There is something deeply disturbing about the disappearances of girls in India. Children disappear from neighborhoods, from official records, and ultimately from public memory with alarming ease. Their absence rarely creates urgency; Instead, it quietly dissolves into paperwork where lives are reduced to statistics. In the ever-growing registry of missing children, they are reduced to just one number.
Mardaani 3 treads into this uncertain territory with obvious intent, choosing the trafficking of prepubescent girls as its central preoccupation. The issue is undoubtedly serious and requires a careful and politically attentive narrative.
At first glance, the film seems committed to this responsibility. But despite its seriousness, the film gradually loses its own argument. This weakens a feminist imagination that repeatedly transforms justice into salvation, empowerment into individual heroism, and structural violence into a problem that can be solved through authority alone.
Borrowing masculinity: the politics of the title
The third part of the Mardaani Released on January 30, the franchise ‘Mardaani 3’ is directed by Abhiraj Minawala and produced by Aditya Chopra under the banner of Yash Raj Films. Rani Mukerji reprises her role as the formidable police officer Shivani Shivaji Roy alongside Janki Bodiwala and Mallika Prasad. Meanwhile, the franchise brings with it a set of expectations: issue-based cinema, moral clarity and feminist determination; Expectations that this film takes on, but which it has difficulty expanding.
Source: IMDb
Even before the narrative unfolds, the franchise’s long-running title invites closer inspection. Mardaani literally translates to “masculine,” a term historically used to denote courage, aggression, and authority. It is no coincidence that a film series positioned as feminist continues to express strength through masculine language.
It reflects a familiar cultural refrain in Indian households in which daughters are praised by telling them they are “not daughters but sons,” as in “aap to humare bete ho.” Such seemingly progressive compliments ultimately reinforce the idea that power only becomes legitimate when it reflects masculinity.
Strength only becomes legible when it adopts male codes of authority; The policewoman is vindicated precisely because she wields power in a manner indistinguishable from her male counterparts: omniscient, infallible, almost godlike.
This framework runs like an undercurrent through the entire film. Strength only becomes legible when it adopts male codes of authority; The policewoman is vindicated precisely because she wields power in a manner indistinguishable from her male counterparts: omniscient, infallible, almost godlike. By imitating this model, Mardaani 3 doesn’t so much question patriarchal ideas of power as broadly adopt them.
Human trafficking, class and the politics of invisibility
The central thread that runs through the entire narrative is that of Trade and invisibility. With its focus on prepubescent girls, the film becomes increasingly graphic both thematically and visually. The victims are largely from poor communities in Delhi, highlighting invisibility as a social condition arising from the dual disadvantages of gender and class, often compounded by caste.
Source: Reddit
As long as power does not intervene, representation intervenes only sporadically; Cases like the disappearance of dozens of girls remain unaccounted for in mainstream concerns, even if such narratives are far removed from the reality on the ground.
Formula over depth: writing, dialogue and direction
But no matter how serious the topic is: if the narrative structure remains loose, the impact will diminish. Mardaani 3 feels deeply formulaic in his storytelling. The procedural structure is predictable, following a familiar cop-criminal arc that leaves little room for surprise or sustained suspense.
Following the Singham-esque God-savior-cop template, the film mainly changes the gender of the protagonist without revising the idea of power; The film shows how superficial representation can replace meaningful rethinking. The convenience of the narrative continually outweighs the emotional and ethical depth, weakening the far more disturbing exploration of violence.
The dialogue in particular contributes significantly to its dilution. Lazy writing permeates the script with meme-heavy, casually tossed-out lines like “fielding set karni padegi” used even in traumatic moments. While this register may appeal to contemporary audiences, it flattens emotional complexity and trivializes suffering in the name of accessibility. Serious violence spoken in disposable language is easier to consume and easier to forget.
Serious violence expressed in disposable language is easier to consume and easier to forget.
Performance-wise, the acting remains largely sharp. Rani Mukherji brings a controlled intensity to Shivani, while Mallika Prasad’s portrayal of Amma brings a quiet menace. The supporting actors play competently. But even strong performances have difficulty transcending the casual writing.
Source: IMDb
The film constructs a strict moral binary in which the good side is embodied by Shivani and the evil side is personified by Amma, reinforcing her discomfort with systemic interrogations. Violence becomes an individual failure rather than a systemic and structural condition.
Spectacle without interrogation
Shock is often used to raise the stakes. Gruesome images, be it carrying a dead child in a polybag or brutal physical injuries, are undeniably powerful and leave the viewer gasping for air.
The visual treatment, supported by effective camera work, set design and direction, succeeds in unsettling the audience. But this shock rarely leads to deeper moral inquiry. Spectacular replacement reflection.
Beyond the visuals, the film is riddled with narrative gaps and logical inconsistencies, making it increasingly difficult to maintain suspension of disbelief.
While both sides (the cops and the villains) are offered backstories, motives and emotional shades, the central themes of the story are left out. The children themselves are denied inwardness. Their fear, confusion, and endurance remain largely unexplored.
When it comes to a problem as serious as child trafficking, victims cannot remain mere narrative stakes waiting for rescue from a savior figure.
This absence is perhaps the film’s most glaring limitation. When it comes to a problem as serious as child trafficking, victims cannot remain mere narrative stakes waiting for rescue from a savior figure. By refusing to center the children’s perspective, the film inadvertently creates greater empathy for authority figures, even villains, than for those suffering from the violence. The authority-centered empathy weakens the film’s feminist claims.
Beyond the “strong policewoman”: What feminist cinema still owes us
Despite its limitations, Mardaani 3 is not without significance. In a society where the disappearance of girls is often normalized or even ignored, it is important to call violence by its name. Mainstream cinema reaches audiences often unreached in academic discourse and political debates, validating conversations in spaces it would otherwise resist.
Source: Deadline
However, the figure of the “strong policewoman”, as she can be seen not only here, but also in recent crime films, such as: Crime in Delhicannot be treated as a feminist endpoint. Strength understood solely as individual resilience obscures the collective failings that make such heroism necessary in the first place.
Mardaani 3 offers resolution through rescue and closure through punishment, but does not address the question of the circumstances under which girls can disappear so easily.
Ultimately, “Mardaani 3” is a competent, at times disturbing, but ultimately cautious film. For a franchise that has built its identity on combating violence against women, this caution seems like a caveat worth noting. After all, justice is not just about finding the missing; It’s more about the question of why they were allowed to disappear in the first place.
Ananya Shukla is a development communication researcher and poet currently pursuing her Masters at Jamia Millia Islamia. Her work combines science and creative expression, using media such as documentaries and poetry to explore how storytelling can drive social change.
