Dacoit Review
There is a peculiar kind of frustration that comes from watching a film that clearly knows what it wants to be but spends an unreasonable amount of time deciding when to actually become it. Shaneil Deo’s Dacoit: A Love Story is precisely that kind of film — a heist-romance that opens like a lukewarm cup of chai, meanders through an over-explained backstory, and then suddenly, almost rudely, transforms into a genuinely thrilling ride that makes you forget the sluggish first act ever happened. Almost.
The film opens with a fairly standard lovebird romance between Adivi Sesh and Mrunal Thakur’s characters — the kind of wide-eyed, slow-motion-running-through-fields setup that Hindi cinema has been recycling since the invention of the Steadicam. From there, we are taken into a prolonged flashback explaining why Mrunal’s character framed Adivi’s, leading to his imprisonment. The premise-setting takes its sweet time, and this is the film’s first and most visible drawback. You understand the “why” long before the film finishes explaining it, and by then you are already checking how much popcorn is left.
Adivi Sesh, who was restrained and convincing in Major, feels oddly unmoored here. There is a theatrical quality to his performance that borders on overacting — the brooding stares linger a beat too long, the angry monologues carry a decibel too many. It is not a bad performance per se, but it sits uncomfortably in a film that needed more quiet intensity and less noise. If you were to play a casting fantasy, Shahid Kapoor feels like he would have been the more organic fit for this role — someone who can simmer without needing to boil over constantly.
Adivi escapes prison to take revenge, and almost immediately runs into Mrunal, who is in trouble of her own. From here, the film enters a strange tonal zone: police are actively hunting him, and our man is casually strategising his revenge plan like he is organising a weekend trip to Goa. The stakes should feel urgent, but instead they feel curiously relaxed — which would work in a dark comedy but feels jarring in what is supposed to be a taut thriller.
And then, the cash heist sequence arrives.
The moment the heist begins, Dacoit transforms into the film it should have been from the first frame. The pacing tightens, the camera finds its rhythm, and suddenly you are leaning forward in your seat.
This is where the first half truly ignites. The heist sequence is the undeniable highlight of the film — sharp, kinetic, and layered with enough tension to make your palms sweat. It is also where Anurag Kashyap makes his entry, and what an entry it is. There is something deliciously magnetic about Kashyap on screen. He does not act in a scene — he owns it. His introduction is masterfully staged, and as usual, the man delivers his absolute best. The police-thief chase that follows is pure cinema masala at its finest — breathless, inventive, and enormously entertaining.
But here is the tragedy: the heist ends, and the fun walks out of the window with the stolen cash. The film settles back into exposition mode, and we are introduced to the larger narrative about corrupt hospitals that looted common people during the COVID pandemic. Now, this is an important and rage-inducing subject, no doubt. But if you have watched Akshay Kumar’s Gabbar Is Back, you have already seen this particular brand of righteous fury directed at the healthcare mafia. The parallel is too stark to ignore, and consequently, this thematic thread does not land as the knockout punch the film clearly intended it to be.
Performance Spotlight
Atul Kulkarni is the great surprise package of Dacoit. Quiet, controlled, and devastating when the moment demands it — he is the kind of actor who reminds you why casting directors exist. Mrunal Thakur, meanwhile, outperforms her leading man with a layered turn that carries genuine emotional weight. When the film asks you to cry, it is her eyes that do the heavy lifting.
And cry, you will. Because when the real truth of the story finally unfolds — when the layers peel back and the actual devastation of these characters’ lives is laid bare — your soul shudders. It is the kind of reveal that earns the film an extra star all on its own. Shaneil Deo knows how to flip a narrative, and the way Dacoit turns its own story upside down in the final stretch is genuinely moving. The suspense that builds in the climax is edge-of-the-seat worthy, and a last heist ties everything together with the finality of a nail driven into a coffin.
That said, the film is weighed down by a surplus of backstories. There are too many timelines, too many reveals, too many “but wait, there is more” moments stacked upon each other. If you sit with it and connect the threads, it all makes sense — but in the moment, it can feel like narrative overkill. The film is also, let us be honest, at least an hour too long. This has “OTT edit” written all over it, and a tighter runtime on a streaming platform would have done wonders.
Two final gripes. The climactic chase goes from a hospital exterior to what looks like a full-blown wilderness in approximately three seconds — a geographic impossibility that jolts you out of the moment so hard you might get whiplash. And Anurag Kashyap’s character, despite being the most electrifying presence in the film, is criminally underutilised. You have a performer of that calibre, and you do not give him enough screen time? That is not just a missed opportunity — that is a shame.
The Verdict
Dacoit is the kind of film that tests your patience in the first act and then rewards it — generously, emotionally — in the second half. The heist sequences are top-tier, Anurag Kashyap is magnetic, Mrunal Thakur delivers the performance of the film, and the final twist is a genuine gut-punch. But the sluggish setup, questionable casting of the lead, an overstuffed screenplay, and a bloated runtime keep it from being the clean, sharp thriller it could have been. Worth watching? Yes. In a theatre? If you have patience. On OTT? Absolutely — with a finger hovering over the fast-forward button for the first forty minutes.
