Songs Of Paradise Review | Unfulfilled Possibilities In A Tale Of An Artist’s Conflict

Amazon Prime’s Songs Of Paradise (2025), directed and written by Danish Renzu along with co-writer Sunayana Kachroo, is a reverential film that attempts to construct a 1950s Kashmir, steeped in serene lakes, stone houses and gender stereotypes. The film opens with Soni Razdan (Zeba) recalling a horrific instance within a dream, wherein blurry glimpses of a fire within an office startle her. As assertive as she is, her voice is raised in pleas to attain basic resources like mics for her team of artists. From the get-go, the film’s premise feels laid out clearly in front of the viewer.

A simplistic tale of triumph amidst patriarchy, revolutionary for its time but quite plain for the screen. Saba Azad and Razdan play younger and older versions of legendary Kashmiri singer Raj Noor Begum, who is fondly remembered as the “Melody Queen of Kashmir” and was honoured with a Padma Shri for her contributions to Kashmiri music. The film traces her journey from being a diamond in the rough and winning the Radio Kashmir competition to becoming a successful singer known across the nation.

Songs Of Paradise does come across as a story that stands mainly as the artist’s inner conflict—a haunting from the past that continues to hinder in the present. One might say there’s a dearth of female-led biopic films, but also to add, films that are layered and crafted with their complexities in mind. Renzu’s Kashmiri influence upon the cinematography and storytelling is undeniably authentic, although it feels quite refined for the larger audience.

While Razdan and Azad do a phenomenal job at the spoken language, the musical aspect of the film itself feels under-appreciated and under-explored given the immense potential it brought. While Renzu might have “played it safe”, it is important to, in a country where the censor board and the volatile political environment are cut-throat. Although the film ensures it addresses the implications. Rumi (Taruk Raina) is a passionate Kashmiri music enthusiast from Mumbai. In an attempt to get an interview with Zeba aka Noor Begum, he follows and requests her time. Upon agreeing, Begum asks, “You’ve come from Bombay, aren’t your parents worried you’re here…alone”. That line itself says it all—how a place becomes the synonym for worry.

Noor Begum’s struggle to make her own path through a male-dominated industry and conservative beliefs about women performing in public are rooted in attaining equal pay, respect, credit and opportunity. Quite ahead of her time, she comes across as shy and obedient yet has her glimmering moments of bravery. In one instance, she confronts Kaul (Armaan Khera) about her junior getting paid thirty rupees while she was only being paid twenty. In another instance, upon getting married, she reassures Azaad (Zain Khan Durrani) that she would stop performing at the Radio Kashmir show if he wanted her to.

The dualities within Zeba reflect the very contradictions of womanhood that carefully measure its tiny leaps towards freedom. Zeba’s father (Bashir Lone), Masterji (Shishir Sharma) and Azaad act as kind men willing to exempt her from the patriarchal oppression she faces everywhere else and allow her to flourish. While this is very well a reality, since long ago women have had to gain a favourable stance amongst certain men in a male-dominated profession (and society), to be able to get any further.

While the film makes sure not to directly mention any political conflicts revolving around Kashmir, that attempt itself makes it evident how films tiptoe around the premise to be able to be released to the public. The recurring dream itself brings a past event to the forefront driving the now-older Zeba. In a not-so-accidental fire, all of her recordings seem to have been destroyed. Re-recording her songs is her motto in life. Who would have known that Taylor Swift and Zeba have something in common. Although the redemption of her music is potentially a very heart-wrenching metaphor for Kashmir itself—trying to reclaim its identity.

While the attempt remains well-intended, the life and dreams of Zeba hardly come alive on the screen with considerable depth. When Masterji utters statements like, “Ab ye aawaz qaid nahi reh sakti (Now this voice cannot be caged),” it lands like an inevitable occurrence rather than a possibility. The immovable faith within the film’s direction not only makes it predictable but also makes it lose complexity. Kashmir’s vast landscapes, lush valleys and rich colours have landed the film with visually stunning moments. Although Zeba’s desires beyond singing, her mother Moji’s (Sheeba Chaddha) very-valid fears or even her inner conflicts within her artistry are very scarcely explored. Her trajectory from a wedding singer to a household name feels like a graph only going upward. In doing so, the film also wastes the potential that Azad and Razdan offered to the premise. Overall, the understated handling of the conflict irks, hinting at the potential for a more intricate exploration of an artist’s life, even without directly tackling the Kashmir conflict.