Assi vs Mardaani 3: The grammar of rage in the era of hypermasculine cinema

No room for restraint

At first inspection, the two films appear to move in some sort of symmetry. Each is structured around violence inflicted upon women; each follows a female officer negotiating institutions more invested in their erasure than in any genuine reckoning. The narratives, while solely centered on women, remain authored and directed by men, and are borne by actors contending with an industry that continues to privilege a familiar mode of hero worship. The correspondences, in this sense, present themselves rather easily. But beneath them lies a more decisive kinship: both films are animated by anger. Something immediate, something insistent. Something that refuses abstraction and instead turns towards making injustice personal. Something that resides not only in the writing, but in the very texture of the films, in how they frame, cut, and hold their gaze.

This intensity, however, comes at a cost. Each film leans toward a certain bluntness, moments where its protagonists speak less to the world within the story and more to the audience beyond it. The argument for a better order is stated rather than discovered. One could say that in doing so, they relinquish a measure of formal subtlety. Yet this is not an accident. The heavy handedness is the point. Both films seem to ask whether refinement is even possible, or necessary, when faced with a world that feels openly hostile. Their refusal to temper their voice becomes its own argument. That anger, in such a landscape, is not simply justified but required. It is in this shared impulse that the comparison becomes most revealing. Set side by side, even briefly, they show how rage can take different shapes.

Continuing the franchise’s DNA, Mardaani 3 carries forward its signature focus on vigilante justice.

Heroic intervention

By its very construction, Mardaani 3 aligns itself with the grammar of the massy cop actioner. The franchise sustains itself on the centrality of its lead, existing largely as a vehicle through which her authority can be asserted in gestures of physical and moral dominance. There is, embedded within it, an irony, the rhetoric of female empowerment housed within a title that derives its force from a masculinised ideal (something worth discussing another time). Within this framework, Shivani Shivaji Roy’s (Mukerji) dissent is given form through action, directed vengefully at the perpetrators. What this iteration tentatively introduces is a fracture in her certainty. Roy’s rage begins to blur her judgment. In her urgency to make a difference, she falters, commits errors that the earlier films would not have permitted. And yet, these deviations remain peripheral. The core remains intact. The film returns to its defining gesture: Roy confronting and crushing her nemesis with unrestrained force. As it has always been about giving it back within a distinctly masculinised idiom of force.

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But, if Mardaani 3 is content to arrange the world into legible oppositions: heroes on one side, villains on the other, propelled by the familiar logic of heroic intervention, Assi resists such ease. It seeks out nuance, even when its voice turns blunt. The film circles a rape case not as a single event but as a field of consequences, widening its gaze, examining even the conscience of the parents of the accused (a superb Manoj Pahwa and Supriya Pathak). The film is acutely aware of the world it inhabits: its misogyny, its mechanisms of evasion. It does not traffic in the illusion of hope, recognising instead a system structured to exhaust those who seek justice. In this sense, its anger runs deeper, less performative and more exacting. At multiple points, Raavi (Pannu) and Parima (Kani Kusruti), appear confrontational, as though addressing not just to those within the frame but to the ones beyond it. Yet even at its most urgent, the film does not surrender to its own intensity.

Despite its anger, Assi is ultimately grounded in a deep sense of empathy.

Mechanics of vigilante justice

Because it does not allow itself to be consumed by rage, the film retains the intelligence to interrogate the very mechanics of vigilante justice. Solanki and Sinha deserve recognition here for constructing a parallel strand that questions the ethics of retribution itself. The logic of “an eye for an eye” when transposed onto the terrain of sexual violence, and the moral transformation of those who begin to see themselves as arbiters of justice. The film understands, with considerable clarity, that anger reproducing anger ultimately collapses into a kind of ethical blindness. This insight is articulated through Vinay (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub) and his relationship with his son. In a simple moment, the child plays with a toy machine gun. Vinay warns him that such instruments, even in play, carry the grammar of harm, that violence rehearsed is still violence learned. It is a small exchange, but it anchors the film’s larger proposition: that empathy must survive even at the edge of moral collapse, even within circumstances that appear unbearable.

Mardaani 3, by contrast, true to its design, continues to equate justice with retaliation, delivering it in a language it has never sought to unlearn. In that sense, it becomes almost the inverse of Assi. It insists that the only way to respond is to speak back in the same language as the troll, to meet provocation on its own terms, because anything else is treated as ineffective. The climactic sequence makes this clear. As Roy burns down her antagonist, the film frames the act within a mythic register, she is spoken of as a goddess required to destroy monsters. It’s as literal a manifestation of smashing the patriarchy as it can get.

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No takers at the box office

So if Mardaani 3 operates in the register of condemnation, and Assi pushes itself further into interrogation, the question of the “right” approach remains, at best, unresolved. Yet what is more disquieting is not the difference in method, but the shrinking space that contains both. If one turns, however reductively, to numbers, the disparity is stark. Mardaani 3 registered a worldwide gross of Rs 76.25 crore, according to trade tracker Sacnilk; its predecessor in 2019 had closed at around Rs 67 crore globally. The case with Assi is even more heartbreaking, as it ended its run at approximately Rs 14.94 crore worldwide. Even when placed alongside Thappad (2020), which had crossed Rs 43 crore on the brink of a pandemic, the contraction is evident.

Taken together, these figures map a shift in appetite. In the post-pandemic landscape, neither the amplification of female-led narratives through the grammar of spectacle nor their articulation through registers of social critique guarantees traction. The system appears indifferent to tonal variation, as it is to the point these narratives seek to make. Such a state, which continues to harbour and celebrate propagandist narratives of hypermasculinity, reminds one of what Raavi says in Assi: at some point, someone has to take it personally enough to move the needle.