Kill review: Gratuitous, sadistic, enjoyable action and not much else

To Kill’s credit, the bandits, however much they may fit the stereotypes of stock goons, are never treated as anonymous. They turn out to be one big extended family: uncles, nephews, brothers, and in-laws, supplied with personal reasons to keep trying to kill the seemingly unkillable Amrit. Admittedly, it’s often hard to keep track of who’s trying to avenge whom, but this only contributes to the film’s overall level of exaggerated melodrama, as does the frequently clunky dialogue. (“That commando’s love has fallen on us like a bomb!” declares Fani.) Even the facial expressions are caricatured: Glares, stares, gnashing and gritting teeth. Both hero and villain end up with plenty of blood on their faces, but their hair remains salon-styled throughout.

One likely reference point here might be the cowboy-inspired, frequently campy dacoit genre—bandit movies, basically—that became a Bollywood staple starting in the 1970s. (Kill even makes some nods to those earlier bandit flicks’ Western influences.) Another, even more obvious group of references would be the ultra-violence of Indonesian action films like The Raid, The Raid 2, and The Night Comes For Us, as well as classic American ‘80s action cheese. Sylvester Stallone’s sullen Rambo gets a name-check, but Amrit is really a hero in the mold of the glistening, stubborn Schwarzeneggerian killing machine. He even gets the requisite beefcake angles, but sadly, not the corny one-liners.

There’s something here about men becoming monsters, righteous goals, and so on, but the symbolism is inchoate; the violence, however stylized, never represents anything more than itself. Fortunately, Bhat proves to be a capable director of close-quarters action—the stabbing, kicking, punching, lunging, gouging, and chokeholds choreographed in the cramped, wobbly interior of the train. The soundtrack beats with thwacks, grunts, thuds, slashes, and crunches as bodies are pummeled in between bunks and inside vestibules, through sleeping berth curtains, against couchettes, fixtures, and slamming doors. At one point, Amrit bashes an unlucky bandit’s skull with a fire extinguisher until his head is pulverized into a gooey homogenate resembling canned tomato.

However wild and gory it gets, the mayhem never feels claustrophobic, though it almost certainly should. In fact, the biggest demerit against the film isn’t the lack of measurable depth, but its absence of spatial tension. As proficient as he may be at directing fast-moving fights, Bhat doesn’t show much of an eye for the basics of suspense: It’s hard to tell which train car we’re in or how far away one group of characters might be from another. Layout, timeframe, and distance are too vague to create a palpable feeling of danger. As a result, Kill’s forward momentum comes exclusively from the way it keeps trying to one-up itself, inventing new, grosser, more sadistic ways to maim and kill within its limited means. Aficionados of fast, violent action will have a good time, but shouldn’t expect much more.