Animal review: Sandeep Reddy Vanga parades misogyny under the guise of love

Even with a ridiculous plot line, Animal engages you, unlike the film it clashes with today; Sam Bahadur loses grip quite often despite having phenomenal source material. Despite his potential flaws — being perceived as sexist, misogynistic, or insensitive — Vanga’s oeuvre is anything but dull. In essence, he presents both this reviewer and the wider audience with an opportunity to transcend the simplistic dichotomy of good and bad in the realm of filmmaking.

At its core, Animal unfolds as the narrative of a man propelled to extremes in the name of filial devotion — Balbir (Anil Kapoor), the elusive father, and Ranvijay Singh (Ranbir Kapoor), the son whose love teeters on the brink of obsession. This visceral tale doesn’t shy away from depicting the lengths to which Ranvijay is willing to go for his father — whether it be taking a life, sacrificing his own, or a myriad of other jaw-dropping actions that defy expectation.

An unrelenting bloodbath

In this familial drama, Geetanjali (Rashmika Mandanna) emerges as the woman who is swept away by Vijay from the altar of her wedding to be wedded to him. However, the crux of the plot pivots on Vijay’s deep commitment to shield and battle for his father when faced with external threats, mainly Bobby Deol. 

In an endurance test that spans a seemingly unyielding 3 hours and 21 minutes, Animal remarkably maintains an unwavering pace. Boring is the last thing the film is because Vanga goes above and beyond to put on a show that doesn’t allow you to take your eyes off the screen even once.

Even for someone not inherently drawn to action sequences, Vanga adeptly elevates them beyond mere choreography, infusing style and engagement that resonates with both the untrained and discerning eye alike. To the trained eye, one is told they are exquisitely crafted, with great deliberation.

One standout moment unravels in an elaborate action set piece, featuring Ranbir Kapoor donned in a white kurta and lungi, complemented by audaciously stylish red shoes. Amidst this sartorial flamboyance, Kapoor navigates a symphony of violence — blood spilled, guns fired, and throats slit — all choreographed with an artistic finesse. This sequence not only marks a departure from the rhythmical shortcomings of Vanga’s previous works but also embodies a fusion of style and adrenaline that is emblematic of the film’s overall narrative prowess.

Now that the accolades are set aside, let’s delve into the facets where Animal not only falters but takes monumental leaps that catapult it into a colossal, blood-stained ditch. To begin with, Vanga swiftly dispels any notion that Kabir Singh or Arjun Reddy represented the nadir of cinematic missteps. Post-Animal, those predecessors appear akin to toddlers stumbling through their first tentative steps. The cinematic landscape that Animal traverses makes Vanga’s other films seem almost innocently juvenile.

Storytelling, the driving force

In a career marked by countless cinematic encounters, exiting the theatre after Animal stands as an unprecedented experience. A lingering migraine, coupled with waves of nausea, a persistent backache, and a lingering aversion to food, all bear testimony to the overpowering impact of the film. The visceral intensity of the gore takes an unapologetic center stage, transforming the viewing experience into an unrelenting bloodbath that is decidedly not suited for the faint-hearted.

Animal thrusts its audience into a zone that demands caution, to the extent that it warrants a trigger warning for the relentless onslaught of bloodiness, abuse, profanity, and explicit sexual content. The sheer magnitude and duration of these elements become overwhelming — a sensory barrage that decreases the audience’s endurance. In essence, Animal’s visceral and unyielding depiction is too much, for too long. There’s no respite to process — no fleeting moment to catch one’s breath, to digest the narrative nuances, or to emotionally invest in the unfolding drama. Instead, the audience is subjected to Vanga thrusting Kapoor’s toxic masculinity upon us without solicitation or consent.

Ranbir Kapoor is akin to the dynamic engine propelling this cinematic extravaganza, evidently revelling in the immersive experience. His performance resonates with a palpable enthusiasm as he endeavours to saturate the expansive screen with his formidable presence. Yet, amid the fervour, it becomes apparent that while Vanga might brandish him as a ‘superstar’ on promotional posters, Kapoor’s stardom doesn’t quite echo the iconic stature held by the likes of Shah Rukh Khan or Amitabh Bachchan. 

Undoubtedly, Kapoor stands as a colossal star in his own right, an indisputable force in the industry. However, in Animal’s elephantine storytelling, there’s a distinct sense that the narrative’s magnitude is carrying Kapoor rather than the other way around. Unlike the quintessential superstar narratives where the actor takes center stage, here, Vanga’s sprawling storytelling seems to be the driving force, with Kapoor navigating its expansive terrain rather than completely steering the narrative ship.

A problematic territory

However, the issues with Animal extend far beyond its gratuitous gore and penchant for excess. The film delves into the realms of toxicity and misogyny to such an extent that it prompts a reevaluation of characters like Kabir Singh, making him seem like a paragon of virtue in comparison. While the first half bears the familiar stamp of Vanga’s masculinity and chauvinism, the second half takes an alarming turn, reaching a point where the film ceases to qualify as cinema.

Post-interval, Animal devolves into a disturbing narrative where Ranvijay, without a hint of remorse or love, subjects his wife Geetanjali to a relentless cycle of abuse, pain, and humiliation. The viewing experience becomes so disconcerting that one might contemplate petitioning for the filmmaker’s figurative imprisonment. Despite threats of leaving and seeking a divorce, Geetanjali succumbs to a disconcerting pattern, which culminates in an inexplicable intimacy with her tormentor.

The film traverses a problematic territory; it blurs the lines between cinematic narrative and a distressing portrayal of abusive dynamics. As the filmmaker has formerly claimed, “If I can’t slap you, can’t cuss, then I don’t see emotion there.” He expects us to buy into this and believe that there is anything even remotely romantic about living with a disgusting abuser.

Not dull, but despicable

There’s incessant talk about sex — the number of times men’s pubic hair has come up as a marker of their masculinity is borderline embarrassing. The discourse on sexuality appears not only cheap and shallow but also lacks any semblance of maturity or grace. Besides, the film’s treatment of mental health is mockingly insensitive; it features scenes so discomforting that, were it not for this review, I might have considered walking out.

Despite my initial assertion that Vanga is not a dull filmmaker, it is imperative to note that, while he may not be dull, he is undeniably despicable. To be blunt, I’d prefer enduring an underwhelming and tedious film over one that glamorizes toxicity and parades misogyny under the guise of love.

Entertainment transcends mere amusement when it fosters the notion that emulating even a mild version of Kapoor’s character is cool for young boys or convinces young girls that the relationship shown in the film, between Geetanjali and Ranvijay, is healthy. While Vanga undoubtedly possesses talent, it is essential to underline that talent is nothing without conscience. In fact, talent becomes inherently dangerous without a moral compass.