‘Dhadak 2’ (2025) Movie Review - Casteism for Dummies

Pariyerum Perumal was not just the debut film of writer-director Mari Selvaraj, it also signalled the arrival of a new, exciting voice in the realm of Indian cinema. Selvaraj didn't waste much time proving his worth - his cinematic gifts became evident from the opening moments of Pariyerum Perumal. The movie begins with a horrible — very horrible — murder and through a wide shot, Selvaraj accentuates the bleakness of the situation by making evident the distance between the titular character and his dog. It immediately becomes clear that Pariyan will not be able to reach his dog on time and, hence, will not be able to rescue him from certain death. All this information is conveyed through the images. In fact, both the text and the images work in tandem in the hands of Selvaraj. The same scene in Dhadak 2, in the hands of Shazia Iqbal, is reduced to a mere moment of shock. Iqbal rushes through the scene and relies on the sound of the train hitting the animal to do its job. Unlike Selvaraj, she spends little time establishing the relationship between Neelesh (Siddhant Chaturvedi) and his dog. Iqbal is simply concerned with the final result; she has little patience for carrying out her task step by step. 

But of course, there will be a difference between Selvaraj and Iqbal. The former was itching to tell his story through a medium he loves. The latter is more interested in making a mainstream movie that could become part of a cinematic universe. Like its spiritual prequel, Dhadak 2 (terrible title) takes a sensitive issue and converts it into popcorn entertainment. However, unlike Dhadak, this sequel, at least, shows some respect to the source material. No wonder, then, the scenes that work here (a "father" hitting his "son," a man being humiliated for his feminine profession) explicitly remind you of Pariyerum Perumal. The first half of Selvaraj's debut wildly swung between comedy and horror. Iqbal's remake is sober and understated in comparison. According to news reports, the Indian censor board asked the makers to remove the blue color from the dog. Almost every frame in Dhadak 2, though, is colored with shades of blue (the protagonist's name is Neelesh, for god's sake), which might be the filmmaker's way of taking revenge for the dog. On a serious note: Sure, the blue color is instantly linked to Ambedkar (there is a Jai Bhim sticker on a door), but the blue filter subdues the other colors as well as the emotions. This works against Iqbal's mainstream approach. She wants to make us aware of our privilege; She wants to scream at the audience. When Vidhi (Triptii Dimri) lays down five questions in front of the soon-to-be mother-in-law of her sister, we feel as if Iqbal is putting forward her perspective through the character. The points she makes, however, lack bite and bitterness — they are very obvious. Vidhi has more weight than Jo, but she also looks like a mouthpiece for the writer's thoughts. Jo was not Selvaraj's finest creation. She was an admirable conceit, though as a character, she came across as oblivious and dumb. Yet, Selvaraj was able to bring out Jo's feverish devotion towards Pariyan. When a character in Pariyerum Perumal described her as a dog who constantly roamed around Pariyan, we nodded our heads in agreement. 

The same description does not fit Vidhi like a glove. She, too, is mainly seen with Neelesh in college. She, too, chases Neelesh post-interval for answers. Still, the bond between this couple doesn't seem as strong as the one between Jo and Pariyan. The fault lies in the performance. Chaturvedi and Dimri are never in sync with each other. She explodes, he whimpers. But even when he explodes, his rage feels curiously neutral. Chaturvedi gets his expressions right. He even acts with his eyes, as in the scene where his eyeballs move left and right when he asks Vidhi a deep question. Nevertheless, Chaturvedi never slips into his character. We always catch him acting — he looks like an actor. If Chaturvedi is subtle, Dimri threatens to tear the fabric of the film with her loudness. Neelesh and Vidhi are separated by their caste. Chaturvedi and Dimri are separated by their different kinds of performance. They don't jell, so the romantic track also suffers. Iqbal's filmmaking is so understated that she has to hit you with visual reminders for sentimental purposes. For instance, when a student (he's someone who always encourages Neelesh to stand up) dies, Dhadak 2 offers you brief flashbacks to remind you of the person's good qualities — to remind you what an angel he was. He also recites a poem that breaks the fourth wall. 

Iqbal breaks the fourth wall a lot. She directly addresses the audience during scenes such as when Neelesh tells Vidhi and his only friend, "Tum log nahi samjhoge." This, too, feels like the work of a literal-minded filmmaker, especially when you consider how Selvaraj breaks not just the wall, but also melts the boundaries of the screen when Pariyan breaks the windshield of a car to talk to Jo's father. Iqbal, of course, is not obligated to copy Selvaraj or follow in his footsteps. A remake should come with its own rules, own style, own interpretation. Iqbal, though, shows no invention, no imagination. She merely comes across as an earnest filmmaker, which is why Dhadak 2 hardly achieves liftoff from its script written by Rahul Badwelkar and Iqbal. The director also makes some weird choices. When a professor mocks Neelesh for drawing eggs in his notebook, he, in a fit of rage, snatches the notebooks of his classmates and requests the professor to look at the pages. In Pariyerum Perumal, the professor looks and realizes that he doesn't know everything, that he was wrong. In Dhadak 2, the scene ends as soon as the professor throws Neelesh out of the class. Was Neelesh right or wrong? But the most jarring thing about Dhadak 2 is its climax. After behaving all serious and somber, the movie suddenly veers into action-movie territory with a bike chase that feels like it belongs in a different film altogether. The lecture that comes after holds the key to the whole film - it tells you what exactly Dhadak 2 is.

So what is it? It's the cinematic equivalent of a Twitter rant that dares you to find flaws in it so that you can be called "delusional." As a film critic, you can point out its aesthetic flaws, and the film will scold you for not focusing on its "content," which is unchallenging — or, at best, unchallengingly presented. Selvaraj understood the complexity of the subject. He concluded his film with an open ending that inspired introspection. Iqbal, on the other hand, goes for generic simplifications. It's a Dharma-coded, superficial, and pat-on-the-back crowd-pleasing ending where lectures fix the society and solve all the problems. Iqbal, for the entire runtime, blames people for being ignorant about a complicated issue, and then she behaves like a naive individual. The one noteworthy change made to this material involves Saurabh Sachdeva's Shankar. By not announcing his death on the news channels, Iqbal removes such deplorable jerks from the spotlight, from media attention. But the real jerks turned out to be a group of boys (who looked like college students) at my screening, laughing and making stupid comments until the movie ended. What got to me, what made me furious, was the fact that they were cracking jokes during the scene where Neelesh is attacked and peed on. If only I could throw them onto the railway track next to Shankar. Idiots like these serve as a reminder that the real assholes - the real villains - are not on the screen, but around us in the real world.

Final Score- [4/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times