Review Tales

So, yes, I’ve been wanting to write this piece for a long time now. But honestly? I had absolutely no idea how to approach it because my thoughts on this are so scrambled. Now, it’s time to unleash what I think, and this might just be the angriest thing you’ll ever see from me. But it needs to be done, both for your enlightenment and my own satisfaction.

I finally watched Animal when it dropped on Netflix, and let me give you some background: I love cinema that divides audiences, movies that spark debate and draw clear lines between lovers and haters. 

If a film has a polarizing response, I’m the first one there because it usually means the filmmaker has taken risks, broken some rules, or tried something different. So, despite my deep reluctance after enduring two trainwrecks called Arjun Reddy and Kabir Singh, I gave Animal a go. I wanted to see what made one half of the audience worship it and the other half detest it. And you know what I found? Nothing.

When I say “nothing,” I mean absolutely nothing. To everyone who hated it for its “problematic aspects,” I ask: why? Sure, those aspects are there, but they’re not even intense enough to provoke any real outrage. And to those who adored it, who’ve turned Ranvijay (Ranbir Kapoor) into their entire personality—I ask you too: why? 

The movie doesn’t fulfill any bloodlust because there’s barely any on-screen violence, and it doesn’t have enough character depth to make Ranvijay an idol-worthy figure. There’s no cohesive narrative here to satisfy even a halfway-serious cinephile, so I’m baffled by the hype.

I understand that art is subjective, but come on, seriously, why? Let me attempt to dissect this mess of a movie to explain why I believe its success spells a bleak moment for Bollywood.

Non-Existent Storyline

Hello, Vanga fanboys and edgelords. When I ask fans why they loved Animal, I sometimes hear “It’s a great character study.” Okay, fair enough. So, tell me three fascinating things about Ranvijay. Honestly, you can’t. He has only two emotions on screen: anger and confusion. What a treat for the frustrated teenagers who see themselves in this character.

Now, anger and confusion are fantastic emotions in cinema, but they need to have meaning. We’ve seen great characters in films like Taxi Driver and Nightcrawler who are fueled by anger and confusion for the entire runtime, but the difference is in the depth. Ranvijay, on the other hand, is like a pinball, bouncing erratically between rage, random acts of violence, and bursts of lust. He’s either shouting “papa, papa,” killing people for the father who never respected him, or staring blankly, confused about his next move. There’s no depth here, no complex backstory that makes you feel for him or understand him. He’s just a hollow shell.

It’s as if someone watched a marathon of Scorsese and Coppola films without understanding anything and tried to replicate it here. Ranvijay is senselessly killing for a father who barely cared for him, going off on unearned and aimless tirades. It’s a teenage fantasy that draws only from surface-level ideas of what makes a character complex.

A Desperate Effort to Subvert Expectations

This film grossed over 500 crores at the Indian box office. So, naturally, I tried to find some redeemable qualities, something that could explain its massive appeal. I don’t claim to have life figured out, so I wondered: was it just me? Was I missing something?

Then it hit me: Animal works for those who are, frankly, cinematically illiterate and probably in their teenage years. What do teenagers crave in movies that are usually censored or toned down? Blood? Sex? And for boys, a dash of misogyny? Animal checks all these boxes and subverts expectations in ways that, to a first-time moviegoer, might seem groundbreaking. But let’s take a closer look.

In Animal, Vanga “subverts” by flipping a few predictable tropes: instead of the hero slapping the love interest (as in Arjun Reddy and Kabir Singh), the love interest slaps the hero. Instead of the hero achieving a happy ending, he’s left with a tragic one. As a film lover, should I appreciate this twist on convention? Ideally, yes, but not here, because these plot points aren’t justified. The fractured narrative feels so contrived, the twists so forced, that instead of being poignant, they’re laughable. But sure, if you’ve seen maybe one or two movies in your life, this must feel like a masterclass in subversion.

Absence of Irony

When you tell a story about an anti-hero, irony is crucial. Take GoodFellas, where irony permeates every scene. When Tommy guns down a boy in a restaurant, he’s less worried about killing someone and more concerned about getting blood on the floor, exposing the fragile ego behind his rage. That’s irony—he’s terrified of facing consequences while being ruthless.

This is something Vanga doesn’t grasp. He gives us a tragic ending for Ranvijay, sure, but there’s no irony in his journey. Ranvijay shoots up a classroom with an AK-47, points a gun at a pregnant woman (because, according to Vanga, she’s the villain’s wife, so she deserves it). But what’s missing is any sense of contradiction, any irony that could deepen the tragedy or teach a lesson. The movie seems to revel in these scenes without recognizing their hollowness.

Irony could have made Ranvijay’s downfall meaningful. But without it, we’re left with an empty story that pretends to be a cautionary tale but fails spectacularly. The ending isn’t tragic because we care about Ranvijay; it’s simply unpleasant because his character lacks the complexity that makes us root for—or even understand—him.

A Warning for Bollywood

The success of Animal speaks volumes about the state of Bollywood and its audience. It’s a film that relies on gratuitous violence, superficial character development, and hollow “edgy” twists. This is what we’re celebrating? The box office numbers tell me yes. We’ve reached a point where all it takes to captivate people is a gun-wielding man with a loud soundtrack in the background. That’s it. No story, no complexity, just blood and anger packaged with a bit of fake subversion.

So, congratulations, Sandeep Reddy Vanga. You’ve figured out the formula for pandering to young edgelords who think “cinematic” means nothing more than shock value and shallow symbolism. 

You’re the new Salman Khan, able to tap into the pulse of a generation that mistakes chaos for depth. And if Bollywood continues down this path, with more Animals in the pipeline, we’re in for an era where depth and nuance are extinct, replaced by hollow echoes of what cinema used to be.

Cheers to the bleak future ahead!