The Academy of Fine Arts arrives like a live grenade lobbed into the middle of Bengali cinema — part homage, part rebellion, and entirely ...
The Academy of Fine Arts arrives like a live
grenade lobbed into the middle of Bengali cinema — part homage, part rebellion,
and entirely unapologetic in its ambitions. Directed by Jayabrata Das, produced
by Prateek Chakravorty alongside a band of indie believers, this neo-noir heist
film has become one of the most talked-about Bengali films of 2025 — partly for
what’s on screen, and partly for everything surrounding its
release.
A Stylish Tarantino-Inflected Heist
At its core, the film is a gritty, tightly wound
tale of a ragtag crew of gangsters — funny, foul-mouthed, violent and, against
all odds, strangely endearing. Their mission? Steal an invaluable bottle of
liquor from their boss — a MacGuffin worthy of pulp mythology and twisted
enough to fuel a delicious blend of plot twists and storytelling.
From the opening frames, the film wears its
influences on its sleeve: whip-smart dialogue, jazzy bursts of violence, and a
kinetic energy that recalls Tarantino’s brash storytelling sensibility. But Das
doesn’t simply imitate — he infuses these elements with a regional pulse, a
noir texture rarely seen in mainstream Bengali cinema.
Characters as Flawed as Their Choices
The ensemble cast delivers uniformly strong
performances. Rudranil Ghosh and Sourav Das dominate as charismatic leads,
their interplay a mix of menace and comic unpredictability. Payal Sarkar and
Anuradha Mukherjee bring both grit and glamour, counterbalancing the male chaos
with sharp, layered presences. Sudip Mujherjee, Amit Saha, Rishav Basu, and
Rahul Banerjee round out a supporting cast that never lets the tone
sag.
These are characters who feel alive — vulnerable
one moment, ruthless the next. In a film this violent and profane, it’s
performances like these that make you care even when you’re
wincing.
Technical Mastery Meets Creative Rough Edges
Cinematographer Arnab Laha crafts visuals that are
sleek, moody, and drenched in noir atmosphere. Each frame feels deliberate,
moving between intimacy and explosive chaos with ease. Editor Ashik Sharkar
keeps the pacing brisk — never allowing a 150-minute run time to breathe for
too long.
The soundtrack — rich with callbacks to Pramod
Chakraborty’s old films like Teenmurti and Patita Jyoti — adds a meta layer,
grounding this wildly modern narrative in a classic Bengali sonic DNA (while
adding a wink to cinephiles).
Humour in the Midst of Carnage
This film isn’t just violent — it laughs at
violence. There’s a razor-sharp, absurdist sense of humour interwoven with
bloodshed that keeps you off balance. One moment you’re recoiling, the next
you’re laughing out loud at a punchline delivered in the middle of a
shootout.
This dark comedy doesn’t lighten the brutality — it
makes it more bearable, more human, more … weirdly fun. It’s an intoxicating
cocktail, much like the bottle the characters are fighting over.
A Climactic Punch That Doesn’t Let Go
Like all great noirs, it builds steadily toward a
climax that’s both vicious and cathartic. You’ll feel it in your gut — and if
you walk out before the very last credit rolls, you might miss the final twist,
a retribution only revealed in the closing moments. (Yes, the die-hard warning
in the film is serious.)
Controversy, Censorship, and Cult Buzz
This film’s journey has been as cinematic as its
plot. Rated A with over 50 cuts demanded by censors, its release was
momentarily stalled by federation objections over crew rules. But despite these
obstacles, it finally hit screens to a mix of cheers, confusion, and passionate
debate.
International audiences have even embraced it: the
film has been showcased at the Jogja-NETPAC Asian Film Festival, winning
admiration from global viewers regardless of language barriers.
Is This a Game Changer?
For too long, Bengali cinema has drifted in
predictable waters. The Academy of Fine Arts doesn’t just rock the boat — it
lights it on fire and sails it into a storm with style. Is it perfect? Not by a
long shot. Some narrative beats feel derivative; some moments feel rough around
the edges.
But it matters. It’s bold. It’s visceral. It’s
unapologetically grown-up Bengali cinema with teeth and swagger.
Final Verdict
This is the kind of film that will be debated in
film clubs, dissected by YouTube critics, and laughed about with friends long
after the credits fade. It’s a violent, funny, flawed, thrilling neo-noir — and
maybe the jolt Bengali cinema didn’t know it needed.
Don’t walk out early. Sit through the end credits. And then watch it again.
By Pratik Majumdar (author: Love Coffee Murder & 1975 The Year That Transformed Bollywood)
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