Cast: Rahul Bhat, Sunny Leone, Mohit Takalkar, Abhilash Thapliyal, Shrikant Yadav, Megha Burman, Aamir Dalvi Written & Directed by: Anu...
Cast: Rahul Bhat, Sunny Leone, Mohit Takalkar, Abhilash Thapliyal, Shrikant Yadav, Megha Burman, Aamir Dalvi
Written & Directed by: Anurag Kashyap
Kennedy is one of Anurag Kashyap’s most controlled and internally intense works
in recent years. Premiering at the Cannes Film Festival in 2023 and later
reaching Indian audiences on OTT, the film feels less like a conventional crime
thriller and more like a slow excavation of conscience. Beneath its neo-noir
surface lies a probing study of the blurred boundary between good and evil, and
the stubborn presence of a moral compass in a man who appears morally
compromised.
The film follows Kennedy, played with quiet force by Rahul Bhat, an ex-cop
declared dead but secretly deployed by those in power to eliminate threats. On
paper, he is a killer working for corrupt structures. In practice, he is a man
constantly negotiating with himself. Kashyap’s brilliance lies in refusing to
simplify him. Kennedy commits violence without hesitation, yet he does not feel
like a creature of pure evil. Nor is he framed as a misunderstood hero. He
exists in the grey zone, and it is this grey zone that the film patiently examines.
The blurring of good and evil in Kennedy is not loud or dramatic. There are no
sweeping moral speeches. Instead, Kashyap builds ambiguity through action and
silence. Kennedy operates within a corrupt system that uses him as a disposable
instrument. The police, politicians and criminal networks function almost as
one organism. In such a world, morality becomes distorted. Survival often
demands complicity. Violence becomes procedural. Justice becomes selective.
And yet, despite this murky terrain, Kennedy is not morally hollow. His compass
may be bruised, but it is not broken. The film subtly signals this through his
restraint, his internal hesitation, and his quiet awareness of the cost of his
actions. He is not proud of what he does; he endures it. There is a clear sense
that he recognises right from wrong, even if he repeatedly chooses the darker
path. That recognition is crucial. It separates him from the system he serves.
The system is indifferent. Kennedy is not.
This tension gives the film its moral charge. Evil here is not presented as
flamboyant cruelty. It is institutional, methodical and often polite. Goodness,
meanwhile, is fragile and interior. It survives not in grand gestures but in
private reckoning. Kashyap suggests that morality is not defined by purity but
by awareness. Kennedy’s tragedy is not that he lacks a conscience, but that he
cannot act freely upon it.
Visually, the film embraces the dense, rich atmosphere that has long defined
Kashyap’s cinema. Cinematographer Sylvester Fonseca drenches Mumbai in shadow.
Streets gleam under sodium lights. Rooms are dim, faces half-lit, corners thick
with darkness. The city feels heavy, almost suffocating. This is classic
Kashyap terrain — urban decay rendered with texture and patience. The neo-noir
style is not decorative; it reinforces theme. Light rarely floods the frame,
just as moral clarity rarely floods the story. Characters emerge from shadow
and retreat into it, mirroring their uncertain ethical positions.
The pacing adds to this density. Kennedy moves deliberately, sometimes almost
languidly. Scenes linger. Silences stretch. For some viewers, this may feel
slow. But the slowness allows the moral questions to breathe. Kashyap is less
interested in plot twists than in psychological accumulation. Each encounter
deepens our understanding of Kennedy’s inner conflict. The atmosphere becomes
as important as narrative progression.
The musical score further enhances this tension. Instead of pushing adrenaline,
it often feels mournful and reflective. At times, the music seems almost too
grand for the violence unfolding on screen. This contrast creates unease. The
beauty of the sound clashes with the ugliness of the act, reminding us again
that good and evil are not cleanly separated. They can coexist in the same
moment, even within the same person.
Rahul Bhat’s performance anchors all of this. He avoids theatrical intensity
and instead opts for stillness. His Kennedy is measured, controlled and visibly
burdened. Much of the character’s moral struggle plays out in his eyes rather
than in dialogue. This restraint prevents the film from tipping into melodrama.
It keeps the moral conflict grounded and believable.
Ultimately, Kennedy is not about redemption in a conventional sense. It does
not promise that good will triumph or that evil will be punished in a neat arc.
Instead, it presents morality as an ongoing negotiation. In a system steeped in
corruption, even a flawed moral compass becomes significant. Kennedy may
operate in darkness, but he is not blind to it. That awareness is what keeps
him human.
In its layered treatment of good and evil, its brooding neo-noir mood and its
careful character study, Kennedy stands as a strong example of Kashyap’s
enduring voice. It is dense, textured and morally probing — a film that refuses
easy answers and instead leaves us with a lingering question: when surrounded
by darkness, is knowing the difference between right and wrong enough, or must
one also act upon it?
By Pratik Majumdar (author: Love Coffee Murder and 1975 The Year That
Transformed Bollywood)
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