Tatsam Mukherjee

A.R. Rahman has been trusted to do the heavy lifting in the climaxes of his recent films. The wailing vocals at the end of Chhaava (2025), Arijit Singh blazing through the title track in the climax of Tere Ishk Mein (2025) or the wistful ache of ‘Tere Paas Main’ (sung by Deepali Sahay) making Main Vaapas Aaunga (2026) a pristine tearjerker. Even in Rajkumar Santoshi’s Batwara 1947, Rahman shows up in the final minutes of the film, this time with a guttural hum by the man himself. The effect isn’t nearly as visceral as his last few films. Rahman’s score and songs for Batwara 1947 feel half-hearted compared to his work in the other partition drama from a few months ago. That nearly-there-but-not-quite feeling around Rahman’s music is what I might also say about my reaction to Santoshi’s film on the whole.

In Gurvinder Singh’s Rehmat, no guest is turned away. Whether it’s an alleged militant, or an out-of-state traveller, everyone is offered the respectful hospitality one associates with Punjab. Singh’s film opens with a prologue text noting the chapters of violence Punjab has witnessed during its many socio-political upheavals, and has left its scars. Especially the partition of 1947, and the insurgency of the 1980s. It might have contributed to the PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) for an entire generation, and yet it’s this dichotomy that seems to be at the heart of Singh’s film: a state full of traumatised civilians don’t let bitterness get in the way to greet an unannounced guest. It’s probably not a coincidence that the title of Singh’s film translates to ‘grace’.

Near the end of Destin Daniel Cretton’s Spider-Man: Brand New Day, I was reminded of Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man 2 (in my eyes the best Spider-Man film). It’s a scene where the superhero (Tobey Maguire) has prevented a train from derailing. Using all his might, tensile strength and will-power, he faints after the act. About to collapse, he’s caught by those inside the train. His unconscious body surfs over a sea of New York commuters, after which he’s carefully laid down. It’s the first time the city sees him without his mask. Similarly, in Cretton’s film, Spider-Man (Tom Holland) needs to be saved by the very city he’s spent his life defending. In a genre that thrives on an individual saving the world, I was touched to see a hurt, vulnerable ‘hero’ extending his hand (ever so briefly) to the city’s finest. It’s no surprise both scenes, championing community values, take place in films centred around the ‘friendly, neighbourhood superhero’.

Eventually, Sharanya Rajgopal’s Musafir Cafe settles into the cosiness of a novel found in a railway station bookstall. Those unintimidating 200-page paperbacks, which one buys for an overnight journey. Here, it happens in the seventh episode of this eight-episode series. Sudha (Vedika Pinto) is a pretty, impulsive, recklessly-ambitious girl from Bhopal – a version of a metropolitan idea of a small-town firebrand. The kind who discovered ‘Carpe Diem’ in her adolescence and never looked back. She has a job offer from Mumbai, which she reluctantly accepts.

Is there a director working today who has been able to consistently match the crescendo of the last minutes of a Christopher Nolan film? Since Memento (2000) – barring Insomnia (2002), the only remake Nolan has made – the final stretch of most Nolan films could bring corpses to life. In fact, I think one of the most crucial tricks behind his popularity, his ‘prestige’ if you may, might be his ability to finish strong. His weakest film, The Dark Knight Rises (2012), after plodding along for 164 minutes, ends with a spectacular five-minute montage tying all the loose ends of the Batman trilogy. The montage is so good, it almost made me forget what a clunky film I’d seen. In The Odyssey, Nolan delivers his usual rousing climax, but the knockout punch comes a few scenes before. Odysseus (Matt Damon) is talking to his wife, Penelope (Anna Hathaway), for the first time in 20 years. After spurts of flashbacks about the Trojan war peppered through the 173-minute film, this is the first time Odysseus looks back on his storied invasion in the most clear-eyed manner.

The title for Nachiket Samant’s film is at first perplexing. But then, once I saw what they were trying to do, I smirked. An English transliteration of the protagonist’s name, Baby Karmarkar — how amused one might be by the pun might dictate how much they end up enjoying Samant’s film – because it’s full of dour, made-in-Mumbai humour. Baby (Huma Qureshi, also producer with brother/actor Saqib Saleem) is a deaf/mute female assassin, whose umbrella doubles up as a sneaky pistol. Exploiting Mumbai’s crowded spaces, Baby slips in, kills her target, and slips out. Thanks to the blinders that Mumbai residents have put on, it takes a while for most people to realise there’s a corpse next to them. It’s a smooth, nifty way to get the job done. In the film’s first scene, the makers introduce Baby’s modus operandi inside a Mumbai local.

Honey Trehan’s Satluj (previously titled Panjab 95) was supposed to have its world premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival 2023. It’s been locked into a battle with the Censor board. The film got a brief release on Zee5 (which doesn’t require a CBFC certificate) on July 3. Two days later, on July 5, the film was pulled down. Zee5 announced this on multiple platforms through a statement. Trehan has said he has full faith in the platform, and he’s praying the film will be back soon. Late into the film, a ghost enters a room. It speaks to a man, a state witness who turned hostile in the scene before. The ghost recounts the harrowing circumstances of its death. The eeriness of the scene reminded me of a film by Gurvinder/Anup Singh. A grounded police procedural about a missing human rights activist till then, Trehan’s film boldly cuts across into surreal territory. And yet, it’s his emotional honesty that ensures the wild swerve doesn’t feel jarring.

Nothing communicates the listlessness of Hindi cinema over the last six years better than the diffidence of Bollywood’s two flagship studios: Dharma Productions and Yash Raj Films (YRF). A staleness has pervaded through their overall slates. YRF’s Spyverse branding of cross-border harmony was battered by Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar films. While Dhar’s films have a gritty self-seriousness to them, the spyverse was nimble and had the ability to laugh at its dramatic license. Dhar’s films are nakedly pro-establishment as opposed to the spyverse, which has managed to remain relatively balanced. This is why they have been mocked. But now, if Shiv Rawail’s Alpha – which positions two women spies at its centre for the very first time – is to be believed, the trolls might be getting under producer Aditya Chopra’s skin.