Bhagwat Chapter 1: Raakshas Review - A Ferocious, Flawed Masterpiece That Redefines Indian Noir

Bhagwat Chapter 1: Raakshas Review - A Ferocious, Flawed Masterpiece That Redefines Indian Noir

By Rasesh Patell, Founder & Chief Critic, CharotarDaily.com

I walked into the press screening for Bhagwat Chapter 1: Raakshas with a heavy dose of skepticism, a critic’s necessary armour. The pre-release chatter promised a "mythological thriller," a genre label that in today's Bollywood often translates to lazy jump scares papered over with half-baked religious iconography. What I did not expect was to be pinned to my seat for 148 minutes by a film so dense, so atmospherically oppressive, and so intellectually ferocious that it left me breathless. Director Avinash Sharma's sophomore effort is not merely a film; it is a cinematic treatise on faith, fanaticism, and the primordial darkness that lurks just beneath the veneer of civilization. It is a challenging, often frustrating, but ultimately unforgettable piece of cinema that demands your full attention and rewards it tenfold.

This is not a film you can understand through its plot, which, on the surface, is deceptively simple. A series of gruesome, ritualistic murders plague the rain-drenched, forgotten town of Devgarh. The victims are found dismembered, their bodies arranged in poses echoing ancient scriptures. To solve this macabre puzzle, the system sends in two diametrically opposed forces: Bhagirath Mishra (Arshad Warsi), a disgraced, alcoholic, but brilliant ex-CBI officer, and Sub-Inspector Omkar Singh (Jitendra Kumar), a devout, by-the-book local cop who sees the hand of God—or the Devil—in every clue.

But to summarize it as such would be a disservice. Sharma and his team are not interested in a simple whodunit. They are deconstructing the very nature of belief, and to do so, they have forged a new language for Indian noir.

Direction & Cinematography: Sculpting with Shadow and Rot

Avinash Sharma, whose debut Gali No. 7 was a frantic, handheld slice of social realism, has undergone a radical transformation. Here, he exhibits the patience and precision of a master painter. His Devgarh is not a place but a purgatory. Working with cinematographer Tapan Basu, he crafts a world perpetually drowning in a monsoon that seems to wash away morality rather than sin. The colour palette is a masterclass in mood-setting: bruised blues of twilight, the sickly yellow of decaying streetlights, and the deep, mossy greens of a town being reclaimed by nature and forgotten by progress.

Forget the slick, sanitized look of contemporary thrillers. This is a world you can smell. You can almost feel the damp seeping into your bones, the rot of old paper in the police archives, the metallic tang of blood mixing with rainwater. Sharma’s direction is one of deliberate control. Consider the interrogation scenes. There are no rapid cuts or shaky-cam theatrics. Instead, Sharma often employs long, unbroken takes, forcing the audience to sit in the suffocating silence with the characters. In one pivotal sequence, Mishra interrogates a suspect in a cramped, water-logged room. The camera remains static for nearly four minutes, focused on Mishra's face as he slowly, methodically dismantles the man's psyche not with violence, but with quiet, soul-crushing logic. It’s an audacious choice that builds a kind of unbearable, psychological tension that a thousand jump scares could never achieve.

The film's visual language is deeply indebted to the works of David Fincher, particularly Se7en, in its meticulous depiction of crime scenes and its relentlessly grim atmosphere. Yet, Basu's lens finds a uniquely Indian texture. The shadows here are not just empty spaces; they are filled with the weight of centuries of myth. In one unforgettable shot, Omkar stands before a dilapidated temple, its carvings of gods and demons barely visible in the encroaching darkness. The framing reduces him to a small, insignificant silhouette against a backdrop of ancient, cosmic conflict—a perfect visual metaphor for the film's central theme.

Screenplay: A War of Words and Worlds

The screenplay, penned by Sharma and Viren Trivedi, is the film's strongest asset and, paradoxically, its one significant flaw. The dialogue is razor-sharp, literate, and crackles with intellectual energy. The philosophical sparring between Mishra’s cynical atheism and Omkar’s unwavering faith forms the very spine of the narrative. This is not just cop talk; it is a battle of ideologies.

When Omkar quotes a shloka from the Bhagwat Purana to explain the killer’s motive, Mishra, swirling his cheap whiskey in a grimy glass, retorts, “Gods and demons, Omkar, are just stories we tell ourselves so we don't have to look at the monster in the mirror.” This isn't just a clever line; it's the film's thesis statement, a conflict that plays out in every frame. The script masterfully weaves in esoteric mythological details, not as exposition dumps, but as integral clues that are as much a test of the characters’ belief systems as they are of their deductive skills.

However, the screenplay occasionally buckles under the weight of its own ambition. The second act, particularly the introduction of archivist Dr. Revati Joshi (Ayesha Kaduskar), feels slightly burdened by the need to explain the complex mythology behind the "Raakshas" cult. While Kaduskar performs admirably, her character sometimes functions more as a plot device—an articulate encyclopedia of ancient lore—than a fully realized human being. A few scenes of her deciphering manuscripts feel like a classic case of 'telling' when the rest of the film so brilliantly 'shows'. It’s a minor stumble in an otherwise masterful marathon of writing, but it momentarily breaks the immersive spell.

The Triumvirate of Performances: A Career Best and Two Revelations

A film this dependent on character and dialogue lives or dies by its actors, and Bhagwat is a resounding triumph on this front.

Arshad Warsi as Bhagirath Mishra is, without a hint of hyperbole, giving the performance of his career. This is not the lovable Circuit or the witty protagonist from his comedies. This is not even the competent officer from Asur. This is a man hollowed out by grief and failure, his brilliance corroded by alcohol and cynicism. Warsi inhabits Mishra completely. It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the tired, bloodshot eyes that still flicker with formidable intelligence, the tremor in his hand as he reaches for another drink. He delivers his lines with a weary sarcasm that masks a profound pain. He makes you believe that this man has seen the very worst of humanity and has concluded that the universe is a godless, chaotic void. It is a haunting, vanity-free, and utterly captivating performance that should be remembered at every awards ceremony.

Jitendra Kumar as Sub-Inspector Omkar Singh is a revelation. Shedding the affable ‘Jeetu Bhaiya’ skin that made him a star, Kumar proves he is an actor of incredible range and subtlety. His Omkar is not a naive fool; he is a man of deep, quiet conviction. Kumar uses his stillness as his greatest weapon. He listens, he observes, and you can see the gears of faith and duty turning behind his expressive eyes. The chemistry between him and Warsi is electric—a perfect fusion of fire and earth. Their dynamic elevates the film from a standard thriller to a profound character study. You feel the grudging respect grow between them, two men standing on opposite sides of a spiritual chasm, reaching for a common truth.

Ayesha Kaduskar as Dr. Revati Joshi provides the film's intellectual and emotional anchor. In a lesser film, her role could have easily been a thankless exposition machine. Kaduskar, however, infuses Revati with a quiet strength and academic passion that makes the mythological lore feel urgent and real. She deftly avoids the 'damsel in distress' trope, portraying a woman whose knowledge is her power. Her scenes with Warsi, where his cynical pragmatism clashes with her academic reverence for the past, are some of the most intellectually stimulating in the entire film.

Final Verdict

Bhagwat Chapter 1: Raakshas is not an easy watch. It is a dense, demanding, and deeply unsettling film that lingers long after the credits roll. It trusts its audience's intelligence, refusing to offer simple answers or moral platitudes. The 'Raakshas' of the title, the film compellingly argues, is not a creature of myth but the monster born from dogma and desperation, an evil that festers equally in the hearts of the faithless and the fanatical.

Despite a slightly over-burdened second act, the film is a monumental achievement in direction, performance, and atmospheric world-building. It is a grim, beautiful, and intellectually staggering piece of cinema that firmly establishes Avinash Sharma as one of our most exciting filmmakers and provides Arshad Warsi with the role of a lifetime. It is an instant classic of the Indian neo-noir genre.

CharotarDaily.com Rating: 4.5 / 5 Stars

Who Should Watch This?

• Absolutely: Fans of cerebral, slow-burn thrillers like Se7en, True Detective, or Indian gems like Tumbbad and Talvar. If you appreciate masterful cinematography, powerhouse acting, and a story that makes you think, this is your film of the year.

• Approach with Caution: If you are looking for a fast-paced action movie or a simple masala entertainer. The film's deliberate pacing and philosophical density will likely frustrate viewers seeking instant gratification.

• Avoid If: You are easily disturbed by graphic crime scenes or prefer your cinema to be light-hearted and escapist. This film will offer you no escape; it will drag you right into the abyss.