‘Haddi’ Review: Nawazuddin Siddiqui Finds His Footing in a Shaky Revenge Saga

In the constricted gullies of Noida, power, revenge, politics, and other sordid affairs run unregulated in Akshat Ajay Sharma’s debut feature Haddi. Sharma, who has acted as an assistant director on Anurag Kashyap’s projects doesn’t just borrow the filmmaker’s skill as an actor for his project – touches of Kashyap’s filmmaking are splattered across the film. 

Whether it’s Kashyap’s affinity to hinted violence off-screen or his obvious Quentin Tarantino influences, Haddi has it all. One of my favourite Kashyap tropes is the innovative use of music – you wouldn’t have expected Indian film pop music in action sequences earlier but it’s a delightful phenomenon that’s caught on.’

The film’s music, especially the soulful ‘Beparda’, is evocative and effective. Furthermore, each scene finds its companion in the well-designed background score. 

Haddi takes its name from its protagonist– a trans woman Harika (Nawazuddin Siddiqui) whose happiest day is ruined by a gruesome power play orchestrated by a landshark-turned-politician Pramod Ahlawat (Kashyap). Ahlawat is introduced as a corrupt politician who is easily scared but his business dealings are far more bone-chilling than what is visible on the surface. 

His lackeys operate a suspicious chemical factory and some pretend to be trans women to exploit rich clients. To its credit, the film explores the ways in which their hatred for the trans community manifests (from microaggressions like misgendering to an air of apathy and downright violence) despite using their identity for their benefit. 

We see Harika’s story of a social and medical transition through flashbacks – these scenes act as windows into her real motives and are perhaps intended to make the audience empathise with the character. 

It is, thus, puzzling that the camerawork and direction rarely afford Harika the sensitivity and kindness she deserves in her own story. The fact that Siddiqui is wearing feminine clothing for the film is driven home time and time again with close ups and shoddily structured shots and it points to a gaping problem.

Casting cis men as trans women in films has frequently been criticised and this is partly why – the stories rarely manage to move past the idolisation of an actor for playing the character. 

Whether intentional or not, it entertains the harmful idea that trans women are just men in sarees. There’s also the fact that the word ‘asli’ is thrown around with respect to gender identity; we are supposed to believe that a medical transition is necessary to be a ‘real’ trans person (it’s not). 

One could argue that the film is criticising the way people exploit trans identities but the absence of this nuance makes the messaging rather muddy. 

The film doesn’t get everything wrong though. Through Harika’s story, the film isn’t claiming that she is naturally predisposed to violence – oftentimes trans characters get the shorter end of the stick in action films; they’re either villains or victims. Harika seems to be grappling with a massive loss while also trying to exact a revenge she didn’t imagine she’d have to and that duality adds an interesting layer to her character. 

One of the film’s best aspects is Harika’s relationship with a trans rights activist Irfan (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub). Their love story adds some much-needed tender moments to this otherwise sordid affair– it does more to humanise Harika’s struggle than anything else in the film. When she says that she was prepared for Irfan to leave her, your heart aches for her. It also helps that Ayyub and Siddiqui have an effortless chemistry on screen. 

Haddi is uplifted and bolstered by the performances. Siddiqui adds subtleties to his character that you might miss if you’re not looking but they expertly portray that Harika’s performance as a man is only that – she is forced to abandon her real self to fit into a world that is created for and operated by men.

It’s a humbling insight into how marginalised people must always negotiate with their identities in a world that often refuses to be fueled by love and respect or even recognise its own shortcomings and privilege.

Ila Arun as Harika’s mentor at her gharana is equal parts dominating and comforting, a perfect mix for her character. As a character part of Ahlawat’s nexus, Rajesh Kumar’s performance is particularly arresting. 

While the setting of Haddi is meant to be gory and violent, a lot of it is lost in dramatisation. The violence feels more performative than authentic and it takes away a lot from a film that rests in the balance between good, evil, and the subjective scales of justice. The saving grace is in the way Harika manipulates Ahlawat and his allies by using their own egos against them. 

From the get-go, Harika is an almost mystic entity: ‘Mai marta nahi hu’ (I don’t die), she often says. It’s an astute way of using the often harmful deification of trans women to hint at the fact that Harika has perhaps had to grapple with death more than once because of her identity. The way mythology is weaved into the screenplay is almost enticing. 

Haddi is a kind of film that, once again, makes you question whether good intentions lead to good outcomes. The film is trying, I won’t deny, but it is still stuck in a place of trying to wear the mask of an ally instead of putting in the work to be one.