'Nishaanchi 2' Movie Review: O Brother, Where Art Thou?

Babloo Nishaanchi (Aaishvary Thackeray) is at the end of his rope. Recently released from prison, after a ten-year stint, he finds himself in freefall. A belated discovery about his twin brother and the woman he loved most sends him over the edge. Babloo fumes drunkenly by a pond. He screams into the void. Funnily, the void screams back — there's a random man on the opposite embankment, mimicking and mocking our hero's exertions. This scene has the Anurag Kashyap touch: impotent rage and self-pity undercut by absurdist humour.

I wish Nishaanchi 2 had more of these. The first part of this UP-bound, 322-minute saga about two twin brothers had a muted theatrical release in September (both parts are now on Prime Video). The first film was flawed, familiar yet frequently funny, shot and performed with small-town verve, a peace offering to those who loved Gangs of Wasseypur and waited, like unsleeping maniacs, for an encore. Kashyap wasn't exactly repeating his tunes. He was, however, plucking at the same instruments, like a fading rockstar on a legacy tour.

Where Part 1 was a pop of colours, Part 2 winds down morosely. An unexpected sullenness infests proceedings. A decade has passed since the botched-up bank robbery that landed Babloo in jail. His family has since left Kanpur and settled quietly in Lucknow. Calm, diffident Dabloo (also Thackeray) is now a working stiff, leading a steady if unexciting relationship with Rinku (Vedika Pinto), who was, as we know, the love of Babloo's life. The return of the prodigal son is fearfully awaited, evident in the eyes of Manjari (Monika Panwar), the storm-toughened Nargis of this piece.

This Mehboob Khan setup does not really translate for Kashyap. After a big confrontation at a factory floor, the narrative splinters, trundling around ineffectively for fresh ignition and conflict. Babloo's long road to redemption becomes exhausting to follow. Neither could I care for the return of Ambika Prasad, among the most forgettable villains in recent Hindi cinema. Kumud Mishra (never bad) plays him as a slimy old fox. It's a missed opportunity for the talented actor, lacking the munchiness of a truly great role.

The tricky double-role cinematography by Sylvester Fonseca is clean and convincing. The parody of regional music video culture, however, is poorly conceived. A lot of momentum is wasted on unearned goofiness and empty wordplay. After a while, the wit dries up. There is a song that pairs s'il vous plaît with sil-batta and includes, just for kicks, nods to Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. The French will never forgive.

Debutant Aaishvary Thackeray was, and is, the big find of Nishaanchi. He throws himself into both roles. However, Babloo, as a bedraggled brute on a warpath, is a misapproximation of the film's centre of gravity. If the two movies will be remembered, it will be for Monika Panwar, one of the most riveting talents of recent years. There is a beautiful fire to her Manjari (compare it, if you will, to the more perfunctory sparkiness of Vedika Pinto's Rinku). The film winds its way to a cool climax. It's cutting and memorable, very Kashyap, even if the journey there may not be worth the trek.

In a scene where Ambika Prasad is plotting an assassination with his cohorts, he arrives at the English word 'sniper' through the 1952 noir of the same name. Alternatively, he could mean American Sniper, though I am convinced he is referencing the former. There was a time when such debates felt crucial to a Kashyap film. But Nishaanchi finds the filmmaker at his most bewilderingly vague. It feels loose and inessential, and mostly shoots blanks.