Rohan Naahar

What begins like an In the Heights-style story about upward mobility and female ambition turns into what can only be described as a Mohit Suri movie. Saiyaara won’t leave you alone no matter how hard you try. The sappy tone of Suri’s films, borrowed from the cinema of more countries than the average Indian will ever visit in their lifetime, has swung all the way back around and influenced the likes of My Oxford Year. It’s perhaps the most algorithmic film that Netflix has released in recent memory. Starring two of the streamer’s newest alums — Sofia Carson from The Life List and Corey Mylchreest from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story — the film makes you wonder if it was produced only because the filmmakers gained no-holds-barred access to the University of Oxford.

Despite being a six-time Oscar nominee, Amy Adams’ career in the last decade or so resembles that of someone who has lost the ability to say no. Her latest film is Nightbitch, a dark comedy about the horrors of motherhood, in which she plays a nameless woman who finds herself transforming into a dog. Literally. The movie is directed by Marielle Heller, whose last feature was A Beautiful Day in the Neighbourhood. Nightbitch is, in many ways, the cynical sister to that stubbornly saccharine film. It’s also a fantastical reality check for anybody contemplating parenthood. In addition to repelling audiences with its weirdness, however, Nightbitch could possibly cause Suniel Shetty to reconsider his views on gender roles.

It takes great writing discipline to make a show like Chief of War. Nearly everybody who watches it on Apple will be entering a world that they’re entirely unfamiliar with. And yet, they must surrender to its intimate yet epic narrative. Set in the late 18th century, the nine-episode drama tells the story of the unification of the Hawaiian islands, from the perspective of the Polynesian community. Riskier is the creative decision to set it almost exclusively in the native language. Perhaps the folks behind it — Chief of War is co-created by Jason Momoa and Thomas Pa’a Sibbett — were empowered by the success of similar grand-scale productions such as FX’s Japanese-language drama Shōgun and Apple’s own Korean-language show Pachinko.

In Sarzameen, a stern military man allows his only son to be murdered by terrorists in Kashmir because… nation comes first or something. You often hear about parents who proudly declare that they are willing to sacrifice their children for the country, and perhaps Prithviraj Sukumaran’s Vijay Menon is cut from the same cloth as those folks. The only difference is that his son isn’t a soldier on the front-lines, but a child for whom he feels no love. Played by Ibrahim Ali Khan, the child’s name is Harman, and the only reason his father hates him is that he isn’t like the other boys; he’s timid, he can’t play sports, and he speaks with a stutter.

In a recent interview, Arshad Warsi — the star of Dhamaal, Krazzy 4, and Golmaal: Fun Unlimited — ate a bunch of yakitori and decided that he must take pot-shots at Satyajit Ray. Mocking the sort of movies in which characters spend 15 minutes walking up a staircase, Warsi joked that they could simply announce the characters’ arrival at his or her destination, and save precious time. He’d probably hate the new Malayalam-language film Ronth, a slow-burn thriller if there ever was one. The movie understands a key aspect of storytelling: sometimes, it’s not about the destination, it’s about the 15-minute journey up a flight of stairs.

The Central Board of Film Certification’s screening process can often be arbitrary. Only recently, Indian audiences complained about the CBFC’s decision to have a 30-second kiss shortened in the film Superman. A person on social media pithily observed that the scene would’ve made the cut had Superman been slapping Lois Lane instead of making out with her. There is an element of truth to this, of course. It wasn’t too long ago that the CBFC deemed Marco — a movie in which many children die cruel deaths — fit for public viewing. At the same time, they’ve stalled the release of films such as Honey Trehan’s Panjab 95 and Sandhya Suri’s Santosh. Sometimes, however, this chaotic approach to film certification allows certain movies to slip through the cracks. Narivetta is one of them. Directed by Anuraj Manohar and starring Tovino Thomas, the mere existence of the Malayalam-language film is enough to suggest that the movie gods have a sense of humour. The CBFC can block Santosh, but while they were abusing their power, Narivetta snuck under its nose. A more populist cousin to Santosh, the film fixates on many of the same themes. Narivetta is about the systemic oppression of minorities, and mass corruption in organisations meant to serve and protect; but more than anything else, Narivetta dares to raise objections about police brutality at a time when Rohit Shetty’s cinema has basically coated the concept in Teflon.

Throttled by his government and abandoned by his peers — inanimate objects and abstract ideas get more support than Indian comedians — Vir Das seems to be in conflict with his past. His sixth stand-up special for Netflix, Fool Volume, combines his trademark self-effacing delivery with his signature ambition. Fool Volume was filmed in Mumbai, London, and New York, at venues of different shapes and sizes, in front of crowds with different thresholds of tolerance. But the elaborate production and occasional filmmaking flourish isn’t the most impressive thing about the one-hour special. It’s the comedian’s ability to spin a story, to structure a narrative that serves as yet another reminder of his skill. There isn’t a dull moment in the hour-long set, which Das says was rewritten after he lost his voice, literally, six weeks before he was supposed to perform it. He abandoned the material that Netflix had paid him for, and, either by chance or by design, found himself gravitating towards the style of comedy that he does best. In Fool Volume, Das gazes inward; he glances at the world around him, and then, he gets down to business. The show isn’t so much about a comedian finding his voice again as it is about a middle-aged Indian man finding a new voice.

By now, Quentin Tarantino’s hot take on Superman has resurfaced online enough times for it to have seeped into the cultural consciousness. Via one of his onscreen mouthpieces, Tarantino theorised that Superman truly was an alien living among us. The blue suit with the large ’S’ wasn’t a costume for him; it was the attire of his people. The real costume was the suit and tie he wore as Clark Kent. “Clark Kent is how Superman views us,” Tarantino said. “And what are the characteristics of Clark Kent? He’s weak… he’s unsure of himself… he’s a coward. Clark Kent is Superman’s critique on the whole human race.” The same theory, funnily enough, could be applied to James Gunn. In his new Superman movie, the filmmaker offers a similar outsider’s perspective on earthly matters. Positioned as a quasi-apology for Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel — the most expensive emo music video ever filmed — Gunn’s Superman harkens back to the goofy cartoons of the 1980s. It’s bright, kid-friendly, and energetically performed. It’s also surprisingly contemporary. Not only does this Superman live in the DC Universe’s equivalent of 2025, he also finds himself at the centre of a divided world. The film’s opening titles inform us that ‘metahumans’ like him first arrived on Earth 3,000 years ago. Three years ago, Kal-El ‘came out’ as Superman, and three minutes ago, he suffered his first loss on the battlefield.