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'The Diplomat' Movie Review: John Abraham Leads a Middling Political Thriller
‘The Diplomat’ is engaging in parts, but can’t resist a few unhealthy habits.
Director: Shivam Nair
Writer: Ritesh Shah
Cast: John Abraham, Sadia Khateeb, Kumud Mishra, Revathy, Sharib Hashmi
Language: Hindi
The Diplomat has all the elements of a solid thriller. The drama is Argo (2012) and Bridge of Spies (2015)-coded, where one government agent must negotiate the safe return of a citizen trapped in a seemingly hostile country. The premise is almost ready-made. The film is inspired by the true story of Uzma Ahmed (played by Sadia Khateeb), a woman who arrives at the Indian embassy in Islamabad desperately seeking refuge; she claims to have been tricked into marrying an abusive Pakistani man who kept her captive in the mountains. Deputy High Commissioner J.P. Singh (John Abraham) takes charge, determined to guide her through a maze of media scrutiny, red tape, court trials and political tensions. All he has are words and aura, in addition to the support of the Minister of External Affairs (based on the late Sushma Swaraj) from New Delhi.
The film-making is fairly competent. There’s a climactic set piece featuring a high-stakes 5-hour drive to the Wagah border, a revolving police convoy, and a last-ditch chase. It’s nicely executed, except for the one random transition from night to morning that punctures the urgency of this 'escape'. The camerawork stays sober. The supporting cast is effective, especially Jagjeet Sandhu as Uzma’s two-faced husband Tahir. He’s a green flag when they fall in love in Malaysia, but then uses the green flag of Pakistan as an excuse to justify his violent masculinity. The role is a cliche, but you believe Uzma’s trauma when he approaches her in court; just the mere sight of him affects her. Surprisingly, there are a few good (Pakistani) men too: an easy-going lawyer (Kumud Mishra) devoted to his wife, a no-nonsense judge, a minister who waves immigration formalities. Sharib Hashmi is largely wasted as J.P.’s colleague, but his character’s name (Tiwari) is a neat in-joke for The Family Man enthusiasts.
The story itself focuses on how a young woman’s dignity can transcend petty political egos. There’s a scene early on where J.P. doubts the authenticity of Uzma’s story and gets a female subordinate to examine her privately. The woman is jolted by the marks on Uzma’s body, and can’t contain her rage when J.P. wonders if Uzma might be fooling them. “We recognise domestic and sexual abuse, sir,” she bristles, only for J.P. to smile (with John Abraham, it’s always a grin) and remind her that she doesn’t need to aim the gun of feminism at the apathy of due process. Even the score does a decent job of keeping things moving despite the unnecessary distractions — like J.P.’s phone-calls with his son, or a flashback in Kabul designed to show he’s haunted by a past that influences his decisions. The film doesn’t need such crutches, but old habits die hard.
However, the only thing that stops The Diplomat from being an engaging thriller is The Diplomat. The bar is low for commercial cinema: we tend to judge movies by virtue of what they don’t do wrong, not what they get right. You can tell that director Shivam Nair and writer Ritesh Shah are summoning every ounce of willpower to present a subdued portrait of India’s greatness. They deserve some credit for this. But every now and then, their algorithm glitches. The self-control wavers. Patriotism is baked into the plot — you don’t need any stylistic excesses — but The Diplomat insists on doubling down at times. It’s never enough that India does the correct thing; everyone else is incorrect. Uzma’s backstory, for instance, inches into The Kerala Story (2023) territory with its depictions of one-note brutality. The men stop short of grunting like animals; the camera lingers on grimacing faces, bloody bruises and violated bodies. Sadia Khateeb’s performance as Uzma takes a hit in these parts. That’s not to cast doubt on the authenticity of events, but it’s the creative choices made that speak volumes about what a film wants to imply. Show a victim cry and the story is empathising with her; show a victim get punched or explicitly assaulted and the story is exploiting them to antagonise the rest. The line is so thin that breaching it is a given.
It doesn’t help that the ISI boss bears an unfortunate resemblance to ‘Achmed The Dead Terrorist,’ comedian Jeff Dunham’s controversial puppet character that was often banned for offending Muslims. The film also can’t help itself from slipping in a passing shot of a lazy Pakistani cop when the Indians ask for full cover. Another example is how every Indian character in the film is staged as a soft-spoken saviour; there is no room for a hero fighting the bureaucracies and flaws of his own system (like in Argo or Bridge of Spies) to get the job done. The hero cannot do anything but be an upright embodiment of the system. He tries to sound complex — like a man with his own opinions despite being a diplomat — but there is no proof of this except his grins.
When reverence dictates art, the result is prayer rather than storytelling. This tone is evident before the first frame, when the longest disclaimer in the history of pre-film disclaimers is read out on screen. By the time the film begins, half the film is technically over. Forget modern movies not wanting to offend so much as a honeybee, this reveals an unprecedented degree of fear that prevents art from being curious, human or holding society accountable. A beefy John Abraham may look like a strange choice to play a diplomat, but some narrative tension is derived from an action hero defying his base instincts and physicality for the greater good. This vibe of a simmering pressure cooker works. In the climax, you keep expecting him to explode and his muscles to rip through the suit and tie, but all he does is drive a car fast. The actor-producer is also known for his nationalistic roles, so to see his character resist outright jingoism is like watching a Sunday swimmer hold his breath underwater.
Which is to say: the commitment is admirable but uneasy. Like the film, J.P. inevitably cracks and can’t resist a few jibes. It’s more than just neighbourly banter. The shirt doesn’t come off, but the mask does. Every other moment is laced with him prefacing a punchline with "This is Pakistan, trust nobody". He keeps reminding colleagues (and viewers) that the country is full of safety threats and uncivilised order, as if the Indian men’s cricket team’s schedule in the recent Champion’s Trophy wasn’t enough evidence. There are constant allusions to how India is law-abiding, efficient and respectful of women. Without any sense of irony. The self-righteousness takes a toll on what is otherwise a naturally gripping narrative. It’s like hearing a teacher repeatedly bring up the class topper to shame other kids into studying. Never mind that the class topper is too scared to not sound like a robot.
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It’s true that The Diplomat could’ve been much worse. In the context of similarly-themed thrillers today, it’s almost an anomaly. (If the Akshay Kumar character from Ajnabee were a film critic, his famous password would be: "Everything Is Relative"). But perhaps it’s time to ask for more than middling, moderate or serviceable. Particularly when the setup is slick enough to be sensible. A little more grace goes a long way. Diplomacy might be a powerful tool in politics, but it’s only a refuge for storytelling. As we speak, I’m afraid the disclaimer is still going on. All we can do is wait and listen.