Maalik Review | Rajkummar Rao Struggles To Muster Terror And Glory In Rehashed Gangster Saga

There are certain films that force a big existential crisis. It makes you question not just why you opted to sit through it but also muse how life led you to that point of watching it. Rajkummar Rao’s latest film, Maalik, runs into 152 minutes—of which, not a single one is remotely bearable. It frustrates and batters you down into a string of sour moods. Unfathomably set in 1980s feudal Allahabad, the film is wooden—so derivative not an ounce of individuality can be felt.

A gangster film needs a charismatic actor to power it through. Rao has talent and craft in spades. But a lead in such a film requires command and ferocity. The problem with Rao’s performance is you can see its design, straining exertions. This is his most aggressively showboating role in a while. Why Rao signed up for this is obvious. He wants to exude menace and supremacy, but every gesture comes off as too overly orchestrated. At times, the character tries to be silly and amiable and shows a flash of heart, especially those involving his wife. But Rao struggles to iron out the rougher edges and create something dynamic, unpredictable and terrifying. The hollows of hurt in his gaze occasionally pierce. The writing, by Pulkit and Jyotsana Nath, flings Rao through displays of unhinged villainy, but the effect is never wholly compelling. The beats are too worn out, sagging under the weight of every exhausted trope.

So, it’s also bold to expect the makers to reserve any thought, let alone agency, for women in this bloodied saga. As Maalik’s wife, Manushi Chhillar mostly simpers. Her brief seems to be: just look pretty and be all dainty. Of course, the wife exists mainly to transform the man, set him on the path of righteous acceptance. She makes him tender, lose his worst excesses. The gangster resists surrendering for the longest time, convinced of his cynicism in the state machinery. It’s why he blazed out on his chosen track in the first place. This is a tale of one-upmanship, men contesting each other’s settled positions. Swearing revenge on his father’s humiliation and misery at the hands of feudal landowners, Deepak turns into ‘Maalik’.

Besides a raging, violent streak, the film never plausibly etches out this dramatic shift. It goes to great lengths to dabble in masala South cinema fare, but its busy elements don’t sing together into something pleasurable or rousing. The drama gains neither punch nor pure velocity. Maalik bungs in some business rivalries and police run-ins—but that key primal urgency is amiss. As the newly appointed SP in Allahabad, Prosenjit Chatterjee rings in a lot of grandstanding. His character boasts of the ninety plus encounter killings. What’s also disappointing is the film sets up a police chase only to entirely forget it. A long backstory of the gangster ensues, where his motivations become clearer, pity gained. He is the typical gang lord who picks up the gun for the systemically disenfranchised, the underclass. Therefore, Maalik trots out niceties on age-old links between politicians and goons. Deepak/Maalik is aiming to campaign in local elections. He seeks a politically licensed form of power. But what use is power if the entire town fears him? His wife reasons. So, his heart melts.

Rationality and a well-flowing emotional logic aren’t to be found in this film. As body count rises, politicians and mafia clash, reason checks out of the film progressively. It’s too indistinct and impersonal a work to elicit any gush of emotion, a leap of surprise. There’s no danger or intrigue. There’s a lot of frantic plotting but it’s determinedly uninvolving. At no point does your curiosity ever peak. Instead, Maalik piles on tedium. It’s supposed to rake in colliding vested interests but tension doesn’t accelerate. Few perfunctory songs roll in at odd intervals. Maalik’s makers have some audacity for testing the very tether of patience, weathering of the most recycled, painfully dated gaze towards wounds that trigger a perfectly innocent individual into lethal hooliganism. For all its drawn-out length, you barely get a sense of this ravaged man. Pulkit rushes through the motions of Maalik’s arc and expects you to blindly cheer and be revolted at his conquests. Maalik is torture best left skipped.