Matka King Review | Vijay Varma Anchors Gambling’s Gritty Rise In Nagraj Manjule’s Period Crime Drama

Matka King, created by Abhay Koranne and directed by Nagraj Manjule, arrives with the weight of history. Set in 1970s Bombay, it draws from the life and legend of Ratan Khatri, the man who turned matka gambling into a nationwide phenomenon. There is ambition in how the series builds this world. There is also restraint—sometimes too much of it.

At its best, the show feels immersive. At its weakest, it feels like it is holding something back.

The series follows Brij Bhatti (Vijay Varma), a cotton trader who finds himself at the intersection of opportunity and desperation. Bombay is changing, but not for everyone. The divide between the rich and the working class is stark, and the system does little to bridge that gap. Brij sees a way through. What begins as a gamble soon turns into an empire.

The rise is gradual, almost methodical. The show spends time establishing the ecosystem around him—the cotton market, the informal networks, the shifting loyalties. It understands that power is not built overnight. It is negotiated, tested and often compromised. This is where the series finds its rhythm.

The writing consistently returns to the idea of power as a system rather than a single act. Gambling is not treated as a standalone vice. It is part of a larger structure—one that includes politics, law enforcement and the media. The show makes a sharp point about selective morality. Certain vices are banned, others are ignored. Not because they are less harmful, but because they are more profitable.

There is a quiet clarity in how this is shown. The system is not broken in obvious ways. It is designed to function like this. The portrayal of the gambling world itself carries a certain weight. There is a sense of scale, of money moving through unseen channels. At the same time, the series raises an important question without fully answering it. Who is actually putting their money into this system? The working class frustration is visible, but the mechanics of participation feel slightly underexplored.

Still, the larger idea lands. Gambling here is not just about chance. It is about control.

Varma holds the series together. His performance as Brij Bhatti is measured and precise. He does not play the character as overtly dominant or theatrical. Instead, there is a steady build. You see the calculation, the restraint and eventually the cracks.

What stands out is how he handles the internal shift. The mental strain and the slow erosion of control is never overstated. It sits just beneath the surface. There are moments of humour, flashes of charm, but they never distract from the character's trajectory. It is easily one of his strongest performances.

The supporting cast adds texture to the world. Sai Tamhankar brings emotional weight to the domestic track, especially in moments where the personal life begins to fracture. Kritika Kamra’s presence introduces another layer to Brij's choices, though her arc feels slightly underdeveloped. Gulshan Grover and the rest of the ensemble fit into the larger machinery of the narrative, even if not all of them are given equal depth.

One of the more interesting threads in the series is its take on media and its relationship with power. There are moments where stories are altered, softened or completely buried under pressure. It is set in the 1970s, but it does not feel distant. The connection between political influence and information control is drawn with enough clarity to feel relevant even now.

This is where the show feels most pointed.

At the same time, there is a lingering sense that the series does not push far enough. It touches on corruption, on systemic failure, on the blurred line between legality and legitimacy. But it often steps back just when it could have gone deeper. Certain truths feel softened, as if the narrative is choosing to stay within a safer boundary.

Given that it draws from a real figure like Ratan Khatri, this restraint becomes more noticeable. Khatri was known to be shrewd, connected and deeply embedded within powerful networks. He operated with a level of influence that blurred the lines between crime and legitimacy. The series captures aspects of this personality, particularly its calculated nature and its ability to navigate power structures. But it stops short of fully unpacking the extent of that world.

Visually, the series does a solid job of recreating the period. The production design, costumes and overall texture bring 1970s Bombay to life without over-stylising it. There is a grounded quality to the frames, even if they do not lean heavily into a distinct visual signature.

The pacing largely works, especially in how it charts the rise. However, the final stretch leaves questions. The ending feels open in a way that does not entirely fit the material. For a story rooted in real events, the lack of closure stands out. It raises the possibility of a second season; but as a standalone arc, it feels incomplete.

There is also an interesting personal thread running through the later episodes—the idea that staying in a broken relationship comes at a cost. The show does not overstate it, but it allows that arc to unfold with a certain honesty. It adds a layer of intimacy to a story otherwise driven by power and ambition.

In the end, Matka King is a well-made series that does many things right. It builds a compelling world, asks relevant questions and delivers a standout central performance. At the same time, it holds back from fully confronting the darker edges of its subject.