Homebound (Neeraj Ghaywan, 2025)
An affecting movie that, in the moment, hits every right nerve — gets you to clench your fist and grit your teeth swearing retribution at the bigots on screen — only to rip your heart out leaving you ultimately helpless in the face of systemic injustice and incompetence.
In retrospect, felt like this was either a half hour too short or half our too long. I kept thinking back to Ghaywan’s first, Masaan, which despite the grounded characters and rooted story felt like a tragic ethereal dream. This one can’t seem to commit to a tone. Should it have been something more operatic like 12th Fail, or, something more slice of life (a horrific slice of a terrible life no less) like Santosh?
Moreover, the movie sets into a predictable rhythm where every scene culminates with an inciting incident, which soon fizzles as the leads articulate the thesis, until it ramps up again to repeat the pattern. This has the effect of betraying such spirited performances, as both Shoaib and Chandan are reduced to their identities meant for a moralising purpose. Doesn’t help that the characters speak like they know they’re in a literary adaptation, as opposed to real people. Perhaps that lyrical dialogue might work if this had been a heightened melodrama rather than be confined to something deliberately small.
Nevertheless, Shoaib and Chandan are so well cast and sparkle every moment they’re together on screen. Such a rare joy to watch two men touch, hold and carry each other with such uninhibited affection. Their performances seem so embodied, not just in their electric chemistry, but also in the way they express pride in their identities while also suffering their circumstances. I just wish I could spend more time with them as people — like Chandan stealing biryani, or them playing cricket — and not just as charged identities. I miss N a lot.