Shaque Series Review:

The core conflict of Shaque, Parineeti Chopra’s long-form debut, might stem from a single incident, but everyone is flawed in this universe, almost irredeemably. What makes these figures more interesting is the self-justification of their deeds. After making a crucial revelation around midpoint, about the many lives they destroyed, a character says with a straight face, “I made their lives better.” It’s not just the crimes, but the sinister self-delusion that gives energy to these characters. The problem with Shaque is it gets caught up in its own melee of priorities. 

Co-created by Siddharth P Malhotra and Rensil D’Silva, the series jumps into its conflict right away— Anvita (Parineeti Chopra)'s newborn is abducted from a hospital ward within hours of delivery. The story continues nine years later, with Anvita and her husband Alok (Tahir Raj Bhasin) finding a new lead. However, as Anvita gets more desperate and frantic in her search, the investigation leads to other secrets surfacing that could or could not be connected to her daughter going missing.  

Cast: Parineeti Chopra, Anup Soni, Jennifer Winget, Tahir Raj Bhasin, Harleen Sodhi, Soni Razdan

Directed by: Rensil D’Silva

Streaming on: Netflix

Shaque has all the pulpy tropes at its disposal — black magic, extramarital affairs, illegal medical practices, terminal disease and even skeletons. There are showdowns at kids’ birthday parties. At one point, the phrase ‘antim balidaan’ is used unironically. The sensibilities are very consciously daily soap-ish too, and yet, the series doesn’t feel like a daily soap — and I am not sure if it’s a good thing in this case. 

Shaque would have probably worked better if it attempted to match its premise with a less self-seriousness and more boisterous filmmaking. Rensil D’Silva’s direction is bewilderingly muted and devoid of the kinetic energy that a concept like this could’ve benefitted from. Despite some shocking turns throughout the series, the camera remains at a puzzling distance from these faces, instead of trying to capture the horror. 

There are few moments where the series bites into its genre flavours with gusto — like the visual of Alok’s mother (Soni Razdan) menacingly carrying a scissor, or the sequences built around Anvita’s hallucinatory episodes, which are done stylistically and without any inhibitions. In these handful of sequences, the text and the tonality seem in sync. For other parts, the series works reasonably well as a surface-level whodunit, while often being weighed down by its self-imposed restrictions. 

There are other loopholes too. While the narrative takes a time leap of nine years, we don’t really see the baggage on the faces of people (especially Anvita and Alok), whose stories carry more grief than their appearances. We are never told what Alok does for a living — it’s a minor bug which bites in a big way every time you see such grim scenes unfold at these lavish, aesthetically decorated villas. Some of the character motivations leave a lot to be desired, leaving us with a bad aftertaste.

The show also feels incomplete because after entangling the lives of countless characters into this universe, it denies a dignified exit or resolution to many of them, be it Bhaskar or Alok’s mother. There is an interesting development around episode 2 as we are offered an unfolding of past through perspective of peripheral characters who are carrying their own share of dark secrets, but the writers fail to keep up that sense of unpredictability and newer developments, which broaden the horizon of this story. There are a few other unsettling ideas, waiting to sprout effectively — celebrating the birthday of a ‘missing’ person, or the idea of yearly glimpses of someone you’ve lost and can’t have back — but they are buried in a pool of filmmaking choices either too condescending towards the modern audience or half-baked in their conception. 

The performances, particularly from the supporting cast, help the series a lot. Jennifer Winget is very effective as Sakshi. It’s also refreshing to see Anup Soni in a role like this — playing Khurana, an empathetic cop who has his reasons to be generous. The actor is allowed to gradually build a character we root for, amidst a plot-driven narrative. After being compelled to partake in many ensemble moments, Sumeet Vyas gets one solid scene, and he knocks it out of the park. 

However, as the season reaches its final episode, the stakes get stagnant and the tension refuses to mount. A major rug-pull was needed as we arrive at the reveal. After constantly shuffling the cards, Shaque arrives at a somewhat predictable show. For a series with penchant for dark and unsettling visuals, I wish the makers were equally open-minded to a more edgier climax. The show’s skepticism towards risk-taking also reflects in some of the filmmaking choices it makes, be it inserting a quick flashback of a plot twist lest the passive-viewing audience miss it, or adding an elaborate voiceover giving a definitive emotional guide to a scene without leaving enough room for the audience to bring in their interpretation. 

Anvita’s character has an interesting arc — from being a mother coping with insurmountable loss, she gradually becomes somewhat of a transgressor herself in the desperate search for her daughter. It's a tricky character, where our loyalty with the protagonist dwindles constantly, considering the script puts her on a pedestal, instead of treating her like a flawed, complex human being like everyone around her. You are intrigued about the missing girl because you are invested in hunting the predator, not because you are rooting for the prey. Parineeti Chopra, meanwhile, grapples with the tonality and succeeds for more parts than not.

Surprisingly, Khurana’s character works as that central force better. It’s the heartfelt relationship between Khurana and Anvita that neatly fits in this universe, and provides the show it's emotional core.

But most importantly, Shaque doesn’t make enough efforts to earn the ‘psychological thriller’ label. There is not sufficient exploration of the psychological to begin with. The show revolves around a grieving mother, but is not really interested in the many relationships her search takes a toll on. While it vaguely touches upon the themes of mental health, and the systematic gaslighting that women face in all stages of life, a more curious or empathic gaze would have made space for the little children who are bearing the brunt of all the missteps made by their parents.

There are many scenes where some of the characters become borderline-violent towards the children they claim to love, and yet, we rarely get a glimpse into the state-of-mind of those kids. They remain out-of-focus ensemble cast members in stories that essentially revolve around them. One could only imagine their trauma, because Shaque has little space for it in its 200-minute runtime. Those kids deserved more healthy parenting, and this premise deserved a more satisfying show.