Director: Vivek Agnihotri
Cast: Darshan Kumaar, Pallavi Joshi, Mithun Chakraborty, Anupam Kher, Saswata Chatterjee, Simratt Kaur
Runtime – 204 Minutes 
 
Vivek Agnihotri’s The Bengal Files is not a film that seeks comfort — either for its characters or its audience. It is a cinematic excavation of a deeply buried trauma, one that India’s post-independence mainstream narrative has often hesitated to confront. With a runtime that demands endurance and a tone that offers no relief, this is less a film and more a reckoning.

Set against the historical backdrop of 1946 Bengal — specifically the Noakhali riots and Direct Action Day — the film juxtaposes two timelines: the present-day investigation of a missing journalist and the fragmented memories of an elderly survivor. What unfolds is a portrait of brutality, betrayal, and identity in freefall. Darshan Kumaar’s CBI officer Shiva Pandit, tasked with solving the mystery of Gita Mandal’s disappearance, becomes the viewer’s conduit into a much larger story — one that refuses to stay buried.
 
Agnihotri’s direction is assertive, sometimes aggressively so. The narrative is intercut with flashbacks that feel almost documentary-like in their rawness, but never lose the heightened drama of fictional storytelling. The choice to abandon subtlety in favor of stark confrontation is a conscious one — and while it may divide audiences, it undeniably sustains emotional urgency.
 
Performance-wise, the cast delivers with admirable commitment. Pallavi Joshi, in a role that could have easily slipped into melodrama, brings restraint and dignity. Her portrayal of Bharati Banerjee — a woman whose mind is fading but whose memories remain painfully sharp — becomes the emotional anchor of the film. Darshan Kumaar strikes a balance between procedural intensity and personal investment, while Mithun Chakraborty and Anupam Kher lend gravitas, even when the screenplay leans into theatricality. Saswata Chatterjee, in particular, is chillingly effective — his character a disturbing embodiment of ideological decay.
 
However, The Bengal Files is far from flawless. Its near-three-and-a-half-hour runtime becomes a burden in the second half, where repetition dulls the edge of its commentary. The film could have achieved more by saying less — certain monologues feel like lectures, and some moments are overwritten to the point of distraction. There’s also a noticeable tilt in ideological framing, one that risks alienating viewers looking for a more balanced narrative. While the film doesn’t pretend to be neutral, it occasionally trades nuance for conviction.
 
Technically, the film is competently made. Cinematographer Uday Singh brings a dusty, grim palette that suits the film’s themes, and the background score by Swapnil Bandodkar avoids melodrama for most part, instead opting for atmosphere over orchestration. The editing, however, is inconsistent — particularly during transitions between past and present — and contributes to the film’s bloated pacing.
 
Yet for all its structural and narrative shortcomings, The Bengal Files succeeds in one essential way: it refuses to allow comfort. In a cinematic landscape often afraid to offend or challenge, Agnihotri delivers a piece that demands engagement. Whether you agree with its politics or not, the film creates space for a conversation that’s been long overdue. It may not be the most polished or subtle film of the year, but it’s undoubtedly one of the most provocative.
 
The Bengal Files is not an easy watch — nor is it meant to be. It stumbles under its own weight at times, but it never backs away from its truth. As both cinema and commentary, it is flawed, urgent, and necessary. You may walk away conflicted, but you won’t walk away unmoved.