Maalik

Maalik, directed by Pulkit, charts the well-worn trajectory of a farmer’s son, who turns to violence as a means of redress. His descent into extortion and murder brings him undeniable power, but at the inevitable cost of his moral core. It’s a highly familiar story, and the filmmaker doesn’t help his cause by bringing little that feels fresh in either perspective or cinematic craft.

Set in the late 1980s and early ’90s, in Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh, Maalik tells the story of Deepak (Rajkummar Rao), a college student, who gets inspired by the fiery speeches of politician Shankar Singh (Saurabh Shukla). But his world turns upside down when one of Singh’s goons attacks his father, Bindeshwarar (Rajendra Gupta). In anger, Deepak kills the goon in a crowded market, and this sets him on the road to becoming a feared mafia leader, ‘Maalik’. Over the years, his power has grown significantly, enabling him to secure road and railway contracts even before the government officially announces them. But his rise also creates adversaries: a rival local goon, Chandrashekhar (Saurabh Sachdeva), and a shrewd politician, Balhar (Swanand Kirkire). When the violence between them threatens to spiral out of control, Balhar brings in Prabhu (Prosenjit Chatterjee), a tough Bengali police officer and encounter specialist, to end Maalik’s rule of terror.

In recent years, films and web series set in India’s heartland have also become a trend, with many filmmakers drawn to their rustic textures and violent undercurrents. Pulkit, along with his co-writer Jyotsana Nath, taps into this well-worn template to craft a gangster drama filled with wanton killings, gunfire, and stray bombs. Yet the film never quite discovers the spark it needs. We have all the familiar elements, even as the film trudges through its blood-soaked narrative with an almost total lack of engagement to transcend the clichés it so closely adheres to. The film barely skims the surface of the region’s politics and the entrenched nexus between crime and power, never convincingly unpacking why Deepak emerges as such a strong rival to Chandrashekhar, or what, frankly, fuels their confrontation. As a result, the story misses the chance to deepen its socio-political texture or any complexities the narrative could have explored.

Admittedly, Pulkit does find an opportunity to demonstrate a certain flair in staging action, most notably in the film’s opening sequence, which introduces two primary characters with considerable tension and style. He also ensures his protagonist is given ample room to exude swagger as he wreaks havoc on his enemies. Yet this soon tips into excess, with violent set-pieces cropping up so frequently that their impact begins to dull.  Moreover, the screenplay is built almost entirely around plot events, leaving little space for characters or their relationships to develop with any emotional resonance. Some scenes of Deepak’s bond with his wife, Shalini (Manushi Chhillar), do carry some dramatic weight, but there’s never enough to draw us into their world. The same is true of Deepak’s relationship with his father, which remains thin and underexplored. If at all, it is only Deepak’s camaraderie with his gang member, Badaun (Anshumaan Pushkar), that comes closest to forming a meaningful thread, though even that feels undernourished. As for Prabhu Das and Deepak, aside from a chase and shootout, there’s little that allows their opposing moral worlds to collide with any real force, missing the satisfying clash of formidable personalities.

Rajkummar Rao, who dominates the screen time, does what he can, bringing a wild, rustic edge to his character that suits the film’s terrain. The supporting cast, Saurabh Shukla, Swanand Kirkire, Anshumaan Pushkar, Manushi Chhillar and Rajendra Gupta, inhabit their roles with honesty and a measure of realism. Prosenjit Chatterjee, as Prabhu Das, injects subtle shades into his portrayal, hinting frustratingly at depths the film never gets into.

The cinematography by Anuj Rakesh Dhawan, paired with Rita Ghosh’s production design, does give the film a certain visual polish. Zubin Sheikh’s editing keeps the film moving, yet is inevitably hamstrung by the screenplay’s deeper flaws. Sachin-Jigar’s music is largely forgettable, while Ketan Sodha’s background score merely adds a thin veneer of mood. The item song, Naamumkin, featuring Huma Qureshi, along with the obligatory end-credit number, Raaj Karega Maalik, feel redundant and shoehorned.

In the end, Maalik offers little beyond bloodshed and bravado, lacking moral or psychological depth. For all its forceful surface energy and sporadic flashes of style, the film never shakes off the sense of being a hollow retread. It closes, tellingly, with the promise of a sequel, though one is left to wonder if it has anything left to say.

Hindi, Action, Drama, Color