Prahaar Movie Review: Rajkummar Rao Shines, but Drama Falls Short

Cast: Rajkummar Rao, Wamiqa Gabbi, Jaideep Ahlawat, Sikandar Kher, and Lalit Prabhakar

Director: Avinash Arun

A promising courtroom drama that revisits the horrors of 26/11 but struggles to turn its powerful subject into a consistently engaging cinematic experience.

Revisiting the 26/11 Mumbai terror attacks on the big screen is never an easy task. Indian cinema has explored the tragedy from multiple angles, making another film about those horrific events a challenging proposition. Prahaar, however, attempts to bring something different to the table by placing government prosecutor Ujjwal Nikam at the centre of the narrative.

Rather than presenting a conventional retelling of the attacks, director Avinash Arun focuses on the legal battle that followed, examining the efforts to bring Ajmal Kasab to justice. The film attempts to balance Nikam's courtroom strategy with Kasab's interrogation and trial, creating a narrative that moves between the pursuit of justice and the complexities of the legal system.

The intention is certainly commendable, and there are moments when the film captures the seriousness of its subject. Unfortunately, the execution lacks the sharpness required to turn this story into a compelling courtroom thriller.

The story follows the aftermath of the 26/11 attacks, beginning with Ajmal Kasab's capture and moving towards the investigation and subsequent trial. Ujjwal Nikam, played by Rajkummar Rao, takes charge of the prosecution and sets out to build a comprehensive case against Kasab. Meanwhile, Kasab, portrayed by Lalit Prabhakar, denies responsibility and offers shifting explanations, while his defence lawyer, Qureshi (Sikandar Kher), challenges the prosecution's arguments.

As Nikam attempts to establish the facts and uncover the wider network behind the attacks, the courtroom becomes the primary battleground.

On paper, this setup offers plenty of dramatic potential. The clash between prosecution and defence, the search for evidence, and the pressure surrounding such a nationally significant case could have made for an absorbing legal drama. Yet Prahaar repeatedly interrupts its own momentum with unnecessary subplots and sequences that add little to the central conflict.

At approximately 140 minutes, the film feels considerably longer than it needs to be. A tighter edit, bringing the runtime closer to two hours, could have made the storytelling more forceful and the courtroom proceedings more engaging.

One of the biggest problems with Prahaar is its inconsistent writing. Certain developments feel artificially constructed, weakening the credibility of a story that should depend on legal precision and dramatic tension.

The sequence in which Qureshi considers leaving the case, only for Nikam to persuade him to continue because the country needs him, feels particularly unconvincing. The introduction of another lawyer, who contributes little beyond a brief exchange with the investigating officer, raises further questions about the purpose of these detours.

The family-oriented portions exploring Nikam's personal life and his relationship with his son also struggle to find the right balance. While such moments could have added emotional depth to the character, they often slow the proceedings without offering enough insight in return.

The Islamabad-related inquiry and the film's treatment of the defence lawyer's character similarly feel underdeveloped. Even some potentially powerful moments lack the emotional intensity they demand. A scene involving Kasab being confronted with the bodies of his fellow attackers, for instance, feels restrained to the point of losing its intended impact.

These shortcomings do not make Prahaar an outright failure. Rather, they reveal a film that has the right ingredients but does not always know how to use them effectively.

Despite its narrative problems, Prahaar finds its strongest footing inside the courtroom. The exchanges are occasionally sharp, and several speeches capture the conflict between legal procedure, public expectations, and the pursuit of justice.

Lines such as “Justice delayed is justice denied” and “Justice hurried is justice buried” underline the difficult balance between delivering a verdict quickly and ensuring that justice is served fairly. The emphasis on India's democratic principles also gives certain proceedings a larger significance.

These scenes provide the film with some of its most memorable moments. Whenever the screenplay concentrates on the arguments, evidence, and moral weight of the trial, Prahaar becomes considerably more engaging. One only wishes the rest of the narrative maintained the same level of intensity.

Performances: Rajkummar Rao Carries the Film

Rajkummar Rao is the film's biggest asset. He brings conviction to Ujjwal Nikam and delivers several strong moments, particularly during the courtroom sequences. However, occasional shifts in his accent and familiar mannerisms interrupt the consistency of his portrayal. A more controlled performance throughout would have made the character even more convincing.

Lalit Prabhakar makes a noticeable impression as Ajmal Kasab, delivering a portrayal that holds its own within the film's large ensemble. Sikandar Kher is effective as defence lawyer Qureshi, while Jaideep Ahlawat makes his limited screen time count as Nazzar.

Aashish Vidyarthi is dependable as the judge, and Ritvik Sahore delivers a decent performance. Wamiqa Gabbi, unfortunately, is not given enough substantial material to make a lasting impact. The supporting cast generally performs well, although several characters remain underwritten.

Considering its mid-budget scale, Prahaar demonstrates reasonable technical control. The cinematography maintains a grounded visual style, while the production design does enough to establish the film's legal and investigative settings.

The editing is a mixed bag. Although the film remains structurally understandable, tighter cuts could have eliminated repetitive passages and improved the overall pace. The background score does little to add tension, and the songs feel unnecessary in a narrative dealing with such a grave subject.

The film would have benefited from a more restrained approach, allowing its performances, courtroom confrontations, and historical context to carry the emotional weight.

Avinash Arun, whose Killa remains a memorable achievement in coming-of-age cinema, brings visible sincerity to Prahaar. There are glimpses of thoughtful filmmaking, particularly when he allows the proceedings to unfold without excessive melodrama.

However, the film never quite develops the narrative urgency needed to sustain a courtroom drama of this nature. Its subject is significant, its central conflict is compelling, and its lead actor is capable of delivering a strong performance. Yet the screenplay repeatedly dilutes these strengths through uneven pacing and underwhelming subplots.

Perhaps the greatest disappointment is that Prahaar comes close to being an absorbing legal drama but never fully realises its potential.

Prahaar is a sincere but uneven attempt to revisit one of India's darkest chapters through the lens of the courtroom. Its strongest moments arrive when the film focuses on Ujjwal Nikam's legal battle and the arguments surrounding Kasab's trial. Rajkummar Rao anchors the narrative with a committed performance, supported by a capable ensemble.

However, the overlong runtime, inconsistent writing, distracting subplots, and lack of sustained emotional intensity prevent the film from reaching the heights its subject deserves.

There is enough here to make Prahaar worth considering for viewers interested in courtroom dramas and the legal aftermath of the 26/11 attacks. But as a complete cinematic experience, it remains frustratingly short of its promise.

Rajkummar Rao nearly wins the case, but the screenplay leaves too much room for reasonable doubt.

Final Rating: 2.5/5