Q: Your new work Kartavya exudes raw, visceral vibes, like your Bhakshak. Would you say urban violence is your forte?
A: I don’t know if I would call urban violence my “forte.” Violence, for me, is never aesthetic or ornamental. It is usually a symptom of silence, power, fear, inequality, desperation, or systems collapsing around ordinary people. What interests me more is the human cost of it, the emotional debris it leaves behind, the anger people inherit, and the survival instinct cities force upon you. Whether it is Bhakshak or Kartavya, the attempt is not to glorify brutality, but to confront the discomfort of it honestly. Cities are strange places. They can give you dreams and destroy your innocence in the same breath. Maybe that contradiction naturally finds its way into my storytelling.
Q: Saif Ali Khan seems an unusual choice to play a rustic cop.
A: I never found the choice unusual, honestly. For me, casting is never about image; it is about the emotional truth an actor can bring to a character. This cop is not a hero in the conventional sense. He is fractured, compromised, vulnerable, angry, and weak at times, and that complexity needs an actor who is secure enough to expose his flaws without trying to look heroic every second. Saif has that rare ability. There is an intelligence and an unpredictability in him which makes the audience constantly question what the character is thinking. As a filmmaker, that is gold. He can carry charm and damage in the same frame, and that balance was extremely important for this role. Also, somewhere I feel actors become most dangerous when they step away from what people expect from them. I was never interested in casting the obvious choice. I wanted someone who could make this man feel human instead of cinematic. Saif understood the silence, the guilt, the moral decay, and the loneliness of this character from the very first conversation.
Q: Did you have to work hard on Saif’s diction and body language?
A: Saif is an incredibly intelligent and instinctive actor. He understands the emotional rhythm of a character very quickly. Of course, with a character like this, we spent a lot of time discussing the internal world of the man, his silences, his fatigue, his moral compromises, and the way power sits on his body. But I wouldn’t call it “work” in the conventional sense because he came extremely prepared. The diction was more about finding honesty than trying to sound performative. We wanted him to feel like somebody you could actually meet in a police station at 2 AM, not a cinematic version of a cop. Similarly, with the body language, the slight heaviness in the shoulders, the stillness in confrontation, the gaze of a man who has seen too much and trusts too little, and those nuances came organically through conversations, rehearsals, and Saif’s own observations. What impressed me most was his willingness to unlearn vanity. As an actor, that is rare. He was never trying to look heroic; he was trying to look truthful. And that honesty brought tremendous depth to the character.
Q: The non-urban, semi-lawless hinterland seems to be a favorite playground for filmmakers. Would you say this genre breeds a tempting violence?
A: For a filmmaker, that world is dramatically very rich because people there don’t always have the luxury of politeness or emotional sophistication. Their anger is raw, their love is raw, and their morality is often situational. Violence then becomes a language, sometimes of power, sometimes of helplessness, and sometimes even of dignity. But I don’t think the genre “tempts” violence. I think it exposes the consequences of it. If the audience only comes back remembering blood and brutality, then somewhere the storytelling has failed. For me, the human cost of violence is always more important than the act itself.
Q: What did the failure of your big-screen film Maalik with Rajkummar Rao teach you?
A: Every film teaches you something, and Maalik taught me a lot. I don’t think one thing “went wrong” specifically. Sometimes a film connects exactly the way you imagined, and sometimes it doesn’t reach people with the same emotional frequency you created it with. That is part of cinema. The big screen is ruthless; it magnifies both your strengths and your mistakes. As a filmmaker, you learn to absorb both applause and criticism with the same humility. Maalik gave me scars, lessons, and clarity. Honestly, those failures shape you far more than your successes ever do. I am sure I will come back to the big screen with something exactly like I want to, very soon.
Q: Are you more comfortable in the digital domain?
A: I wouldn’t call it comfort, I would call it freedom. The digital space allowed storytellers like us to experiment without constantly worrying about formulas, opening weekends, or fitting into predefined boxes. It gave space to layered characters, uncomfortable truths, and stories rooted in realism. But cinema is still the ultimate dream. Nothing can replace the feeling of watching your story unfold on a massive screen with hundreds of strangers reacting together. The scale, the silence, the applause, that emotion is unmatched. As a filmmaker, I don’t want to limit myself to either medium. The intention decides the platform. Some stories demand the intimacy and long-form depth of digital, while some deserve the spectacle and collective experience of theaters. My job is simply to tell stories as honestly as possible, irrespective of the screen size.
Q: There have been several recent films on small-town corruption and lawlessness. What sets Kartavya apart?
A: I think the backdrop may feel familiar on the surface, small towns, corruption, power structures, and moral decay, because that reality exists all around us. But Kartavya is not just about lawlessness; it is about the emotional cost of surviving inside that system. For me, the difference lies in the human conflict. The film is not interested in glorifying violence or creating larger-than-life heroes. It explores what power does to ordinary people, how compromise slowly becomes habit, and how morality starts blurring when survival is at stake. Also…
Q: Go ahead.
A: Kartavya comes from a very personal space. The characters speak like people I have known, the silences come from observation, and the anger comes from lived reality rather than cinematic design. I wanted the world to feel sweaty, uncomfortable, and emotionally truthful instead of stylized.
Q: What next?
A: Right now I am shooting Sundar Poonam, a feature film for Prime Video, produced by Vikram Malhotra. It stars Sanya Malhotra and Aditya Rawal. As a filmmaker, you always hope every film challenges you in a new way, and Sundar Poonam is definitely doing that for me. I am excited for people to eventually experience the world we are building.
(THE INTERVIEWER IS A VETERAN FILM CRITIC)