Man on the margins
Film: Umesh (Konkani with English subtitles)
Cast: John D’Silva, Amar Chari, Sushant Nayak
Directed by: Vardhan Kamat
Duration: 1 hour 33 minutes
Rating: * * * 1 /2
Umesh marks the feature debut of Vardhan Kamat, a filmmaker already known in the Goan circuit for his work in short films and as an actor in skits. Like many first-time directors, Kamat chooses to tell a story that feels personal and unfiltered—one that prioritises his own voice over commercial expectations. There is no overt attempt to cater to the audience or to package the narrative into something easily digestible. Instead, Umesh unfolds on its own terms, inviting viewers to engage with it rather than passively consume it.
One of the film’s most compelling strengths lies in its refusal to neatly tie up every narrative thread. Rather than offering clear resolutions, it leaves certain questions open-ended, encouraging reflection long after the credits roll. This ambiguity works in the film’s favour. Stories that resist the urge to “spoon-feed” their audience often create a richer viewing experience, allowing for multiple interpretations. In contrast, films that neatly resolve every conflict tend to limit the viewer to a single, definitive takeaway.
Set in the hinterlands of Goa, Umesh initially presents itself as a story of friendship between two theatre enthusiasts—Rohan (Sushant Nayak) and Anton (John D’Silva). Both are passionate actors who thrive on the energy of live performance and enjoy a certain level of recognition within their community. Their personal lives, however, reveal subtle tensions: Rohan’s wife remains largely indifferent to his love for theatre, while Anton’s father (played by the veteran C. D’Silva) serves as a grounded, philosophical presence.
The film moves forward with confidence, sometimes even before fully establishing the intricate relationships between its characters. What it does capture effectively, however, is the texture of village life. The setting feels lived-in and authentic—populated by idle chatterers, habitual gossipers, and a group of men who spend their days at a local café, obsessing over the daily matka number. This recurring motif adds a layer of cultural specificity, with one particular scene built around this obsession providing the film’s only overt moment of comic relief.
The titular character, Umesh (Amar Chari), is introduced almost incidentally, yet his presence gradually becomes central to the narrative. With his unkempt beard and dishevelled appearance, Umesh exists on the fringes of society, taking on odd jobs and inhabiting a world that seems entirely his own. He offers unsolicited commentary during televised cricket matches and is often seen in the company of children, hinting at a simplicity—or perhaps a complexity—that the film chooses not to fully decode.
The narrative takes a turn when Anton, disillusioned with theatre, decides to pursue filmmaking. Like many dreamers before him, he aspires to transition from stage to screen, convinced that cinema holds greater promise. His decision is not without personal sacrifice—and it mirrors the real-life story of actor John D’Silva who returned from the Middle East to pursue creative ambitions back home. Together with Rohan, Anton embarks on the daunting journey of making a film, a process that reflects the aspirations—and naïveté—of countless first-time filmmakers.
Their enthusiasm, however, is not matched by technical expertise or a clear understanding of the medium. In one telling moment, they visit a film shoot in the hope of learning the craft, only to realise that filmmaking is far more complex than they had imagined. As the narrative subtly suggests, all the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
The casting significantly enhances the film’s impact. Sameer Shetye, in the role of one of the villagers, stands out with impeccable comic timing, bringing authenticity and humour to the ensemble. Sushant Nayak delivers a convincing performance as Rohan, capturing the character’s internal conflicts with ease. Amar Chari brings depth and nuance to Umesh, embodying the character’s layered personality with restraint. And John D’Silva, as always, is such a pleasure to watch—his performance marked by a natural ease and quiet authority that elevates every scene he inhabits.
In the end, Umesh is less about arriving at answers and more about exploring questions—about art, talent, ambition, identity, and the spaces in between. It is a film that lingers, not because it demands attention, but because it earns it.
Love on the rocks
Film: Toh, Ti ani Fuji (Marathi)
Cast: Lalit Prabhakar,Mrinmayee Godbole
Directed by: Mohit Takalkar
Duration: 2 hours 10 minutes
Rating: * * * 1 / 2
Directed by Mohit Takalkar and written by Irawati Karnik, Toh, Ti Ani Fuji explores a turbulent relationship set against the backdrop of Japan. Mount Fuji may be dormant, but the relationship between Toh (Lalit Prabhakar) and Ti (Mrinmayee Godbole) is anything but—constantly simmering, erupting, and impossible to ignore.
The film joins a familiar space—stories of relationships that turn toxic, yet remain inescapable for those involved. Told in a non-linear fashion, the narrative unfolds in Tokyo, where Toh (lalit) and Ti (Mrinmayee) cross paths again years after drifting apart. Ti now lives there with her son, though the identity of the father remains unclear at first.
Despite their troubled past, the two find themselves drawn back to each other. What follows is a gradual rekindling of something that may resemble romance—or perhaps just emotional dependency. Through a series of flashbacks, we see how a once affectionate relationship deteriorated into something deeply toxic, reaching a point of no return.
Toh is a deeply flawed individual, carrying unresolved issues with his father and, seemingly, with the world at large. His volatility is evident even in trivial matters—whether onions should be chopped or sliced becomes enough to trigger an outburst. Yet, despite his flaws and occasional cruelty, his love for Ti feels undeniable. Ti, for her part, is equally attached, if not more giving. Both remain blinded by their emotions, unable—or unwilling—to recognise the damage they inflict on each other. Sometimes, love is not blind, it just choses not to see.
A standout moment arrives toward the end: an intense, no-holds-barred argument between the two, shot in a single take lasting well over 10 minutes. This sequence is a testament to Karnik’s sharp writing and Takalkar’s assured direction, brought vividly to life by two exceptional performances. It not only highlights the emotional depth of the story but also showcases its powerful cinematic translation.
What makes the film compelling is that, despite their flaws, you empathise with both characters. You hope they might find some middle ground, though the film remains honest about the unpredictability of real-life relationships. Notably, for a Marathi film, or any Indian film for that matter, it also pushes boundaries in its depiction of sexuality—an area often treated as taboo in Indian cinema. The restrained use of music further enhances the experience, allowing emotions to emerge organically rather than being imposed.
Complementing Karnik’s writing and Takalkar’s direction is the impressive cinematography by Rahul Chauhan and John Donica. Ultimately, what lingers is the chemistry between the leads. Lalit Prabhakar effortlessly shifts between vulnerability and volatility, while Mrinmayee Godbole delivers a consistently pitch-perfect performance and adds value to her character.
Toh, Tia ani Fuji is a testament that love doesn’t always heal—sometimes, like a dormant volcano, it simply waits for the next eruption.
(Currently streaming on Sony LIV)
Haunted by logic
Film: Bhooth Bangla
Cast: Akshay Kumar, Paresh Rawal
Directed by: Priyadarshan
Duration: 2 hours 54 minutes
Rating: *
Priyadarshan’s Bhooth Bangla opens with a disclaimer stating that it doesn’t promote superstition—a sensible inclusion on paper. But over its nearly three-hour runtime, the film seems to do the exact opposite. From chants that supposedly ward off demons (and, when played in reverse, conveniently summon them—more on that backmasking later) to bizarre attempts at linking quantum physics with the ‘aatma’ (soul), the narrative is packed with so much mumbo-jumbo it could fill a tanker crossing the Hormuz.
The film is pitched as a horror-comedy, a genre that demands precision. When mishandled—as it is here—it ends up being neither scary nor funny. Horror-comedy is serious business, but the writing treats it casually. The gags range from mildly amusing to outright crude, including a literal toilet joke. In one scene, a man notices steam rising from a commode. A normal reaction might be curiosity or concern; instead, he chooses to sit on it, only to be blasted upward by boiling water. That’s the world of Bhooth Bangla—where no character behaves like a normal human being.
By the end, I found myself half-jokingly ready to say a prayer, hoping for rescue.
The film opens with a flashback at Mangalpur railway station, a place ominously associated with disappearing brides. A bride in red falling prey to an evil force evoked memory of Jaani Dushman (1979), which, despite its excesses, was far more effective. Here, a wedding party is attacked, chaos ensues, and—predictably—the bride flees down the most deserted road possible.
From Mangalpur, the story shifts to London. One might expect a change in tone or some grounding in logic because of the change in continents but that hope is short-lived. Arjun (Akshay Kumar) is an unemployed, not-so-young man living off his father’s (Jisshu Sengupta) wealth. His sister (Mithila Palkar) has found her soulmate, but their marriage is stalled by the usual cinematic hurdles—auspicious timings, vaastu concerns, and general indecision.
While the father is away in Sydney delivering lectures that awkwardly merge quantum physics with spirituality, Arjun is suddenly summoned to North India by a lawyer informing him of a grand inheritance: a palace, no less – just what a jobless man needs. The palace, unsurprisingly, is dilapidated and haunted, with a bat-like creature appearing only at night—much like Dracula, it seems to have an aversion to light. When a holy man visits he says, “Yahan kuch galat ho raha hain, mujhe guruji ko batana padega” (There is something fishy here, I have to inform my teacher).
Along with Dhurandhar 2, this is the second time in so many months we see a head separating from the torso. The ‘comedy’—mostly chaotic noise—comes via a wedding planner (Paresh Rawal) and his nephew (Rajpal Yadav), with the former featuring in the infamous toilet scene. Wamiqa Gabbi plays a writer researching ancient Indian temples, which leads her to Mangalpur and the legend of Vadhusur, the resident demon.
Vadhusur, we’re told, was once contained by Arjun’s grandfather using recorded chants played on a machine that conveniently includes both “forward” and “reverse” levers —fully aware, of course, that reversing the chants will unleash the demon. It’s a premise that relies heavily on the absence of basic logic, something none of the characters seem to possess.
If there’s any unintended takeaway from all this chaos, it’s a curious visual pattern: every time the demon appears, strong winds begin to blow. Perhaps, unintentionally, the film’s most coherent idea is that the demon serves as a metaphor for climate change.
