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Sholay: The Final Cut (2025) Review:

Ramesh Sippy could have made only Sholay and retired, and he would still have been remembered as a legend. That is the power of this film. Among the top five biggest blockbusters of all time, Sholay may not surpass the emotional depth of Mother India or the grandeur of Mughal-E-Azam, but it stands tall as India's most definitive masala entertainer. Even more astonishing is that it became the biggest blockbuster of Indian cinema despite releasing during the politically turbulent Emergency era-a period hardly favourable for filmmakers.

Growing up, I watched Sholay countless times on TV while listening to my father narrate how he saw the film nearly a dozen times in theatres during his youth. With age, and after watching thousands of films from Hollywood and world cinema, I now understand why Sholay continues to hold such mythical stature. Every scene and dialogue is ingrained in my memory, and revisiting it today feels like revisiting a cinematic textbook that still hasn't been fully surpassed.

Many cinephiles often draw parallels between Sholay and Akira Kurosawa's Seven Samurai (1954). While the influences are undeniable, I find the comparisons incomplete. A more accurate lineage runs through The Magnificent Seven (1960), The Invincible Six (1970), and even Chinagate (1998). Sholay undoubtedly borrows from the Western and Sergio Leone-style Spaghetti Western traditions, but more than 70% of its essence-its emotions, humour, character arcs, music, and dramatic beats-belongs solely to Indian storytelling.

Hollywood had John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Spencer Tracy, Henry Fonda, and Clint Eastwood-actors who embodied rugged Western heroism. India had Dharmendra, and he carried that mantle with unmatched charm and conviction. No one could deliver a line like "Main iska khoon pee jaunga" the way he did-ferocious yet irresistibly charismatic. He wasn't just handsome; he radiated an earthy heroism that felt authentic to Indian audiences. His comic timing in the romantic scenes with Basanti, his fury in action sequences, and the raw power visible in something as simple as clenching his fist in the climax-everything about Veeru was iconic, and only Dharmendra could have brought that combination alive.

Opposite him, Amitabh Bachchan's Jai was quieter, more thoughtful, and equally unforgettable. He wasn't the brawny hero, but he was the mind, the strategist, the man who understood the rhythm of danger. His mastery of the coin trick, his subtle humour, and above all, his heartbreaking sacrifice elevated the film's emotional weight. Jai's death is not just a plot point-it is the soul of Sholay, the moment that transforms a masala entertainer into a timeless tragedy.

Hema Malini's Basanti remains one of the most entertaining female characters ever written for Indian cinema. Her chatterbox persona, her dramatic flair, and even her mare Dhanno are universally known even today. Western cinema never blended glamour with such indigenous humour-Grace Kelly types never danced breathlessly for their lover's life the way Basanti does. A Western heroine might abandon the hero in his moment of crisis-take High Noon (1952) for instance; Basanti becomes the storm he fights for. Sanjeev Kumar's Thakur, despite missing limbs, exudes an intimidating presence. Jaya Bachchan speaks oceans with silence-her eyes doing the emotional labour of entire pages of dialogue. You feel sad for her character. She lost her husband and when she was getting another one, she lost him as well. And then comes Amjad Khan's Gabbar Singh, arguably the most unforgettable villain in the history of Indian cinema. His maniacal laugh, brutal cruelty, and unpredictable madness elevated the film into something mythic. It's impossible to imagine anyone else in that role. Even the supporting cast-Asrani, Jagdeep, AK Hangal, Sachin Pilgaonkar-appears briefly but leaves lasting impressions. Sholay proves that great casting is not about screen time; it's about the precision of presence.

The screenplay of Sholay deserves to be preserved in every film school library. What appears to be a simple revenge story is actually written with meticulous structure. A random comic sequence connects to a dramatic beat later. A throwaway conversation lays the foundation for a crucial twist. The recurring coin flip is used so consistently that when the truth about the two-headed coin is revealed, it lands like a thunderbolt. The songs-woven seamlessly into the narrative-serve emotional and narrative functions. "Yeh Dosti" begins as a celebration of friendship but returns later with heartbreaking impact. "Holi Ke Din" continues to be synonymous with the festival even 50 years later. "Jab Tak Hai Jaan," believed to be shot while Hema danced through real injuries, I mean that was the perception of the people and those beats showcases RD Burman's genius. And the charmingly underrated "Station Se Gaadi Jab" stands as one of the sweetest flirtation songs of the era. "Mehbooba" was a chartbuster then and today's Nora and Malaika numbers are chai-kam-pani in front of Helen.

The dialogues, crafted by Salim-Javed, remain unmatched in their punch, clarity, humour, and rhythm. No Western classic, despite its literary sharpness, has dialogue writing that became as culturally embedded as "Kitne aadmi the?" or "Tumhara naam kya hai Basanti?" It wasn't just writing-it was thunder bottled into everyday speech. "Ye vaaad maine kiya toh me aaj me use tod deta, par ye vaada mere dost ne kiya tha isliye..." As for direction, Ramesh Sippy's craft is nothing short of masterful. The frames, the camera angles, the tension-building, the choreography of action sequences, and the emotional pacing reflect a filmmaker operating at the peak of imaginative precision. Many films have tried to replicate Sholay's masala formula, but the emotional truth underneath its action and humour remains impossible to recreate. A film can have guns and drama, but without heart, it collapses-and Sholay is a masterclass in emotional anchoring.

Every time Jai dies, every time Basanti dances for Veeru, every time Thakur confronts Gabbar, you feel the weight of these moments as if watching them for the first time. That is what makes Sholay timeless. It is, as you beautifully described, a "photosynthesis blockbuster"-something audiences absorb naturally, endlessly, and without fatigue. It nourishes the cinematic landscape daily, just as trees generate life through photosynthesis.

In Sholay: The Final Cut, you'll finally witness the original climax that was changed before theatrical release. A couple of deleted scenes-brief yet intriguing-add another layer of nostalgia. The restored sound and picture quality breathe new life into the film without compromising its soul. Whether you're a first-time viewer or someone who can recite every dialogue from memory, this new version gives you yet another reason to revisit the legend. Sholay isn't just a film; it's a cultural cornerstone, a cinematic scripture, an emotion that has lived across generations-and will continue to live for many more.

RATING - 8/10*

Akhanda 2 (2025) : Movie Review -

Akhanda was a huge hit on OTT, and what surprised many-including me-was the unexpectedly strong response from Hindi audiences. I was genuinely shocked reading those positive reactions. I mean, I enjoyed the mass mayhem in the first film, but let's be honest: it was gloriously over the top. I still remember writing, "A God-Level Mass Film for Heaven People," and it wasn't an exaggeration. The film delivered mass-hero elevation shots that defied human limits-hence "God level." Now, the sequel doesn't just push the envelope; it launches it beyond the stratosphere. Since audiences embraced the predecessor without questioning its logic, Akhanda 2 goes even further-over the earth and straight into the exosphere. This time, the stakes, the scale, the action, and even the logic operate in a realm far beyond anything remotely human. It's not a mass film for people. Balayya isn't playing a character anymore-he's performing for divine beings.

The film begins with the line: "Babu ready babu, start camera, action." It works as both an opening cue and a warning: for the next 160 minutes, prepare to detach your brain. The plot revolves around a neighbouring country planning a biowar against India. As expected, Akhanda (Nandamuri Balakrishna) must rise-quite literally-and stop them. The conflict centres around a biological attack targeting Sanatana Dharma during Maha Kumbh Mela. While DRDO races to develop an antidote, the responsibility unexpectedly falls on 16-year-old Janani (Harshaali Malhotra), who manages to create a vaccine but becomes the primary target for the enemy. And as promised, Akhanda arrives to protect her and unleash divine destruction on the villains. You know exactly how it goes-once Akhanda steps into the battleground, defeat for the opposition is just a formality.

The film feels long because the plot is stretched unnecessarily. Yes, it has mass elevations loaded with spiritual flair and divine energy. The interval block, the climax, and especially Akhanda's entry scene are undeniably massy. But you must forget that physics, gravity and basic logic exist in this universe. The one-man-army trope is used repeatedly, to the point where it becomes monotonous. The action is superlative but entirely mindless; at times, it dips into cringe territory. Dialogues are weak, and the blend of black magic, divine power and geopolitical tension escalates to unintentionally silly levels.

Nandamuri Balakrishna plays Akhanda as though he truly descended from heaven for this role. His second avatar, though, lacks depth and significance. Harshaali Malhotra returns to the screen looking graceful, but her performance and dialogue delivery fall short. Aadhi Pinisetty is effective, while the rest of the cast is serviceable.

The technical aspects are mixed. The background score is often painfully loud, and the cinematography follows dated templates. At 165 minutes, the film badly needed trimming. Director Boyapati Sreenu doesn't hold back-every frame is designed to be "super-duper massy," even when the excess becomes unintentionally hilarious. From monologues to tridents to spiritual symbols and mantras, the film is visually divine but impossible to believe as a human narrative. Akhanda 2 Thaandavam attempts a grand Taandav sequence, but it too ends up over the top-actually, over the atmosphere itself. At this rate, Akhanda 3 might take Balayya to the Moon or Mars. Let's hope we're around to witness that cosmic mass spectacle.

RATING - 4/10*

Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon 2 (2025) : Movie Review -

Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon was an unexpected hit, and that surprise success seems to have given the makers the confidence-or rather, the illusion-that a sequel was justified. Viewers had been generous in 2015, choosing to laugh off the flaws, and the makers have taken that goodwill for granted. The result? A cinematic punishment delivered a decade later, and far quicker than most of our real-life systems. Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon 2 tries to present a humorous take on secularism and marriage but ends up becoming a tone-deaf, shallow film that inadvertently shames feminism and glorifies absurdity. And yes, spoilers ahead-because this film simply doesn't deserve the courtesy of secrecy.

The story follows Mohan Sharma (Kapil Sharma), who wants to marry Saniya (Warina Hussain). Their intercaste relationship faces predictable parental opposition. In an attempt to marry Saniya by altering his religion, Mohan accidentally ends up marrying three different women from three separate communities-Hindu, Muslim, and Christian. He now finds himself living with all three wives, forced to juggle their needs while keeping his multiple marriages a secret. Yet, in the middle of this circus, he still wants to marry Saniya, which would make her his fourth wife. The question is not whether he can escape this mess-it's whether the audience can endure watching him try.

The film's storyline is thin, but the screenplay at least maintains enough pace to keep viewers awake for its two-and-a-half-hour runtime. Unfortunately, speed is the only thing working in its favour. The writing is baffling, regressive, and shockingly careless about the dignity of its female characters. It is astonishing that this script was approved, and even more surprising that many critics have chosen not to call out its problematic lens.

Take, for instance, the Muslim wife who agrees to marry a complete stranger simply because she has been divorced twice. Is her desperation supposed to be funny? Where is her agency or self-respect? Then there's the Hindu wife, an educated teacher, who marries an unconscious man just to fulfil her father's dying wish. Are we expected to believe an adult woman with qualifications behaves like a character from a 1980s melodrama? The Christian wife, a well-trained doctor, agrees to marry a stranger because he gave her CPR-shown in a comically inaccurate, medically ridiculous manner. The fourth woman, Saniya, displays the memory and judgement of a "female Ghajini," instantly forgiving his lies and preparing to marry him even after learning he already has three wives. If this was meant to be farce, it fails. If it was meant to be satire, it misunderstands its own message. If it was meant to be humour, it punches down in the worst ways. The film treats women like props-gullible, naïve, and devoid of emotional or intellectual depth. It's a script that mocks their intelligence and glorifies deception under the guise of comedy.

And the logical loopholes are endless. How does a muslim wife not recognise her own husband in bed? How do cultural and lifestyle differences-such as the age-old veg vs non-veg clashes-magically disappear? How does a man struggling to manage three wives suddenly have the time to woo a fourth? The film piles absurdity upon absurdity until you begin to question whether the writers themselves were taking the audience seriously. The final twist is equally laughable: yet another woman enters the scenario, lacking self-respect, rationality, or even basic awareness. By the time the credits roll, feminism is not just bent-it is brutally slapped, dragged, and tossed aside.

Performances offer little redemption. Kapil Sharma looks visibly exhausted, both in appearance and body language. His dialogue delivery carries fatigue rather than comedic flair. Warina Hussain is pleasant to watch but is sidelined by minimal screen time. Tridha Choudhary looks stunning in a saree yet cannot detach from her glamorous persona and gets a solo song for that. Ayesha Khan shows potential but has plenty of room to grow. Parul Gulati fits the visual mould of her character but her behaviour rarely aligns with it. Manjot Singh and Sushant Singh are decent, while Akhilendra Mishra and Vipin Sharma go overboard. The rest of the ensemble barely leaves an impact.

Technically, the film is serviceable. The cinematography is fine, the editing is decent except during the dull, unnecessary songs, and the production design meets basic expectations. However, none of these aspects can compensate for the weak foundation. Writer-director Anukalp Goswami struggles to balance humour with coherence. While his direction has a few enjoyable moments, his writing is the film's biggest failure-outdated, insensitive, and downright careless. In the end, Kis Kisko Pyaar Karoon 2 becomes yet another forced, unnecessary Bollywood sequel-louder, sillier, and far worse than its predecessor. A messy comedy that neither respects its characters nor its audience. If you choose to watch it, be prepared to walk out questioning your own decisions just as much as the characters question none of theirs.

RATING - 4/10*