<Consider yourself warned; Spoilers Abound>
Let’s get a few things out of the way first. I love violence, seeing it of course, on film, not in real life. I have absolutely zero problems with fictional characters hurting each other if I get to see them doing so through visually poetic frames. The motivation could be lust, revenge or just pure fun, doesn’t matter much. Indulgence is fine too. Leave your signature. Defy biology; give me blood squirting out through arteries like meethi chashni from a thin plastic sachet. Defy physics; give me bodies flying in the air in slow mo. Do what pleases you. If in the end it pleases the audience too, you win.
But when you become a slave of your own style, things get problematic. When you enter an Anurag Kashyap film you know you shouldn’t be surprised if the attendant serves you a live octopus on a platter during the interval. You are mentally prepared for that kind of shock and trauma. So the depravity and the desperation of the characters don’t shock you. In fact that is what you went to see in the first place and you get that in abundance. Evil from Nawaz’s eyes and mannerism dripped like maple syrup from the side of a thick pancake stack and existential angst wrapped about Vicky’s persona like waffle cone around chocolate ice cream sprinkled with daddy issues nuts.
Delicious disturbing twisted characters. Oh what a delight it is to see them fuck their own lives in their own unique violent ways because it makes you go - Thank god, I only think about this stuff and don’t have the balls/crazy to act upon it.
