Shilajit Mitra

How do you review last-gen media? Watching Chumbak is a bit like watching your parents, grandparents and assorted relatives put on a play: you nod encouragingly, laugh at the one-liners (if they’re good), and, when no one’s looking, merrily go back to scrolling your phone. The show and its makers expect no better. These, after all, were the unassuming standards set by broadcast TV — by benign yet brain-scrambling sitcoms like Khichdi, Sarabhai vs Sarabhai and Baa Bahoo Aur Baby. This is a throwback to those times. That Chumbak is one of the top shows on Netflix India, in 2026, is revealing. The TV-fication of Indian streaming is complete.

David Ayer last directed Brad Pitt in Fury (2014), a moody, muddy drama about a WWII tank commander and his wearying crew. Despite the excellent cast — imagine riding along killing Nazis with Michael Peña, Shia LaBeouf and Jon Bernthal — it was nobody’s idea of a buddy adventure. Prospects are sunnier in Ayer’s latest film, Heart of the Beast, which cuts back on human players and pairs a 62-year-old Pitt with a dog. Not just any dog, mind you, but a ferocious US Special Forces canine. He’s played by a swarthy German Shepherd named Uber, and there are lovely shots of Pitt massaging his fingers on the beast’s hair. An alternative title for the film could be Furry.

A trivia question for the ages: what film has Monica Bellucci, Giancarlo Esposito, Martin Lawrence, Salman Khan and Sanjay Dutt in its cast? The answer is 7 Dogs, a Saudi Arabian action thriller by Adil El Arbi and Bilall Fallah, the directing duo behind the last two Bad Boys movies. The internationalism is more or less the point. Admittedly, there’s always a cheap thrill in watching your favourite faces in a snazzy global production, complete with explosions and gunfights. It’s an old tradition across media. Think of it as the cinematic equivalent of an all-stars charity match — sans the charity.

The opening of Bobby Beauty Parlour is a charm offensive. The 19-minute short is dedicated to the loving memory of Cheese, one half of the talented acting duo Mac and Cheese, a pair of pretty-finned Siamese fighting fish that appear in the film (Cheese, presumably, died during or after the shoot). The voiceover that greets us immediately after is styled like an All India Radio weather broadcast, in prim, sonorous Hindi. “Aaj ka mausam kuch iss prakaar hai…” If the cuteness meter wasn’t already into the red, the colours on screen are in a gentle and lovable scheme: yellow, magenta, pink. This is a film that wants the audience in its corner, and wants it quick. It lulls you before you’ve met the primary characters or reached the titular setting.

The press screening of Ikka was held at Mumbai’s Sunny Super Sound—an appropriate venue, I thought, given the super sounds Sunny Deol makes in the movie. Since Damini (1993), the actor has used the courtroom drama as his personal soapbox. He rages and he raves, he rebukes and he reprimands. A part of me wishes Deol were an actual lawyer working in real courthouses. Imagine the swiftness in proceedings once his gavel-like fists land on the furniture—like a thunderclap. To be fair, director Siddharth P Malhotra uses this trick judiciously, initially giving us a calm, urbane Deol in natty linenwear. The actor plays Arjun Mehra, a celebrity defence attorney who never loses, always has a decisive ace up his sleeve (hence the film’s title), and, despite his large apartment and luxe lifestyle, exclusively represents the innocent and the powerless. And here comes his latest innocent: Shaurya (Akshaye Khanna), the reprobate son of an industrialist, accused of sexually assaulting and attempting to murder a date.

You’re scrolling through BookMyShow on a breezy Friday afternoon. It’s been a stressful week, and the rains have let up, so you decide to unwind with a brainrot Bollywood comedy. But which one? Should you go watch Welcome to the Jungle, still running in theatres, or Dhamaal 4, the latest in the long-running treasure hunt franchise? These things are subjective, but let me present a quick comparison. Welcome to the Jungle is directed by Ahmed Khan. Dhamaal 4 is directed—in the kindest sense of the term—by Indra Kumar. Welcome to the Jungle is a spoof about the making of movies. Dhamaal 4 shows why some movies should never be made at all. Welcome to the Jungle has satirical ambitions. Dhamaal 4 has hysterical collisions. Welcome to the Jungle is a loose rehash of Tropic Thunder. Dhamaal 4 is a hard retread of the first, second and third Dhamaal.

It began, absurdly enough, with a man washing his car. Jaswant Singh Khalra, a prominent human rights activist, was abducted on September 6, 1995 from outside his home in Amritsar and was never seen or heard from again. Despite eyewitnesses and mounting public pressure, almost a year passed without a breakthrough. What exactly happened to Khalra? Did he become a ghost and vanish into the frosty Punjab night? Did he find employment as a wage worker in Europe or America, as the cops tend to insist? Or did he join the thousands of young men—deemed ‘disappeared’ and murdered in extrajudicial killings—whose cause Khalra had made his life’s mission?

Farida Jalal didn’t grey her hair overnight. She’s been acting in movies since the 1960s. Since DDLJ, she’s been a sweet, endearing presence in Hindi films, buffing up large ensembles with her nourishing warmth. At 75, she’s a grande dame in the tradition of Zohra Sehgal and Nafisa Ali. Yet like those greats, Jalal is very much her own actor—as Shyam Benegal’s Mammo proved. Her new film, The Great Shamsuddin Family, directed by Anusha Rizvi, is also an ensemble comedy, with Jalal billed behind everyone else. Yet it only sparks to life when the actor joins the fray.