by Tyler Perry, is Night Always Comes. This is a film with a grammatically questionable title, familiar characters and generic treatment but held together by a stirring and steely act by Vanessa Kirby. In the film, that is now streaming on Netflix, Kirby plays Lynette, a woman who has to fight against all odds to ensure that her family — comprising her mom Doreen (Jennifer Jason Leigh) and brother Kenny (Zack Gottsagen, in fine form), who has developmental disabilities — continue to have a roof over their heads.

Spies, by default, are meant to be the most innocuous, even insidious, presence in a room. They need to blend in, careful to not let any eyes linger on them or guess their intent and movement. But when super agent Kabir walks into any room — or for that matter, any space — men, women, children, canines, felines, amphibians, invertebrates and what have you — can’t take their eyes off him. In that sense, Kabir is the antithesis of a secret agent, a test, that in theory he should have flunked at entry level. But then, Kabir is played by Hrithik Roshan. Greek ‘gawk’ is his middle name.

In today’s times, a series that documents the patriotic achievements of unsung heroes without resorting to mouth-frothing, jingoistic chest-thumping distinguishes itself by default. Saare Jahan Se Accha, now playing on Netflix, is yet another addition to the canon of Pakistan’s intelligence agency ISI and its Indian counterpart R&AW attempting to get ahead of each other in a duel of wits, words and weaponry. But with a difference. This six-episode series is set in the 1960s and ’70s, a tumultuous period not only for the two nations which had already sparred with each other on the war field, but one that found itself in the middle of a rapidly changing world order. With alliances being both forged and broken, it was a time of deep political unrest and immense distrust, with an inclination towards unchecked nuclear proliferation. That called for the world’s secret service agencies pressing quickly into a race against time to thwart attacks from powerful adversaries.

In Barbarian, his solo screenwriting and directorial debut, Zach Cregger gave us one of the most watchable horror films in recent times, transforming a generic premise into a truly captivating, suspenseful and thematically rich story. Barbarian, released with a rather flimsy promotional campaign, quickly became a phenomenon, finding favour with even the most staunch horror aficianados. Barbarian’s treatment of horror — which was much more than simply jump scares and bloodcurdling screams — heralded the arrival of Cregger as an exciting new voice in a genre which has not always been as inventive as its potential has demanded. Three years later, Cregger is back with Weapons, a more lavishly mounted, studio-backed enterprise led by big names (Josh Brolin, Julia Gardner, Benedict Wong). Post Barbarian, the expectations from Cregger have been high, and in his sophomore directorial, he delivers on most counts.