Nishaanchi: Anurag Kashyap's Chaotic Love Letter to Bollywood's Gritty UnderbellyIn the sweltering lanes of 2000s Kanpur, where the air hums with the clang of temple bells and the distant call to prayer, Anurag Kashyap unleashes Nishaanchi—a sprawling, two-part crime saga that feels like a fever dream mashup of Gangs of Wasseypur and a Salim-Javed fever dream. Released on September 19, 2025, this 176-minute behemoth marks Kashyap's triumphant (or perhaps indulgent) return to the gangster genre he swore off after his 2012 masterpiece. Starring debutant Aaishvary Thackeray in a dual role, alongside Monika Panwar, Vedika Pinto, Kumud Mishra, and Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub, Nishaanchi is less a film and more a pulsating vein of Indian cinema's raw nerve. It's chaotic, cinematic, and unapologetically overlong, but damn if it doesn't hook you into its web of betrayal, brotherhood, and Bollywood worship.
At its core, Nishaanchi is the tale of twin brothers Babloo and Dabloo Nishaanchi, identical in face but polar opposites in soul. Babloo (Thackeray channeling a hot-headed Tony Montana wannabe) is the firecracker—impulsive, film-obsessed, and quick to carve his own scars (literally, inspired by Al Pacino's Scarface). Dabloo, his quieter counterpart, embodies restraint and conscience, a gentle giant navigating the family's fractured legacy. Their mother, Manjari (Panwar, in a role that defies her youthful looks), is a former national shooter turned resilient widow, raising her boys in a village fueled by rage and regret after their wrestler father Jabardast's (Vineet Kumar Singh) untimely death. Flashbacks peel back layers of their parents' whirlwind romance and struggles, setting the stage for a revenge arc that simmers like Kanpur's summer heat.
The plot kicks off in 2006 with a botched bank heist gone spectacularly wrong, pulling the twins and Babloo's feisty love interest Rinku (Pinto, a revelation as more than just arm candy) into a vortex of family feuds and old enmities. Enter Ambika Prasad (Mishra, slithering through scenes with quiet menace), a corrupt land-grabber whose grudge against the Nishaanchis traces back decades. What follows is a non-linear whirlwind of shootouts, jail stints, akhara wrestling bouts, and meta nods to Hindi cinema—characters quote Raja Hindustani for romance tips and debate life choices between Mughal-e-Azam and Hum Aapke Hain Koun. Kashyap, co-writing with Ranjan Chandel and Prasoon Mishra, stuffs the narrative with subplots: shattered sports dreams, betrayals over "permission" slips, and quirky songs pieced from film titles. It's ambitious, spanning generations and moods, but the film's Part 1 status leaves threads dangling like a post-credits tease for the sequel.
Kashyap's direction is a masterclass in maximalism, evoking the earthy maximalism of his early works while poking fun at his own tropes. The cinematography by Sylvester Fonseca (of Chamkila fame) captures Kanpur's grime-glory with fluid tracking shots—sweaty akharas morph into rain-soaked revenge chases, all bathed in a desaturated palette that screams authenticity. Aarti Bajaj's editing keeps the chaos coherent, though the runtime drags in romantic detours and setup-heavy flashbacks. The soundtrack, a mix of folk-infused bangers and pulsating scores, pulses with desi flavor, though none quite stick like Wasseypur's anthems. Dialogues crackle with UP dialect—witty barbs like "Hum Manto ka hain upanyas, tum Chaudhary ke chacha" land like gut punches, blending humor with pathos. Yet, for all its verve, Nishaanchi feels like Kashyap auditing his greatest hits: the cinephile gangsters, the single-mom grit, the cycle of violence. It's a tribute, but one that occasionally circles back too comfortably, lacking the raw innovation that made Gangs eternal.
Performances are the film's throbbing heart, elevating familiar beats into something visceral. Aaishvary Thackeray, grandson of Balasaheb Thackeray making his silver-screen bow, shoulders the dual load with startling poise. As Babloo, he's a whirlwind of bravado—fiery glares and impulsive swagger that echo Nawazuddin Siddiqui's Faizal Khan, but with a fresh, unscarred vulnerability. Switching to Dabloo's tenderness, he dials down the volume, letting subtle glances convey the weight of conscience. It's a debut that screams star potential; Thackeray doesn't just act the twins—he inhabits their divide, making their bond (and fractures) feel achingly real. Critics rave about his maturity, noting how he "brings sincerity to his craft that feels refreshing." Vedika Pinto's Rinku is no damsel; she's a sharp-tongued firebrand with her own arc, holding her own in banter and betrayals, adding warmth to the testosterone haze.
Monika Panwar shines as Manjari, transforming potential miscasting (she's a touch too young for a mom of adults) into a tour de force of quiet ferocity—think a desi Mother India with a rifle. Her emotional anchors ground the film's wild swings, especially in scenes of maternal rage and regret. Kumud Mishra's Ambika is a slow-burn villain, his "quiet menace" simmering like poison in chai—less bombastic than Wasseypur's Sardar Khan, but twice as insidious. Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub and Vineet Kumar Singh add flavorful cameos, their authenticity amplifying the ensemble's lived-in vibe. Even bit players, from corrupt cops to akhara gurus, feel plucked from Kanpur's streets, a Kashyap hallmark.
Thematically, Nishaanchi is a meta love letter to Bollywood itself. Characters don't just live crime; they mythologize it through movies—Babloo's Scarface fixation, romantic ideals cribbed from Shah Rukh rain songs. It's Kashyap winking at his influences: the spaghetti-western flair of Sholay, the family vendettas of Deewaar, all filtered through a heartland lens. Themes of fate versus choice, the inescapability of legacy, and cinema's grip on the Indian psyche weave through the bullet sprays. Yet, this self-consciousness borders on parody; one scene has a character quip, "Bollywood ke bina kaun zindagi kaise jiye?" It's cheeky, but it underscores the film's hangover from Kashyap's past glories. In a landscape of polished OTT thrillers, Nishaanchi's unpolished edge—rustic sets, real locations, moving cameras—feels like a rebellion, reminding us why Kashyap's "edgy cinema" once redefined Hindi films.
Of course, no Kashyap film is flawless. The pacing falters in its indulgence—three hours of setup for a sequel feels like a feast gone cold, with predictable arcs and stretched subplots diluting the tension. Humor, promised as a crime-comedy blend, sometimes fizzles, leaving dramatic lulls. And while the action pops—choreographed with gritty flair—it's no match for Wasseypur's operatic violence. Box office whispers peg Day 1 at a modest Rs 25 lakh, a far cry from the hype, perhaps due to sequel fatigue or competition. Early netizen reactions echo disappointment in the "lack of punch," though critics are kinder, averaging 3-3.5 stars for its "engaging ride" and "audience pleaser" vibes.
Yet, for all its excesses, Nishaanchi pulses with life. It's Kashyap rediscovering his groove—not reinventing the wheel, but spinning it with flair. In Babloo's scarred face and Manjari's unyielding gaze, we see echoes of every underdog saga Bollywood birthed. As Part 1, it ends on a cliffhanger that demands the sequel, teasing a grander unraveling. Watch it for Thackeray's breakout, the dialogues that bite, and that rare thrill of cinema that doesn't pander—it provokes, amuses, and lingers like monsoon mud on your boots.If you're craving a return to the wild, flawed heart of Hindi masalas, Nishaanchi delivers. Just brace for the binge—it's a saga that starts heavy and promises heavier.
Rating: 3.5/5.
At its core, Nishaanchi is the tale of twin brothers Babloo and Dabloo Nishaanchi, identical in face but polar opposites in soul. Babloo (Thackeray channeling a hot-headed Tony Montana wannabe) is the firecracker—impulsive, film-obsessed, and quick to carve his own scars (literally, inspired by Al Pacino's Scarface). Dabloo, his quieter counterpart, embodies restraint and conscience, a gentle giant navigating the family's fractured legacy. Their mother, Manjari (Panwar, in a role that defies her youthful looks), is a former national shooter turned resilient widow, raising her boys in a village fueled by rage and regret after their wrestler father Jabardast's (Vineet Kumar Singh) untimely death. Flashbacks peel back layers of their parents' whirlwind romance and struggles, setting the stage for a revenge arc that simmers like Kanpur's summer heat.
The plot kicks off in 2006 with a botched bank heist gone spectacularly wrong, pulling the twins and Babloo's feisty love interest Rinku (Pinto, a revelation as more than just arm candy) into a vortex of family feuds and old enmities. Enter Ambika Prasad (Mishra, slithering through scenes with quiet menace), a corrupt land-grabber whose grudge against the Nishaanchis traces back decades. What follows is a non-linear whirlwind of shootouts, jail stints, akhara wrestling bouts, and meta nods to Hindi cinema—characters quote Raja Hindustani for romance tips and debate life choices between Mughal-e-Azam and Hum Aapke Hain Koun. Kashyap, co-writing with Ranjan Chandel and Prasoon Mishra, stuffs the narrative with subplots: shattered sports dreams, betrayals over "permission" slips, and quirky songs pieced from film titles. It's ambitious, spanning generations and moods, but the film's Part 1 status leaves threads dangling like a post-credits tease for the sequel.
Kashyap's direction is a masterclass in maximalism, evoking the earthy maximalism of his early works while poking fun at his own tropes. The cinematography by Sylvester Fonseca (of Chamkila fame) captures Kanpur's grime-glory with fluid tracking shots—sweaty akharas morph into rain-soaked revenge chases, all bathed in a desaturated palette that screams authenticity. Aarti Bajaj's editing keeps the chaos coherent, though the runtime drags in romantic detours and setup-heavy flashbacks. The soundtrack, a mix of folk-infused bangers and pulsating scores, pulses with desi flavor, though none quite stick like Wasseypur's anthems. Dialogues crackle with UP dialect—witty barbs like "Hum Manto ka hain upanyas, tum Chaudhary ke chacha" land like gut punches, blending humor with pathos. Yet, for all its verve, Nishaanchi feels like Kashyap auditing his greatest hits: the cinephile gangsters, the single-mom grit, the cycle of violence. It's a tribute, but one that occasionally circles back too comfortably, lacking the raw innovation that made Gangs eternal.
Performances are the film's throbbing heart, elevating familiar beats into something visceral. Aaishvary Thackeray, grandson of Balasaheb Thackeray making his silver-screen bow, shoulders the dual load with startling poise. As Babloo, he's a whirlwind of bravado—fiery glares and impulsive swagger that echo Nawazuddin Siddiqui's Faizal Khan, but with a fresh, unscarred vulnerability. Switching to Dabloo's tenderness, he dials down the volume, letting subtle glances convey the weight of conscience. It's a debut that screams star potential; Thackeray doesn't just act the twins—he inhabits their divide, making their bond (and fractures) feel achingly real. Critics rave about his maturity, noting how he "brings sincerity to his craft that feels refreshing." Vedika Pinto's Rinku is no damsel; she's a sharp-tongued firebrand with her own arc, holding her own in banter and betrayals, adding warmth to the testosterone haze.
Monika Panwar shines as Manjari, transforming potential miscasting (she's a touch too young for a mom of adults) into a tour de force of quiet ferocity—think a desi Mother India with a rifle. Her emotional anchors ground the film's wild swings, especially in scenes of maternal rage and regret. Kumud Mishra's Ambika is a slow-burn villain, his "quiet menace" simmering like poison in chai—less bombastic than Wasseypur's Sardar Khan, but twice as insidious. Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub and Vineet Kumar Singh add flavorful cameos, their authenticity amplifying the ensemble's lived-in vibe. Even bit players, from corrupt cops to akhara gurus, feel plucked from Kanpur's streets, a Kashyap hallmark.
Thematically, Nishaanchi is a meta love letter to Bollywood itself. Characters don't just live crime; they mythologize it through movies—Babloo's Scarface fixation, romantic ideals cribbed from Shah Rukh rain songs. It's Kashyap winking at his influences: the spaghetti-western flair of Sholay, the family vendettas of Deewaar, all filtered through a heartland lens. Themes of fate versus choice, the inescapability of legacy, and cinema's grip on the Indian psyche weave through the bullet sprays. Yet, this self-consciousness borders on parody; one scene has a character quip, "Bollywood ke bina kaun zindagi kaise jiye?" It's cheeky, but it underscores the film's hangover from Kashyap's past glories. In a landscape of polished OTT thrillers, Nishaanchi's unpolished edge—rustic sets, real locations, moving cameras—feels like a rebellion, reminding us why Kashyap's "edgy cinema" once redefined Hindi films.
Of course, no Kashyap film is flawless. The pacing falters in its indulgence—three hours of setup for a sequel feels like a feast gone cold, with predictable arcs and stretched subplots diluting the tension. Humor, promised as a crime-comedy blend, sometimes fizzles, leaving dramatic lulls. And while the action pops—choreographed with gritty flair—it's no match for Wasseypur's operatic violence. Box office whispers peg Day 1 at a modest Rs 25 lakh, a far cry from the hype, perhaps due to sequel fatigue or competition. Early netizen reactions echo disappointment in the "lack of punch," though critics are kinder, averaging 3-3.5 stars for its "engaging ride" and "audience pleaser" vibes.
Yet, for all its excesses, Nishaanchi pulses with life. It's Kashyap rediscovering his groove—not reinventing the wheel, but spinning it with flair. In Babloo's scarred face and Manjari's unyielding gaze, we see echoes of every underdog saga Bollywood birthed. As Part 1, it ends on a cliffhanger that demands the sequel, teasing a grander unraveling. Watch it for Thackeray's breakout, the dialogues that bite, and that rare thrill of cinema that doesn't pander—it provokes, amuses, and lingers like monsoon mud on your boots.If you're craving a return to the wild, flawed heart of Hindi masalas, Nishaanchi delivers. Just brace for the binge—it's a saga that starts heavy and promises heavier.
Rating: 3.5/5.