Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s new movie is not just another release—it is a deliberate step away from the polished, formulaic blockbusters that dominate the box office. From the first frame, the film establishes a tone that feels uncomfortably real, as if the camera has stumbled into a corner of India that most mainstream cinema prefers to ignore. I remember watching the trailer during a late-night screening and noticing how the audience went silent; there was no whistling, no clapping, just a collective intake of breath. That is the power Siddiqui wields—he makes you forget you are watching a performance.
A Plot That Refuses to Be Neat
The story centers on a small-time vendor in a congested Mumbai market who stumbles upon a political conspiracy that reaches all the way to the state assembly. What sounds like a typical underdog thriller quickly unravels into something far messier. Siddiqui’s character is not heroic in the conventional sense; he is irritable, morally ambiguous, and driven by survival rather than justice. In one scene, he negotiates a bribe with the same casual tone he uses to order tea, and that duality—the ordinary man in extraordinary circumstances—is where the film finds its tension. The screenplay does not offer easy resolutions, and that is precisely its strength.
The Craft Behind the Chaos
Director Anurag Kashyap, who has worked with Siddiqui on multiple projects, described the shoot as a series of controlled accidents. There is a long, unbroken take in the second act where Siddiqui walks through a crowded lane, dodging bicycles, vendors, and stray dogs, all while delivering a monologue about his father’s lost pension. The scene was shot in one take, and you can feel the rawness—the sweat on his collar, the way his voice cracks on the word pension. It is the kind of acting that does not announce itself; it simply exists. For anyone who has followed Siddiqui’s career from his early days in Gangs of Wasseypur, this performance feels like a culmination of years spent observing life on the margins.
What the Critics Are Saying
Early reviews have been polarized, which is often a good sign for a film that takes risks. Some have called it exhausting, others have called it essential. A colleague who attended the Venice Film Festival screening told me that after the credits rolled, there was a full minute of silence before anyone spoke. That kind of reaction cannot be manufactured. The film has been praised for its sound design—the constant hum of traffic, the distant call to prayer, the clatter of metal plates—all of which ground the story in a specific, tactile world. Siddiqui’s dialogue, much of which was improvised, has drawn particular attention for its authenticity.
Why This Movie Matters Now
In an era where OTT platforms are flooding audiences with content, this film stands out because it refuses to pander. There is no item number, no comic sidekick, no tidy ending. Instead, it offers a portrait of contemporary India that is both specific and universal. The themes—corruption, class disparity, the erosion of local communities—are not new, but Siddiqui’s performance makes them feel urgent again. I watched a preview with a mixed audience of young professionals and older cinephiles, and the discussions afterward were heated. People disagreed about the ending, about the morality of the protagonist, about whether the film was too bleak. That, to me, is the mark of successful cinema: it does not leave you passive.
The Technical Brilliance
Cinematographer Shreya Dev worked with natural light for 80% of the film, which gives many scenes a documentary-like quality. In one sequence, Siddiqui’s face is half-lit by a neon sign, and the shadows seem to move with his expressions. The editing, too, is unconventional—there are abrupt cuts that mirror the chaotic rhythm of Mumbai life. And the background score, composed by a little-known artist from Dharavi, uses percussion made from recycled materials. Every element of the film feels intentional, yet nothing feels overdesigned.
Comparisons to Past Work
Fans will inevitably compare this to Siddiqui’s earlier collaborations with Kashyap, but this film occupies its own space. Where Gangs of Wasseypur was operatic in its violence, this new movie is intimate. Where Raman Raghav 2.0 was deliberately grotesque, this one finds horror in the mundane. Siddiqui himself has said in interviews that this role required him to unlearn many of his actorly habits—to stop projecting and start listening. The result is a performance that feels less like acting and more like living. There is a moment where he simply stares at a wall for thirty seconds, and you can see the thoughts moving behind his eyes. That is not something you can write; it is something you can only be.
The Supporting Cast
While Siddiqui is the anchor, the film is lifted by strong supporting performances. Richa Chadha plays his wife with a quiet ferocity that anchors the emotional core, and a relatively unknown actor named Vikrant Massey delivers a chilling turn as a local politician. The chemistry between the characters is never forced; they talk over each other, interrupt, and sometimes sit in uncomfortable silences. It feels like eavesdropping on real conversations.
Final Thoughts on the Film’s Impact
The film has already sparked conversations about the state of independent cinema in India. Several theater chains initially refused to screen it, citing its runtime and lack of commercial elements, but public demand forced a wider release. It is currently running in select multiplexes and single-screen theaters, and the word-of-mouth is spreading. For those who are tired of predictable narratives and sanitized heroes, Nawazuddin Siddiqui’s new movie offers something rare: a mirror held up to the chaos of everyday life, unflinching and uncompromising.