"Khiladi 420" arrives at a peculiar moment in Bollywood's evolution, caught between the bombastic excess of 90s masala and the slicker, more grounded thrillers that were beginning to dominate the late 90s landscape. Director Neeraj Vora seems aware of this tension but never quite resolves it, resulting in a film that lurches wildly between tones and registers. What you get is part revenge thriller, part romantic comedy, part melodramatic soap opera, all crammed into a framework that strains under the weight of its own ambitions. It's not without charm, particularly when Akshay Kumar is firing on all cylinders, but the inconsistency becomes exhausting. Akshay shoulders the film with a dual role as Dev, the sleazy conman husband, and Anand, his virtuous twin brother. The contrast is deliberate and fairly well-executed, Dev all swagger and menace, Anand earnest and damaged. Akshay commits to both, finding distinct physical rhythms for each character, and there are moments where his performance genuinely elevates the material. But the writing doesn't always support him. The script by Neeraj Vora and Rumi Jaffrey has ideas, the mistaken identity trope, the moral reckoning of a woman who kills her abusive husband, the complications of falling for someone who looks exactly like your nightmare, but it can't settle on how seriously to take any of them. One scene plays like taut psychological drama, the next dissolves into broad comedy or a musical interlude that obliterates any momentum. Mahima Chaudhry as Ritu does what she can with a character written in broad strokes. She's wronged, traumatized, then confused, then possibly in love again, and the film asks her to pivot through these emotional states without much connective tissue. Still, she brings urgency to the role, particularly in the first act when Ritu discovers Dev's betrayal and makes the fateful decision to kill him. That sequence has real bite, a flicker of genuine darkness that hints at a more interesting film lurking beneath the gloss. But then the plot pivots to Anand's arrival, and the tone softens into romantic misunderstanding and melodrama. The shift feels abrupt, like two different scripts got stitched together in editing. Visually, the film leans into 90s excess with gusto. There are elaborate song sequences shot in exotic locations, action scenes that defy physics with cheerful abandon, and a production design that favors bright colors and opulent sets. The stunt work, a hallmark of the Khiladi franchise, delivers some genuinely fun moments, Akshay's physicality remains a highlight, and the practical stunts have a tactile, old-school appeal that CGI-heavy films lack. But the songs, composed by Anu Malik, disrupt the narrative flow constantly. They're catchy enough in isolation, but their placement feels arbitrary, killing tension just when the story should be tightening its grip. The background score swings wildly between suspenseful strings and bouncy synth, mirroring the film's tonal confusion. Pacing is the film's biggest enemy. At over two and a half hours, "Khiladi 420" drags in the middle stretch, circling around the same beats of mistrust and revelation without advancing much. Subplots involving comic relief characters feel obligatory rather than organic, and the supporting cast, while game, are stuck in one-note roles. The climax attempts to tie everything together with a burst of action and emotional reckoning, but by then the goodwill has eroded. What could've been a taut thriller about identity, betrayal, and second chances instead sprawls into something bloated and uncertain. There's fun to be had here if you're nostalgic for 90s Bollywood's chaotic energy, but it's a flawed, frustrating ride that never quite justifies its own ambitions. It's not terrible, it's just perpetually at war with itself.
