Shubhra Gupta

There are three people, bound by blood, at cross-purposes in Sarzameen. An Armyman whose love for his country knows no bounds. His son whose weakness is hard for the strict dad to handle. And his (the Armyman’s) wife, whose love is divided. Who will win? The father or the son? In either event, will the wife win, or the mother? Sarzameen is yet another addition to the line of recent films which wears its patriotism on its sleeve. This Karan Johar production tries to add an emotional wallop, giving us the enemy without and a conflict within, and that layer should have helped this film become more than the run-of-the-mill productions we’re being besieged with these days.

Krish (Ahaan Panday) is a hotheaded wannabe composer. Vaani (Aneet Padda) is an earnest wannabe journalist. We know this because Krish gets into a scuffle almost as soon as the film opens, and stomps off, leaving the chance of a lucrative gig behind. And Vaani (Aneet Padda) gets smirked at in her new workplace because she has no idea of how many Instagram followers she has as she has deleted her account. That these two very different characters will clash, meet, and come together is ordained, because this is a Mohit Suri film. That it will have soulful ballad-y music all over it is also expected, for the same reason.

I’m just done binge-watching seven episodes of Special Ops 2, each lasting about 50-57 minutes, and I’m here to tell you that this one is a banger. Most sequels flatten and disappoint. Special Ops came in 2020, when we were in the midst of the pandemic; five years later, where much has changed in the media landscape, and part twos are where creativity goes to die, I’m most pleasantly surprised that this sequel, again co-directed by Neeraj Pandey and Shivam Nair, and written by creator Pandey, Deepak Kingrani, Benazir Ali Fida, has exceeded my expectations. We have finally got ourselves a spy franchise that is globally ambitious in the way it goes about laying out its wares, dropping in and out of political hot-spots casually, bunging in enough lol moments: what’s the point of a spymeister who can’t just say, ‘hamare pass CIA waalon ke liye kuchch hai,’ and his faithful dogsbody coming up with just a teeny detail that has the Langley HQ in Virginia salivating.

The way you will respond to a film which goes down a much less beaten path in Bollywood — placing a young woman with autism at the centre of the narrative — will depend upon a couple of things. Your ability to suspend disbelief, and how much, or how little, you know about the condition, which Tanvi (Shubhangi Dutt) lives with. Only the most curmudgeonly will refuse to smile back at Tanvi when she decides on the impossible: join the Indian Army, and salute the flag at the stunningly beautiful, formidably out-of-reach Siachen outpost. It was her father’s (Karan Tacker) dream, and now that he isn’t in this world, she makes it her mission. Will her bemused grandfather, retired Army man Col Raina (Anupam Kher) help her, or hinder her?

What happens when a middle-aged Sanskrit teacher who has never had the pleasure of female company, forget about physical intimacy, is given a glimpse of heaven? At long last, something he never thought was possible, is within his grasp: a gorgeous younger woman is interested in him. Is it for real? Is there a catch? There’s promise in the premise. Relationship dramas are really where plots can dance around humans and their impulses, and actors can dig into nuance. The thing with Aap Jaisa Koi is that the surprise element is never given the kind of free reign that would lift the material.

On May 21, 1991, a blast in Sriperumbudur decimated Rajiv Gandhi, as he bent to receive a garland from an eager woman who had inveigled herself into the receiving line. The hunt for the killers occupied frenzied column inches in the press as well as a special investigation team (SIT), as they examined the fragments of bone and body gathered from the site, well-trampled upon by shell-shocked survivors, and morbid bystanders. In one of those miraculous breakthroughs that helped track the assassins, a Chinon camera was found intact in the jumble of bloody clothing fragments and footwear. It had captured a series of telling images, and the investigators got their first lead, which eventually led them to uncover the plot hatched by a group of LTTE militants who blamed the former prime minister (Rajiv Kumar) for sending Indian forces into Sri Lanka which they believed was anti-Eelam, a movement born to form a Tamil state in the island nation.

Kaalidhar lives with two younger brothers, the older one’s wife, and a sister. He is one of those hapless people who are tolerated until they are useful, and when that comes to an end, a Kumbh mela visit becomes the route for a heartless abandonment. The film is a copy of the Tamil original K D, with some culture-specific differences built in for changes in location and language, starting with the fact that Abhishek Bachchan’s Kaalidhar is more middle-aged than straight-up old. That his child-like innocence and lack of guile could be the result of a medical infirmity, as much as his own nature is left for us to judge: his hands shake, his gait is not very firm, and he looks lost more often than not, unless he’s wolfing his favourite dish, a heaped plate of biryani. Eight-year-old Ballu (Daivik Baghela), a street-smart survivor, comes to his rescue. He’s an orphan, also abandoned by his folks as a baby. He has enough rudimentary education, gleaned from a kindly teacher who uses chalk-and-talk and a blackboard under a village tree, to get by. From now on, Ballu declares to a bemused Kaalidhar, you will be known as K D, even if by acknowledging the abbreviated form, nothing changes.

It stands to reason that Metro In Dino will have thematic similarities with its spiritual predecessor Life… In A Metro: warring couples, predatory bosses, commitment-phobic men, confused women, straying and returning, sacrifice and recompense. It also has straight-up reprises. Konkona Sen Sharma, whose pairing with Irrfan was one of the highlights of the original, is the only one from the previous cast making a return, with Pankaj Tripathi standing in for the late, great actor; and the three-member band, led by Pritam, is strewn all over the film, like it was in the earlier iteration. In the interim– eighteen years is a long time—so much has changed. Those clunky cell-phones, which a couple of characters used in the earlier film, have changed to the sleek oblongs everyone carries these days, with laptops, tablets, and an overuse of every other device that promises connection, but provides only disconnection. You don’t need an empty flat with a key, the idea borrowed from Billy Wilder’s classic The Apartment, to plan an assignation; you can just create a profile on a dating app and get right down to sexting, even if you choose to call it Linger, rather than Tinder.