It is rather poetic that a large part of Baby Do Die Do unfolds in a rain-soaked Mumbai. There can be no better homage to a city that loves to embrace the greys when the time arrives. Amidst the mayhem of this crowded and clouded city, writer-director Nachiket Samant finds a moment to capture a droplet as it falls from a bridge, landing amidst a sea of umbrellas wading through Mumbai streets. Later in the film, a character compares people to little rivers that willingly merge into the chaotic sea that is the city itself. In those moments, Baby Do Die Do captures a level of gravitas which is rare and riveting, and it is these moments that lift the film above any an average noir-thriller.

Directed by: Nachiket Samant

Cast: Huma Qureshi, Sikandar Kher, Rachit Singh, Chunky Pandey, Seema Pahwa

Written by: Nachiket Samant, Gaurav Sharma, Jasmeet K Reen, Parveez Sheikh

When you think about it, Baby Do Die Do has a rather familiar storyline — Baby Karkarmar (Huma Qureshi) is a cold hit(wo)man whose decision to hang the boots, after she desires to settle down with her partner Siddhu (An earnest Rachit Singh), are met with resistance and threats to her personal life. It’s the way Nachiket stages this familiar tale against a comic book-like Mumbai that catches your attention. You might be tempted to label this as a dark comedy even though it doesn’t go after laugh-out-loud humour, as fun as it is. The writer-director team (Nachiket and writer Gaurav Sharma, working with a story by Jasmeet K Reen and Parveez Sheikh) derives a sense of fun from playful execution instead, particularly in the first half, keeping things consistently interesting before the plot gets going.

The opening sequence, shot in Black and White, is a thing of sublime beauty, and also a lesson in how editing can help create a mood. There is ample and inventive use of split screen — a simple conversation between two people sitting face-to-face becomes a tense visual play of fade-ins and fade-outs. A light song sequence (Arjun Iyer’s score remains a splendid force throughout) is staged like a silent short film, in sync with the ‘silent love story’ it traces. The Mumbai skyline looks futuristic, and yet the problems of this universe are very much contemporary, and almost a little too timely. The sense of filmmaking adventure reflects in the tiniest of details how how the makers choose to show a phone screen.

The film has many quintessential pulp thriller tropes — a villain figure with a dirty secret, a couple of unexpected deaths, a shootout that goes wrong. Where the film truly scores is in balancing, with its brooding protagonist, a sense of coolness and emotional weight. Baby, her cold-blooded killings not withstanding, has been living with undying grief for many years, still struggling to channel her loss in a healthy way. Meanwhile, Her dead sister’s voice lives alongside her, like a friendly, persistent neighbour. Baby’s only respite in life is her warm bond with her mentor PK Jain (Chunky Pandey), driven as much by love as by loyalty.

Huma Qureshi manages an impressive accomplishment here, of being at the centrestage of her home production, while making sure the ensemble cast gets equal limelight. Sikandar Kher, playing Zafar Katkar, is delightful as ever. Seema Pahwa has plenty of fun with her cameo appearance as a jovial cop. Chunky Pandey is convincing as the mousy middle-man. Equal credit goes to the casting director Abhishek Banerjee for inhabiting this world with earthy, vulnerable actors like Marudhar Shekhawat and Rupesh Bane who play Manu and Faizu, respectively. 

There are a few loose ends, no doubt. Some of the plot twists (especially the one with Lucky in his final scene) arrive a little too conveniently. The subplot with how Manu and Faizu's stories get intertwined doesn’t get a suitable payoff. The climactic action sequences feels relatively underwhelming, considering the ground it sets up. There are also moments when the film goes overboard in its stylistic flourishes, seeming too enthused by its love for no-holds-barred quirk. And yet, it’s so enthralling to see a film that sticks to its guns. There is an individuality to the film, a voice that screams confidence even if it comes along with its share of excess and missteps.  A film like Baby Do Die Do serves as an exciting reminder of the charms of imperfect originality and cinematic audacity, in times when mainstream cinema looks increasingly manufactured.

Baby Do Die Do is also a rare instance where the use of the city as a character feels truly earned and rewarding. Mumbai is visible on screen in fascinating ways (a stunning feature film debut by cinematographer Tojo Xavier) — you can see the overwhelming skylines, and you can hear the winds. But It’s not merely about the dystopian high-rises, the crowded trains or the grey skies — the city is a part of these characters' lives and history too, actively shaping their choices. It breathes here even in stories that are merely present as subtext, like the one about Siddhu’s friend Laxman, and how he met his end at a railway station. Which is why it rings true when Zafar can’t let go of a towel which reminds him of his past. Mumbai is truly alive here in every form, even in the pre-climactic sequence, set at an abandoned hotel where a horde of faces appear from behind the doors, reminding us of the city’s biggest battle with itself. 

There is all the picturesque imagery, with none of the romanticising. Mumbai is a city constantly bursting at its seams, always on the brink of violence — and in capturing this sense of chaos, Baby Do Die Do becomes a worthy addition to the list of great ‘Mumbai on Celluloid’ cinema.