Anurag Kashyap crafts a prison drama that raises difficult questions about justice, reputation and the consequences of public judgment.
Bobby Deol plays a man slowly stripped of certainty, dignity and control. The performance works because it never seeks sympathy.
Strong performances and atmospheric filmmaking help Bandar overcome a few uneven narrative choices.
Anurag Kashyap has spent much of his career examining institutions and the people trapped inside them. Whether in the criminal underworld, politics, or the entertainment industry, his films often explore the systems that shape individual lives. With Bandar (Monkey in a Cage internationally), he returns with a prison drama that feels both intimate and unsettling. On the surface, it is the story of a celebrity accused of rape. Beneath that, however, lies a film about public perception, emotional damage, legal machinery and the frightening speed with which a person's life can unravel.
At its centre is Samar Mehra (Bobby Deol), a once-famous singer and television personality whose best days are behind him. He is still wealthy, still recognisable and still moving within elite circles, but his relevance has begun to fade. His life takes a dramatic turn when Gayatri (Sapna Pabbi), a former partner, accuses him of rape after a bitter fallout. The accusation leads to his arrest and throws him into a legal and prison system that appears indifferent to nuance and uninterested in understanding the full picture.
What follows is not a courtroom thriller built around shocking twists or dramatic revelations. Kashyap's focus remains firmly on the experience of being processed, judged and gradually broken down by a system that treats people as files rather than human beings.
One of the film's smarter decisions is refusing to take sides too early. It does not ask the audience to sympathise with Samar immediately, nor does it attempt to transform him into a martyr. He is presented as flawed, emotionally immature, and often careless in how he treats those around him. There is a sense that he has spent much of his life protected by privilege, fame and a certain degree of entitlement.
Yet the film repeatedly returns to an uncomfortable question: can someone be morally flawed without being guilty of the crime they are accused of?
Rather than providing a straightforward answer, Bandar sits with the uncertainty. Kashyap is less interested in proving innocence or guilt than in examining how quickly narratives solidify once they enter the public domain. The accusation becomes larger than the individuals involved. Public opinion forms. Institutions react. Judgements are made. The truth becomes increasingly difficult to locate beneath the noise.
Bobby Deol delivers what is arguably the strongest performance of his career. There is none of the swagger or larger-than-life persona often associated with mainstream stars. Instead, Deol plays Samar as a man slowly stripped of certainty, dignity and control. The performance works because it never seeks sympathy. Samar's fear, frustration and humiliation emerge naturally through body language and expression rather than dramatic speeches.
As the character moves deeper into the prison system, Deol allows the weight of confinement to settle visibly onto his shoulders. By the final act, Samar feels like an entirely different person from the man introduced at the beginning of the film.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Jitendra Joshi is exceptional as the investigating officer whose interrogation methods reveal the casual brutality embedded within positions of authority. Rather than playing the character as overtly villainous, Joshi understands that the most frightening forms of power often operate through routine behaviour. His scenes with Deol rank among the film's strongest.
Sanya Malhotra brings warmth and emotional grounding to the narrative, while Indrajith Sukumaran, Raj B. Shetty and the ensemble cast help create a prison ecosystem that feels lived-in rather than cinematic. Even smaller characters leave an impression because Kashyap allows them to exist as people rather than plot devices.
Sapna Pabbi faces the most challenging role in the film as Gayatri. She is tasked with portraying a character who remains difficult to fully understand throughout much of the narrative. Gayatri is obsessive, hurt and increasingly destructive, but the film wisely avoids presenting her as a simple villain.
This is where Bandar becomes more interesting than a straightforward "reverse #MeToo" narrative.
It would be easy to interpret the film as an argument about false accusations. Yet Kashyap appears more interested in examining emotional wreckage than making a political statement. Gayatri's actions emerge from rejection, obsession and a desperate need for validation. At the same time, the film does not completely absolve Samar. While he may not deserve the nightmare that follows, there is growing recognition that his emotional irresponsibility contributed to the relationship's collapse.
The film occupies a morally complicated space where emotional harm and criminal wrongdoing are not treated as the same thing, but they are not entirely disconnected either.
Visually, Bandar is among Kashyap's most effective films in recent years.
Saiyed Shaaz Rizvi's cinematography embraces an unpolished realism that perfectly suits the material. The prison environments feel suffocating and oppressive. The corridors appear endless. The cells seem coated in sweat, rust and neglect. There are moments when the atmosphere becomes so tangible that the audience can almost smell the dampness and decay.
The production design deserves equal praise. Nothing feels stylised or exaggerated. Every location appears functional, worn down and deeply institutional. It is a world designed to erase individuality.
The film's pacing occasionally slows during its middle stretch, but the overall tension remains intact. Kashyap understands that prison is not frightening because something dramatic happens every minute. It is frightening because of repetition, uncertainty and the gradual erosion of hope.
If Bandar has a weakness, it lies in how some viewers may interpret its treatment of gender. The film asks difficult questions and takes risks that many contemporary films avoid. However, its portrayal of Gayatri occasionally comes close to reducing a complex situation into a portrait of obsession. A little more emotional depth on that front may have strengthened the film further.
Even so, Bandar succeeds because it trusts the audience enough to wrestle with uncomfortable ideas. It refuses easy moral victories. It offers no heroic speeches, no clean resolution and no comforting certainty. Instead, it presents a world where perception often precedes truth and survival itself becomes a daily battle. There are parts of Bandar that invite debate, particularly in the way it approaches its central accusation. But that friction is also what makes the film compelling.
