Based on Shivaji Sawant’s popular novel, Chhaava is a puff piece on Maratha warrior Chhatrapati Sambhaji, who took on the might of Mughal emperor Aurangzeb for around eight years in the 17th Century. Carrying forward the defiant approach of his father Chhatrapati Shivaji, he kept Aurangzeb occupied in the Deccan during the second half of his reign, inflicting heavy damage on his humongous army and pride with his unmatched valour and guerilla tactics before being betrayed by his brother-in-law. Historians may not have been generous to the shooting star but, over the years, Sambhaji has acquired an almost divine status in Marathi cultural space. In recent years, at least three Marathi films portrayed him as someone who laid down his life for the Hindu faith. Director Laxman Utekar carries forward the narrative. Early in the film, when Sambhaji maims a lion, it becomes clear that it is going be a literal cinematic depiction of Calendar art by Utekar, who started his career as a cinematographer. When Sambhaji saves a Muslim child amid a battle — and a few reels later, Mughal soldiers burn a shepherdess alive — it becomes clear the agenda Chhaava seeks to promote and the emotion it wants to play up. However, when characters start introducing themselves and their intentions like players at the start of a cricket match, one wants to tell Utekar, ‘Zara Hatke Zara Bachke’

Smartphone is the new villain in love stories. Screenwriters looking for new obstacles for love birds have discovered social evils on the web. After Muddassar Aziz used phone swapping to generate humour in Khel Khel Main, director Advait Chandan recycles the Tamil hit Love Today to create a romantic comedy about the ill effects of social media and artificial intelligence on relationships in Loveyapa. Baani (Khushi Kapoor) and Gaurav (Junaid Khan) feel their romance is transparent till Baani’s father Atul (Ashutosh Rana) asks them to swap their phones before they exchange vows. As the phones get unlocked, it opens Pandora’s chat box with the video libraries and vaults of phones revealing secrets that both are not ready to overlook. Written by Sneha Desai, the film makes interesting observations on how the young generation is losing touch with reality and how there is a distinct difference in their online and offline character. In this game of choices, there is no gender divide. It also touches upon the issues of online fat shaming and the emerging scourge of deepfakes.

Is he an adult? Is he a child? He is your father. In his first directorial venture, Boman Irani renders a keenly observed, lived experience of an urban Indian family as he finds the simple answer to the tricky question. The tension between father and son never goes out of fashion in creative space, but the expression often tilts towards one generation or the other. Boman and co-writer Alexander Dinelaris (of Birdman fame) walk the rope in this tender exploration of a jagged relationship that leaves a sobering impact. Rich in detail, redolent with melancholy, and peppered with meaningful motifs, the film caresses a raw nerve. The duo generates a dialogue between two generations without getting pedantic, without losing sight of the plot. A charming, emerging architect struggling to find his voice in the boardroom, Amay (Avinash Tiwary) returns home after the sudden demise of his mother to see his grieving father Shiv (Boman) wilt. Though grappling with loss, Shiv doesn’t seek his son’s shoulder to cry. Amay doesn’t offer it either. Like most Indian families, the two share a silent relationship that appears strained from the outside. His sister Ana (Shikha Sarup) is the link connecting the two. She wants to take her father to the US. But is the father ready to make the emotional shift? She bribes him with his favourite meal, but Shiv sees through the design.

After a long wait, we have a mainstream flick where the hero makes you forget the lapses in the logic of the screenplay as director Rosshan Andrrews mounts his Malayalam blockbuster Mumbai Police for the Hindi heartland, a decade after its release. Among the current crop of Bollywood actors, Shahid Kapoor has the wherewithal to generate the wildfire out of the masala moments that recipes from the South spark. A rare breed in this generation who can be believable and lovable in the high register, Shahid excels in roles rooted in the duality of character. Here he is a ferocious Animal in uniform who slays with style in the first half. Armed with the licence of daddy issues, as Dev, the star flaunts the angst-ridden charm of Kabir Singh and the chutzpah of Haider and mauls everyone who comes in his path for fun.

At a time when history is being fictionalised, director Rajkumar Santoshi uses creative licence to bust the canards that have been allowed to fester over the years to delegitimise Mahatma Gandhi in public conscience. From being called a pawn of the Empire to faking fasts, a notion has been created that Gandhi forced the first government of independent India to release Rs 55 crore to Pakistan. The film suggests that it triggered Nathuram Godse to kill Gandhi on January 30, 1948. Santoshi revisits the events leading up to Gandhi’s assassination and then takes a leap into an imaginary space where Gandhi survives the three bullets that Godse pumped into his chest and seeks a dialogue with him.

When Kangana Ranaut announced that she would direct Emergency, many felt it might be another weapon to whip the Congress in the election year to limit the memory of the grand old party’s rule to the 21-month blot that Indira Gandhi inflicted on democracy in 1975. After a long wait and multiple controversies, it turns out that the artist in Kangana has prevailed over the fledgling politician in her to create an ambitious biopic of the former Prime Minister, where the Emergency period is a dark chapter in her storied journey from Anand Bhawan to 1 Safdarjung Road. However, in an attempt to find the roots of dictatorial insecurities in Indira’s psyche, the writers (Kangana and Ritesh Shah) tie the screenplay into knots. The muddled gaze results in a spiritual cousin of The Accidental Prime Minister where a biopic vilifies or dilutes its subject to serve the present dispensation.

Betaab, Barsaat, Mirziya… Bollywood somehow loves to launch its kids on horses. Abhishek Kapoor’s Azaad is the latest addition to the list where Ajay Devgn’s nephew Aaman Devgan, and Raveena Tandon’s daughter Rasha Thadani, get a horse ride because of their pedigree.

Early in Fateh when a strapping Sonu Sood, dressed in a sharp black suit, enters a large room full of cocky goons, he is told that there is no space for him inside. The 120-minute bloodbath becomes a metaphor for the struggle of the sincere actor to carve a niche for himself as a solo hero. Sonu has a booming voice and a body to own the big screen. However, in a bid to flex his muscles and serve his off-screen image of a saviour (during the pandemic), Sonu, who trebles as an actor, producer, and director, has bitten more than he can chew. Cinematographer Vincenzo Condorelli and action directors Lee Whittaker and RP Yadav combine to create the right pitch for a visceral action drama. But after promising to take forward the renewed interest in the classic action genre, on the lines of Animal and Kill, the adults-only film falls into a painful pattern where the plot refuses to thicken and emotions don’t swell enough to turn the theatre into a slaughterhouse.

In Indian tradition, fire alludes to love and conflict, devotion and anger, eternality and death. The ever-youthful element that demands sacrifice plays the central character in director Rahul Dholakia’s ode to the unstinting spirit of the firefighters. Capturing a daze’s multiple faces and colours, Dholakia removes the smokescreen that covers the firefighters’ work and opens a window into the lives of those who keep us out of its fury but whose services are not duly acknowledged by the system and society. The action takes us into the heart of the evacuation process, the drama unravels the sacrifices firefighters make and the thriller elements seek to find the answer to the source of the firestorm.

Those who have experienced Titli and Agra would vouch that Kanu Behl’s cinema is not easy to watch. Always reflecting dark shades of everyday reality, the filmmaker has this knack for scratching the soul of his desperate characters struggling to cling to their little power structures and, in the process, leaves impressions on the conscience of the audience.