I Want to Talk: Abhishek Bachchan escapes unhurt, but did Shoojit Sircar slaughter his own film on the edit table?

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Abhishek Bachchan in a still from I Want to Talk.

Or – and this is a much worse hypothesis – Sircar went to the United States, and returned with a half-shot film. A version of this happened to Hansal Mehta, who will never be able to live down the fact that he worked with Kangana Ranaut in her post-bigot era, no matter how many Faraazes he makes. I Want to Talk first inspires such conspiracy theories when, seemingly out of the blue, the protagonist’s parents show up without a proper introduction, and behave as if they’ve been a part of the movie all along. The protagonist is a man named Arjun Das, who is introduced to us as a cold-blooded marketeer of some kind.

Arjun’s worldview is so nihilistic, he makes Jordan Belfort and Gordon Gekko look like Red Cross emissaries. Within the first 10 minutes, he is diagnosed with cancer, and given just 100 days to live. He has a young daughter with his ex-wife, but he doesn’t seem to be too bothered about her. Sitting on the porch after having undergone a round of chemotherapy, his daughter Reya innocently asks him if he’ll dance on her wedding day. He says that he will. This exchange is clearly supposed to incite a change of heart, or at least foreshadow it. But either because of Bachchan’s flat line delivery or Sircar’s confused direction, the moment barely registers. And so, when Arjun refers to it as a ‘promise’ that he made to Reya later on in the film, the declaration comes across as unearned.

For one, you never quite see his relationship with Reya evolve. She seemingly finds out about his dozens of surgeries years after he’s had them. But she was with him the entire time. How did she not know what he was going through? Arjun would also make special videos for her from his hospital bed; did she never watch them? Did he not send them to her? It makes very little sense. But what’s even more confusing is the suddenness with which they appear to bond. This evolution might have even worked, but as experienced in the film, it’s like jumping from point A to point C without going through point B first.

In one scene, Reya doesn’t mince her words as she tells Arjun about the childhood trauma that his actions have inflicted upon her. And in the very next scene, he’s admitting to his poor parenting. Wasn’t there a more organic way to bridge this gap? There probably was, but I Want to Talk is the kind of movie that reveals the existence of Arjun’s blood-brother after an hour has already passed, via a voiceover that was clearly added in post-production. “This is my brother,” Arjun says, almost satirically. Bro is never seen again. Or even spoken about. Even Arjun’s ex-wife has no role to play in the movie, beyond a single scene. Granted, she isn’t an important character, but the movie barely respects those who are. For instance, the kind nurse who develops a bond with Arjun during his illness, and remains in touch with him through the years, dies off-camera.

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Abhishek Bachchan in a still from I Want to Talk.

Normally, a movie like this would examine the impact that life-threatening circumstances can have on people. And to a degree, I Want to Talk wants us to believe that Arjun has become a more empathetic man over the years. But aside from his accent, little about him changes. He remains just as self-centred as he was in the first scene, but for some reason, develops an uncle accent as he grows older. I Want to Talk lacks the grace of Sircar’s previous work, and while the film isn’t as inept as 90% of the output his contemporaries produce, the bar is simply too high with him. Even the final act, which suddenly introduces a marathon angle, feels like it’s missing key pieces.

Going by the version presented to us, it seems like Arjun is simply trying to get fit when he begins training under an instructor. But it is eventually revealed that he wants to participate in an endurance event in a faraway state. When did this happen? This development is presented to us like something that Arjun had been building towards this whole time. But it never came up. Things become weirder when he leaves Reya in their hotel room and goes to the marathon by himself. She catches up with him, and promises to accompany him to the finish line. It’s a touching moment, wrapping their shared arc in a neat little bow. But in the very next moment, Reya runs off by herself, leaving Arjun all alone once again. “Drama begins where logic ends,” a wise man once said. But you only begin questioning the logic when there is no drama.