POPCORN REVIEWSS

Written by Nikhil Nair, Sourabh Ratnu, Heeraz Marfatia, and Ravinder Randhawa, the events of the show Hunkkaar begin in the aftermath of a gruesome crime committed, even as a 17 Year old girl Meenu Rawat (Aneet Padda) enters a police station with her parents. In a near-ideal scenario, the lodging of the complaint after the committed crime would be the last reel of a drama, often transitioning into justice being fittingly served. But the fact that the writing chose to begin with it, tells you a thing or two about the crumbling law and order system at the moment.

In the same scene, you witness a character entering the fray and giving everyone a sacred sweet – a direct introduction of the skewed setting ruled by blind faith. The latter is also an extension of Meenu’s parents, particularly her god-fearing father Dharampal (Rajesh Sharma) who enrolled his daughter in a god-fearing school. And amidst the guilt-ridden act of the parents, you notice a sense of numbness around the protagonist – who has previously been subjected to a heinous crime by an influential godman Sunil Chakosi aka Baapji (Raghubir Yadav, ironically his name Baapji forms a scattered acronym on the lines of the political party known for their epitome of power, BPJ).  The act itself was termed as that of purification, and the multiple references of the finger was a derogatory allibi for silence, even as the protagonist finally gets to file the FIR after spending a whole night.

One of the general criticisms around films like Assi (2026) and Daayra (2026) – two films of the same genre as that of the show, was around the familiarity of the incident. The latter could also be equated to spades of immunity from the ongoing regular issues of the society – the one wherein people are so normalized about the same, that they don’t find any novelty in the films or shows reflecting that fact. The writing also grapples on the similar lines here – with the introduction of the antagonist that felt like a distant cousin of his counterpart in Aashram (2020). In fact, it is uncanny on how power and influence also remain vital cogs of this grand family – with blind faith being the sticky glue that brings them together. Any word against the godly men, and their followers would come for your throat – another familiar outlook to the fabric of the society today.

The proceedings double up as a searing commentary on the identity of the protagonist, in the aftermath of the incident. In multiple scenes, you notice her face being covered by a Dupatta, only giving you a glimpse into her eyes. This is in a sharp contrast to the identity of the antagonist, who goes about his chores in full public eye – using an alibi to ‘prove’ his innocence, or even appearing in court on the back of his brain-washed followers, weaponizing his idea of religion and faith for his own good, all while showing his face to the world. Irony dies a thousand deaths – even while the feudal justice system would go onto treat the victim as the accused, and the accused – scot-free.

It is also ironic on how the system is designed to character assassinate the victim who is pleading for justice. In a scene where the defence lawyer (Ram Kapoor) singles her out for having an alleged affair with her teacher, only to be debated in a court of law – all that the protagonist can do is look upon helplessly. There are also discussions on how she mustn’t step out for street food, or not acting in accordance to a certain public image, often behaving way too ‘normally’ for her own good – all of which come back to haunt her. In fact in a fleeting moment, she also loses about a friendship after her new guy friend cannot digest the baggage that she brings with her on the streets – not willing to stand-by her through the atrocities of violence caused by the blinded followers. In any other world, they would have been a couple – but it is a lose-lose scenario for the protagonist in her quest for justice.

The characterization plays a very important part in enhancing the flawed undertones of the system. Be it the newbie cop ACP Jasleen (Fatima Sana Shaikh) who does commit scattered mistakes along the way, whilst fighting a personal battle of her own; or the public prosecutor Bhalerao (Mohd Zeeshan Ayyub), an idealist who doesn’t have the ability to resort to pragmatic ways of countering in court, often being too consumed with his ideologies to address the flawed nature of the system; the shady journalist Amitabh Sinha (Arjun Mathur) whose quest for justice itself is flawed in the garb of chasing TRP, something that would sideline the former; or even the victim’s own father who has resorted to illegal measures all in order to support his family, often citing on how that still doesn’t justify r*pe. Each of these characters remain victims of the system,  underdogs fighting their own battle but collectively having to come together in the quest for justice.

I also liked the fractured dynamic shared between Shivani (Zoya Hussain), the character controlling the institutional whereabouts of the ‘aashram’, and Kashyap (Veen Harsh), the son of Baapji who believes that he invariably is his successor to the throne, something that he would receive as a birthright. The dynamic remains a crucial subplot highlighting the internal politics orchestrated by the antagonist, subverting it with his abillity to win at any cost through his tryst with power and influence.

There is also a vicious commentary on the state of affairs of the media, wonderfully conceptualized in a montage involving every news channel repeating the same script in unison. It does tell you a thing or two about the primetime slots today, literally with each agency following the same script and being the mouth piece of the ones in command. This commentary is also subverted through a montage of online trolls – often manufactured to create a public trial at the expense of the protagonist, or even physical mobsters and their antics of creating a ruckus, wherein the victim is forced to shift houses as if she is the one who has committed a crime.

The courtroom scenes are intentionally isolated, being the home of never-ending arguments that remain detached from the events of the other world. For instance, in a crucial scene wherein all witnesses are bumped off in a moment intercutting the antagonist killing mosquitos (a nod to the film Halahal (2020) based on the Vyapam Scam), in a familiar win-at-all-cost attitude – the arguments in court post the event remain dissociated. It is also worth noting on how the overlapping timeline also loses its dimension while oscillating between two courtrooms and two judges, with the same form of argument being presented at two separate instances.

The writing crucially addresses the coming of age arc of the protagonist by transforming her from a passive victim bottling her emotions, to being the main character who would express the angst within her. Although the proceedings are slightly preachy at this point, the emotions land in a moving final outburst that allowed me to resonate with every word uttered in the court of law. In that sense, the finale was also poetic in many ways – a reminder on how truth would always prevail no matter how powerful the container of lies is. The only issue remains on the timing – justice delayed is justice denied, invariably transforming the victim’s life into a million nightmares. The screenplay is pretty compelling, while making for a lasting impact.