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If there’s a joy greater than watching a film, it is the sight of watching a loved one enjoy it. Just like a filmmaker craves validation for their work, a film lover also yearns for something similar. It is the emotional equivalent of getting a thumbs-up on the biryani you cooked or the one you insisted they try. In Reema Kagti’s charming friendship saga, Superboys of Malegaon, the leading man Nasir Shaikh (Adarsh Gourav) is both a filmmaker and a film lover. So, we spot him glancing at the people around him in a dark cinema hall not once, but multiple times. In the early instances, he’s looking for reactions — desperate for assurance, his need as selfish as it is nerve-wracking. But it’s in the final glance that something shifts — a moment so pure, it lays bare the greatness of human connection. This time, Nasir isn’t seeking approval for himself. He’s looking for it on his best friend Shafique’s (Shashank Arora) face. And in that moment, Kagti’s film beautifully, effortlessly, and irrevocably deconstructs the very essence of Bollywood cinema.
Superboys of Malegaon follows a group of young men from the town of Malegaon in Maharashtra. Smitten by the magic of cinema, these seemingly unassuming individuals all happen to be Muslims. It is a significant detail, especially considering how the once-popular Muslim social genre in Hindi cinema is now all but extinct. Today, a Muslim leading man is not common unless he is a terrorist or is someone accused of being one — with the rare exceptions of a Coolie or a Sultan. Kagti’s film comes with the freedom to experiment because it is not imagined on a mega scale. If anything is grand, it’s the filmmaker’s vision and the characters’ dreams.
It is the understanding of the syntax of Bollywood and the various interpretations of its target audience that amused me the most in Superboys of Malegaon. The industry is known for its song-and-dance sequences, over-the-top action, and delicious melodrama. Yet, we often overlook the common thread that binds them all — emotions. Whether it is a lover traveling across continents to win over his beloved (and her father’s approval) or a shoeshiner child refusing to pick up coins thrown at him, Bollywood cinema is designed to evoke emotions. Take away the wholehearted approval from the father, and Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge would feel as out of place as Bruce Lee in a slapstick comedy. In Reema Kagti’s film too, it’s the emotional pay-offs that work wonders. In a story that spends a good part of its runtime following Malegaon’s youth as they film their version of Sholay, every character eventually gets their moment of emotional closure.
The film’s biggest and most well-deserved triumph belongs to Shafique — the man unfairly saddled with the insulting label of an Omega male. In one of the film’s sweetest moments, we see the introverted mill worker rehearsing to audition for a lead role. Even though the foreshadowing indicates that the part will never be his, Shafique’s sensitive and non-confrontational nature gradually works its magic, quietly winning hearts and bringing people together. For much of the film, we are left wondering what to make of Shafique with his fascination for airplanes and his willingness to hold up a mirror while the woman he loves applies her makeup. It’s only later, when Kagti and writer Varun Grover shape his arc into an unconventional hero’s journey, that everything falls into place. Shafique isn’t the overconfident, hypermasculine man we’re so used to seeing in popular cinema today. Instead, he is someone countless ordinary men might see a bit of themselves in — quiet yet filled with little dreams. As Farogh (Vineet Kumar Singh) so rightly points out, we love seeing versions of ourselves on screen if made well.
Speaking of Farogh, he gets to deliver the explosive line, “Writer baap hota hai.” As Nasir gently remarks — or politely accuses — Farogh’s writing is too intellectual for the audiences of Malegaon. In a particularly funny scene, the gang mocks the passionate writer’s earnest attempts to narrate his stories to film producers in Mumbai. Addicted to liquor and literature, the man endures all kinds of struggles and can conjure up an underdog victory saga in less than a week. In an early scene, we see his stepmother selling off a stack of his newspaper columns for a mere 80-odd rupees. As for emotional dividends, you can’t help but imagine that half of his heart must have swelled with pride when he clicked a picture with Javed Akhtar — and the other half when he showed it off to his people in Malegaon. While the character’s attire and temperament may feel slightly stereotypical, Singh’s performance brings raw authenticity to Farogh’s frustration and his high-decibel scuffles. The film stands as proof of what a skilled filmmaker can achieve with an actor like him — in sharp contrast to what we saw in his previous outing, Chhaava.
Superboys of Malegaon is also strikingly compassionate towards its women. Shabeena (Muskkaan Jaferi) is an aspiring lawyer quietly carving a path to escape the clutches of patriarchy. Mallika (Riddhi Singh) is a silent victim, trapped within it. Trupti (Manjiri Pupala who reminded me of a young Sonali Kulkarni) exists somewhere in between. She is accustomed to the abuse she endures daily, yet manages to retain financial independence. Another fascinating presence in this landscape is the ghoonghat-clad woman who insists on covering her face, even as she performs a role in Nasir’s film. What Superboys of Malegaon makes clear is that this is — unquestionably — a man’s world. For women, the path to fulfilling either personal or professional desires comes with far higher hurdles, as the men in their lives continue to hold tightly to their burqas and veils, both literal and figurative. No number of Kalpana Chawla, Priyanka Chopra, or Sania Mirza references can erase this reality — and the film refuses to let us look away.
Now, coming to the story’s lifeline – Nasir is a force of nature in Superboys of Malegaon. Adarsh Gourav’s screen presence, combined with the writer’s sharp characterization, makes it almost impossible to believe there could be even a few frames without him. Nasir is perhaps the film’s most conventionally penned character. The ups and downs, the brawls, the emotional wreckage, the compromises, and the reconciliations — it could all easily belong to an ‘80s or ‘90s matinee idol, just on a far grander scale. Though a completely different film, Virasat came to mind while watching Nasir grapple with his post-marriage dilemmas. A lesser filmmaker might have inserted a Payalay Chunmun Chunmun (a beautiful song, no doubt) at this point, but Superboys of Malegaon has no time to dwell on this equation. Gourav delivers a well-rounded performance, making you forget all about his urban roles from the past.
It is also fair to call Reema Kagti’s film a casting masterstroke (credit to Karan Mally and Nandini Shrikent). The actors feel so intrinsically rooted in the environment that they enhance the screenplay’s possibilities. Superboys of Malegaon carries no burden of launching a star kid or accommodating a seasoned actor demanding more lines or screen space. While this may have slightly limited its box office prospects, the film never, at any point, comes across as a product of compromise — which is rare for a theatrically released Bollywood film today.
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Varun Grover and Shoaib Nazeer’s dialogues oscillate between Urdu and Hindi, while Sally White recreates Malegaon to perfection. Speaking of the latter, a brief look at Shafique’s cluttered living space would confirm my point. DOPs Swapnil S. Sonawane and Parnil Vishwasrao frame the film with so much love that the characters and their passion leap out of the screen. The joyous climactic sequence, which swings between innovative shots (edited by Anand Subaya) and packs in plenty of emotions, is a case study in itself.
Now, going back to the theory I referred to at the beginning, it was never a plan to review Superboys of Malegaon. Why? Because, much like Nasir, I do not particularly need feedback or validation for this piece. Yet, in one of those rare instances, here I am — penning this somewhat lengthy review purely for myself. This effort is my small tribute to our collective obsession with cinema. Whether it’s an under-equipped film crew in a lesser-known city in Maharashtra or a struggler running from one audition to another, what fuels us all is this passion for cinema. Oh, how I miss the now-defunct website of the same name (PFC), which I used to frequent as a teenager, quietly absorbing the chatter.
Rating: ★★★★★
