Assi Review

According to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), nearly 80 rapes are reported every day in India. Governments change, regimes shift, but the numbers remain disturbingly consistent. What is even more tragic is that survivors are often subjected to more trauma - shamed by society and forced to relive their ordeal through exhausting battles with the police and the judiciary, and sometimes even intimidation from the perpetrators. Too often, the legal process appears to favour the powerful, and at times, it does. The harsh reality is that survivors must fight relentlessly for justice.

In such a climate, perhaps the most urgent intervention is the sensitization of men - so that crimes are prevented before they occur. Assi attempts precisely this. Rejecting conventional cinematic treatment, it unfolds almost like a documentary. If it succeeds at all, its achievement may lie in provoking male introspection - perhaps even catharsis.

Parima (Kani Kusruti) is a schoolteacher living in Delhi with her husband Vinay (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub), who works at a supermarket, and their young son. One late night, after she is returning from a colleague's party, five youngsters drag her into their car, rape her one by one in a brutal assault, and throw her on a railway crossing. A case is registered. Raavi (Taapsee Pannu) fights Parima's case, while a vigilante Kartik (Kumud Mishra), Vinay's friend, attempts to take revenge on the rapists.

Director Anubhav Sinha has a signature style of storytelling. Whatever the central plot may be, he invariably weaves in the anxieties and moral fractures of the times. This film is no exception. While rape forms its core conflict, the narrative also gestures toward food adulteration, the erosion of personal integrity, and the everyday normalization of misogyny and self-centredness.

Also, as always, the director also downplays caste in his own way. He does not explicitly mention it. Here, Vinay is just Vinay - without a caste identity. The same goes for Parima and the others. People are people - male and female, without any last name.

Introspection is something that works here. Except for the perpetrators, most central characters are compelled to confront themselves. For men in particular, the film reiterates that the fact that you can do something does not mean you should.

All of this is thematically strong. Yet, from the outset, the movie feels oddly distant and unengaging. It certainly makes you uncomfortable - which may well be the director's intention - but discomfort alone does not translate into compelling cinema. There are countless documentaries that address these issues with similar urgency. Despite the film's relevance and sincerity, the experience feels more instructive and introspective than cinematic.

For example, Sinha reinforces the "80 rapes every day, or one every 20 minutes" statistic by flashing the line "One Rape Happened" on the screen every 20 minutes, regardless of where the narrative stands. We understand the point, but the repetition feels too on-the-nose, reminiscent of the red chapter-style interruptions in Dhurandhar.

The movie is a procedural courtroom drama for the most part. It is not particularly engaging, but it does make the audience aware of what actually unfolds in Indian courtrooms. The proceedings focus heavily on men, often presenting a heavy-handed male perspective. This is commendable in a way, since you are usually exposed primarily to the female perspective in rape cases. Sinha seems intent on portraying the male perspective upon female suffering, and he remains unapologetic about it - often at the cost of cinematic subtlety.

In the end, the only truly cinematic moment is Raavi's monologue at the climax. She discards political correctness and asks, "What does justice even mean - let alone whether it is delivered?" It is a haunting question. Have you ever thought about it - after a long legal battle what does the victim truly gain?

Sinha has a habit of repeating his cast. He frequently works with actors like Taapsee Pannu, Kumud Mishra and Manoj Pahwa. In Assi, Taapsee's character feels no different from her earlier roles in Sinha's films. She performs well, but you more or less know what to expect.

Kani Kusruti, as Parima - the rape survivor - is a new addition to Sinha's repertoire, and she shines for many reasons. First, she is a terrific actress who has already proven her mettle in All We Imagine As Light and Girls Will Be Girls. Second, the casting is spot-on: she is a Malayalam actress playing a Malayali character, and she does so with authenticity and ease.

Next to Kusruti, Revathy's portrayal of the judge is quite endearing. I, for one, was impressed by how effortlessly she inhabits the role in a predominantly Hindi setting. She captures the nuances of a judge remarkably well.

The rest of the cast - including Manoj Pahwa, Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub, Seema Pahwa and Naseeruddin Shah (in a cameo) - perform competently, though without anything particularly spectacular.

On the technical front, Ranjit Barot's background score is effective. The cinematography is minimal, as most of the runtime unfolds inside a courtroom.

There are no conventional Hindi film songs. The tracks "Mai Teri Yaad Aayi" and "Aaj Mujhe Par Mile" feel more like poems, with sparse musical accompaniment, though the lyrics are commendable.

Assi is a courageous attempt to deliver a strong message. Though well-intentioned, it is not as compelling a piece of cinema as Sinha's own Mulk or Article 15. It is unlikely to break box-office records, and is uncomfortable enough that few may recommend it widely. Watch it if you want to see Sinha's fresh take on the burning issue of rape.