Review: 'Mrs.' aptly showcases the reality of "arrange marriages are scary; what if he" reels as a film

Bollywood has often been home to grandiose stories, but every now and then, a film comes along that finds power in the ordinary. Mrs. (2024), directed by Aarti Kadav and starring Sanya Malhotra, is one such film. A remake of the Malayalam movie The Great Indian Kitchen, Mrs. retains the essence of its source material while adapting it to a more North Indian setting, making it fresh yet equally thought-provoking. The film delicately unwraps the suffocating reality of many Indian marriages, where a woman’s identity is gradually eroded by the expectations imposed upon her.

A Story Told in Whispers, Then Roars

At its heart, Mrs. is about Richa, a trained dancer and dance teacher who marries Diwakar, a wealthy doctor, only to find herself trapped in the monotonous cycle of domestic duties. What begins as small adjustments cooking, cleaning, and serving her husband and in-laws slowly morphs into an oppressive routine that leaves her gasping for personal space. The transformation is subtle at first; the weight of patriarchy creeps up like a slow poison. The first half of the film is quiet and restrained, mirroring Richa’s internalized struggles, while the latter half sees her gradually awaken to her worth, culminating in a powerful moment of self-liberation.

The Beauty in the Mundane: Where Food Speaks Volumes

One of the most fascinating aspects of Mrs. is how food itself becomes a character. The film lingers on shots of spices being ground, rotis puffing up on a flame, and the slow simmer of aromatic curries. The visuals are tantalizing, making you crave the dishes right off the screen. But beyond its aesthetic appeal, food is a metaphor for control and oppression in Richa’s life. The constant demands for perfectly cooked meals, the critique of her methods, and the thankless labor she endures in the kitchen symbolize her diminishing agency. In one particular moment, her father-in-law tastes a dish and immediately identifies whether it was made using a mixer or a stone roller. This seemingly harmless remark carries the weight of generations of expectations placed upon women.

Aarti Kadav’s Vision: Simplicity with Impact

Director Aarti Kadav doesn’t resort to high-pitched drama or exaggerated monologues. Instead, she lets the small, everyday injustices pile up until they become unbearable, mirroring the lived reality of countless women. The beauty of Mrs. lies in these nuances: how a slight change in Richa’s expression speaks louder than words, how an unspoken rule in the household dictates her existence, and how even a glass of shikanji (lemonade) can become a symbol of male entitlement. The film doesn’t just tell you what’s wrong; it makes you feel it in the most organic way possible.

Performances That Leave a Mark

Sanya Malhotra shines as Richa, embodying innocence, vulnerability, and quiet resilience with impeccable authenticity. She doesn’t play Richa as a helpless victim; rather, she portrays a woman who is simply trying to navigate life within the framework society has given her, until she finally gathers the courage to break free. Her transformation is gradual, making it all the more impactful.

Nishant Dahiya as Diwakar is equally commendable. He starts off as the loving husband but slowly morphs into a man who, whether consciously or subconsciously, begins to expect submission from his wife. His character arc is a terrifyingly real depiction of how deeply ingrained patriarchy can manifest even in seemingly progressive men.

Kanwaljit Singh as the father-in-law is the quintessential patriarch—his presence alone is enough to establish the suffocating environment Richa finds herself in. His performance, understated yet chilling, perfectly encapsulates the generational cycle of gender roles.

The Power of Subtlety: Small Things Say So Much

What makes Mrs. so powerful is how it never raises its voice yet manages to make a thunderous impact. Scenes that might seem insignificant at first glance—like men making a mess of the kitchen or a husband treating intimacy as nothing more than a mechanical duty—carry profound weight. The film doesn’t rely on grand confrontations; instead, it presents the audience with the brutal reality of domestic life and lets them connect the dots. It’s these small moments that hit hardest because they are so painfully relatable. Despite its serious subject matter, Mrs. never feels preachy. It is a slice-of-life film that remains true to itself without veering into melodrama.

The Verdict

Mrs. is not just a film, it’s an experience, a reflection, and for many, a painful reality check. It takes the most common and normalized aspects of marriage and places them under a microscope, exposing the silent suffering that often goes unnoticed. It is a film that will make you uncomfortable, not because it’s loud, but because it holds up a mirror to societal norms we often take for granted.