I often ask myself, and others who consider themselves film enthusiasts: why watch movies? People provide various answers. For some, it’s to gain an experience: to encounter something they don’t experience in their daily lives. Some watch movies to escape from their monotonous life. They all seek something grand, something that offers them an experience. But then there are people who claim to watch movies for intellectual awakening. They frighten me. They seem critical of films that entice the common people—those that are larger than life and serve as a source of entertainment. With their critical, attacking perspective on commercial cinema, often sugarcoated with academic jargon, it sometimes becomes difficult to understand where we are heading. In a film scenario like ours, when we dismiss a commercial movie simply because it is larger than life, we tend to overlook the families and lives that cinema sustains.
The recent release of Sikaar (2024) has flooded social media with attacks questioning the film’s credibility. People are bashing it and making statements like, “I won’t recommend people to watch this movie.” Yet, they don’t provide logical reasons for dismissing it. Why are we disregarding a movie that offers a decent commercial plot, solid performances from the leads, and visually stunning, larger-than-life imagery? What made people attack the film, in some cases even before watching it? Where are we heading with so much hatred toward commercial cinema? What more are we expecting from a commercial plot besides entertainment and a grand experience?
The film Sikaar, directed by Debangkar Borgohain, is just another commercial movie that doesn’t expect you to put much effort into understanding it. With a simple plot, the film offers the audience an engaging viewing experience that is enough to entice them. With their amazing performances, Urmila Mahanta and Siddhartha Sharma make you believe in and immerse yourself in the story, while Adil Hussain in the latter half and Dhyani Mohan in the beginning will leave you in awe. Zubeen Garg presents a nuanced character in the first half but almost becomes himself in the second half, which is also fun and entertaining to watch.
The most intriguing aspect of the movie is the way music has been used. The music in the film is like its heartbeat; of course, since it’s a Garg-led film, the music has to be on point. Whether it’s “Xaturongi Ramdhenu” or “Ekadoshi Ratiya,” the music doesn’t just set the tone—it moves you. These songs have the kind of energy that makes you want to get up and dance while simultaneously giving you goosebumps. “Xaturongi Ramdhenu,” beautifully written by Sasanka Samir and brought to life by Zubeen’s voice, is a highlight that draws you into the film’s emotional core.
Additionally, the background score complements the narrative, which enhances each intense fight scene or dramatic twist. There is a grandness to the sound that matches the scale of the story—powerful and bold. What struck me was the director’s bold choice in the final fight sequence. Instead of relying on typical background scores, they opted for a tune that felt almost out of place for an action scene. Yet, somehow, it worked and pulled me in even more. It reminded me of Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers (2024), where music was used in a similarly unexpected way, which elevated the moment by breaking away from convention. It’s these kinds of risks that stay with you, making the film’s soundtrack feel not just like an accompaniment, but an essential part of the storytelling.
Sikaar doesn’t only have a strong musical background; the visuals in the first half, particularly the tea garden portion, seem well-planned and complement the storytelling. However, the visuals in the London portion needed a more nuanced approach and had the opportunity to explore wider shots for a grander experience. The visual narrative is intricately enhanced by Garima Saikia Garg’s costume design. The costumes not only showcase the vibrant culture of the tea garden but also wrap the characters in a sense of warmth and familiarity, almost like an extension of their inner world.
For instance, the character of Arlene (played by Urmila Mahanta) is beautifully designed through her costumes, which reminded me of Sridevi’s overcoat in English Vinglish(2012) and Tabu’s attire in Khufiya (2023) where she plays a spy. Arlene’s coats add an element of sophistication and mystery to her character, representing her ability to operate in the shadows, both figuratively and literally. Her costume changes according to the demands of Shankar’s mission. For instance, when she takes on the responsibility of luring Pollock (played by Mirko Quaini) out of the bar so Shankar (played by Zubeen Garg) can kill him, she wears a camisole to entice him. The colour palette of her costumes—primarily black, dark blue, and beige—emphasises the power and strength she holds, the secrecy she carries, the grief and isolation she faces in the city where she navigates life alone, and later, the vulnerability she shows when she falls for Shankar. Her character’s essence is clearly reflected in the costumes, highlighting how thoughtfully Garima Saikia Garg designed them.
However, the concern that Sikaar raises is related to the story. In certain instances, it feels like the plot could have been developed more carefully than it currently is. Whether it’s the part where Ashtami confronts the villains or the way Shankar takes revenge, it seems like a first-thought experiment. There is significant scope to make the story more engaging and unpredictable for the audience. Instead of Ashtami confronting them, she could have escaped the scene, with the villains chasing her. Additionally, the way Shankar discovers the whereabouts of the villains could have involved more searching, which would have provided a more thrilling experience for the audience.
There are certainly points where the film needs critical viewing, whether it’s the potential for a more engaging story or the poor VFX. However, that doesn’t imply disregarding this film altogether. It is perhaps the first attempt by an Assamese film to shoot a significant portion at a location abroad. It certainly provides a new experience for viewers, whether it offers Assamese audiences a glimpse of a foreign space through an Assamese narrative or delivers grandness and a typical commercial package.
Here, the issue arises when people dismiss this film simply because it is commercial or expecting a more raw treatment like that of art films. Those who dismiss it are not considering how commercial cinema operates. If we disregard a film with this level of decent film viewing experience, producers may hesitate in the near future to invest in Assamese movies. And without investment, we would never develop the Assamese film industry.
It’s not only about the film industry; a commercial film supports many families, and there are people whose entire income depends on films. We certainly need a constructive approach to critically reviewing cinema that doesn’t involve attacking films without providing substantial arguments. Where are we heading with this? Commercial movies are not made solely to appeal to the intellectually sophisticated, Starbucks-coated audience; they are for everyone—from city dwellers to villagers, from rickshaw pullers to car drivers. Everyone needs films for relaxation and entertainment, so these films often have simple yet engaging storytelling. Not everyone can grasp Kiarostami or Wong Kar-wai’s complex aesthetic narratives, so it’s time to get off the high horse and stop looking down on commercial cinema. Instead, we should think constructively about the Assamese film scenario. It’s not about art versus commercial cinema; rather, it’s time to uplift everyone around us together. To create a healthy Assamese film industry, we need good cinema, an accepting and adaptable audience, and a critical yet constructive lens to review films. We have a long way to go, and Sikaar certainly adds an interesting nuance to this process.