With every new gag, every jump scare, and every other revelation, Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3 crumbled further, leaving the little glow it had hoped to sustain. The comedy felt contrived, the horror, hollow. You wanted it to end. But then, out of nowhere, it played its wild card. A twist no one could have predicted. A climax unimaginable even in the most absurd corners of thought. It was scary, sudden and unexpectedly difficult. Designed more for shock than emotion. But, in that chaos, something unexpected appeared: a flicker of consciousness. The film upends not just its plot, but the entire franchise, unveiling Manjulika as a man (Karthik Aaryan) – one to see a soul, embrace a feminine identity, and hold on to long-suppressed desires. It was just confusing. Walking the tightrope between sincerity and farce.
Was it serious or another cruel joke? You know that suddenly, the stupidity found purpose, the courage to criticize so much of the transphobia that had been peddling up to that moment. You know it’s become a strange kind of subversion, testing how much mediocrity can be tolerated for a moment of thought. And you know that under the head, there is a moment of thought, faint but defiant, like a voice broken in the tumult.
Karthik Aryan in Bhul Bhulaiya 3. (Photo: T-Series/YouTube)
As expected, the climax became the biggest resonance of the film. All back to the plot point. The shock inflicted by the producers had left its mark. Now, no one could ignore it, and everyone had their two cents on it. But this was not unique to Bhul Bhulaiyaa 3. It is a rhythm that has defined Hindi cinema this year. A curious pattern spanning the spectrum: good, bad, ugly, blockbuster, disaster, mediocre, and mediocre. Each found their soul, oddly enough, at its end. The climaxes were different. Story unlocks buried truths, deepens unspoken tropes, and often completely reimagines films. These were not mere resolutions; They were metamorphoses. Moments that give stories new shape and unexpected gravitas. Consider Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3’s horror companion Stree 2, but surpassing it in every way. Its climax is laced with political subtext. After all, it is a woman – a woman – who will overthrow the patriarchy. It subtly subverts the ending of Padmaavat, as it envisions the women, wrapped in bright red cloth, not retreating into the fire but opening doors, storming the streets, and standing face to face with demons—both tangible and symbolic.
Or take Dibakar Banerjee’s LSD 2. The boldest, most layered, and most revolutionary film of the year. A relentless force of invention. It shatters boundaries you can’t fathom, breaking rules you didn’t know existed. And then came the finale. Fifteen minutes that sear themselves in the memory. Shubham (Abhinav Singh), a viral gamer, ascends to the meta-world, ruling his own cult. When a violent journalist (Gurleen) clamors for an interview inside this maze of works. The words flowed, but much was left unsaid. Beyond a point, in the new India, myth and mechanism often blur into one. Beyond a point, the state gives only an empty assurance: “I am happy.” And beyond one point, a journalist has danced to it on national TV. It is absurd and destructive. The present and the future are connected together. Internet as both progress and regress – or is there a difference? Life bounces between reality and reality. But can you tell the line between them? D stands for download, and it’s also cheating. The question is, does it even matter?
Another screen-life thriller that advances discourse but moves into more personal territory is Vikramaditya Motwane’s CTRL. It ends in a tragedy that no one had before. In its final act, the film changes tone, moving from the screen to the inner world of Nela (Ananya Pandey). After losing her lover to an AI scam, she turns to the very device that caused her loss to recover. In the warmth of the curtain, once the source of her fame and the spark of her love, she finds solace. The AI avatar resembles her, but the moment she speaks, the illusion is shattered. But was their love ever real, even then? Motwane hints at a love story that never existed. Just screens and their fleeting glow. Similarly, another brilliant thriller, Atul Sabrawal’s Berlin, builds steadily, only to end on a tragic note. It also suggests that truth as we perceive it may never exist. Because much of it is shaped by those inside who control what is seen, heard and said about the outside world.
This impulse to challenge our assumptions, to expose truths we think are immutable shines through Hansal Mehta’s The Buckingham Murders. After many missteps and aimless wanderings, it finally comes together in the last fifteen minutes. A twist that showcases Mehta’s mastery when in complete command of his material. In one moment, he reveals the truth to both his protagonist (Kareena Kapoor Khan) and the audience. Truths beyond prejudices that have long eluded recognition. It was a moment of flawless screenwriting, (thematically reminiscent of Maggie Gyllenhaal’s The Lost Daughter), where Mehta fuses social commentary with the structural demands of a murder mystery. Similarly, Kabir Khan finally finds his voice in the climactic moments of Chandu Champion. His strength has always been in redefining clichés, and he excels in the final swimming race, where Muralikant (Karthik Aaryan) lives his life in flashbacks as he nears victory. It’s a powerful sporting moment for a man who has long struggled to escape the grip of past failures. But this time, he moves forward, beyond the weight of his trials, in triumph over his past.
Directed by Amit Sharma, Maidan is based on the biography of Indian football coach Syed Abdul Rahim. The film explores Rahim’s career as a coach and his contribution to Indian football.
Another sports drama that makes the climax so powerful that it elevates the entire film to the realm of world-class cinema is Maidan. In this moment, the lines between reality and fantasy become increasingly blurred, as each player, and even filmmaker Amit Sharma, rises above what was a mediocre story. They run and run, each step leading them toward the goal, as if to strike a final blow against the limitations that bound them all. Although they arrive late to the game, their efforts turn out to be a thrilling act of pushing the grammar of sports filmmaking. Mr. and Mrs. Mahi also convey an interesting subtext in their final moments. One that subtly changes the film, completely reshaping it. The reading then pits the outsider (Rajkumar Rao) against the insider (Janhvi Kapoor), exploring how the former is blind to his own mediocrity, while the latter remains unaware of his untapped potential. And at its conclusion, the film finds grace – a son, in an act of redemption, embraces his father (Kumud Mishra), accepts his fate and, in turn, asks him to accept his own.
A similar different moment occurs in Varun Grover’s debut feature All India Rank, where a father (Shashi Bhushan) comes of age, gives his son (Bodhisattva Sharma) a long-needed reassurance that life is far beyond the confines of exams. So, it’s no surprise, at the beginning of this film a character references the famous song “Papa Kehete Hai Bada Naam Karega”. Grover, a master songwriter in his own right, takes this iconic anthem and, in a quiet reversal, strips it of its meaning. In the closing moments, the father’s words, heavy with love and wisdom, serve as a reminder: his pride is unreal, ahead of the life that awaits his son. Shuchi Talati also creates a moment of true greatness in her debut Girls Will Be Girls where two generations of women – mother and daughter, both wounded and abandoned by love – find solace together on a sun terrace. In their shared space, warmth blooms, tears are shed, and closure is found. It is here that the viewer understands: the true love story was always between them.
Imtiaz Ali poses with Diljit Dosanjh and Parineeti Chopra. (Photo: Diljit Dosanjh/Instagram)
In Imtiaz Ali’s Amar Singh Chamkila, Chamkila’s (Diljit Dosanjh) love story with the audience reaches a poetic peak. Vida Karo, the scariest song of the year, is more than a lament; It’s more than a political statement by Ali – it’s a confessional cry from a singer. Like a true artist, Chamkila doesn’t try to overwhelm with harsh words. There is no anger, just the quiet anguish of a man who has been misunderstood, seeking a simple, honest farewell from an audience that has never really been heard. In Jigra, a sister (Alia Bhatt) refuses to turn away from the anguished cries of her illegally arrested brother (Vedang Raina). Her love becomes a force of nature—spinning heaven and earth, shaking a nation to its core, storming the heart of a prison to bring her back. In a stunning climax, she runs through the streets, leaps through the sky, her desperation defying gravity itself. This is a moment of raw, concrete faith. For him, she flew. And she does. For him, he tears the world apart. And she bloody well does. For him, there’s nothing he can’t do.
As in Jigra, Kill ignites as a soldier with raw revenge and the lover (the target) stops the entire train, consumed with rage when his lover is mercilessly taken from him. In a movie where every punch is harder, every kill more brutal, and every set piece surpasses the last, it’s nearly impossible to single out a single moment. But it comes down to it, easy in its final hand-to-hand combat. The man is burnt in flames, and even Nemesis (Raghava Juyal) feels the inevitability of his end. No longer fighting but criticizing almost to his own death. This is its best work. Not for the sheer spectacle of it, but because every blow, every kick, every punch, is rooted deep in the pain of lost love. With Phool (Nitanshi Goyal) finally reuniting with Deepak (Sparsh Srivastava), lost love (and women) find their way home in Kiran Rao’s heartwarming Missing Ladies. It’s a moment steeped in the essence of Hindi cinema: where love and redemption often meet amidst the rhythm of departing trains. Though we’ve come a long way from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, the most soulful reunions still find their heartbeat at train stations — where journeys end and destinations begin.
Katrina Kaif and Vijay Sethupathi in Stills of Merry Christmas.
Fate is slowly shaped with a touch of magic and an undercurrent of hope in All We Imagine As Light, one of the best movies of the year. Its final act feels like a dream that lingers long after the credits fade. A glimmer of magic graces the lives of its three protagonists, and as they sit by the sea, they are bathed in a soft, shimmering light. The camera goes away, the world goes away. But a part of you remains there with them. Connected, their stillness wants to stretch into infinity. Keep imagining. keep loving Albert (Vijay Sethupathi) also realizes this in the final moments of Sriram Raghavan’s Merry Christmas. A breathtaking climax, one of the best in recent memory. In a masterstroke, the filmmaker revealed that he was making a love story all along. A confession turns into a proposal, and Albert realizes the moment he’s been chasing his whole life. This love he will never find again. And so, he loves deeply and sacrifices even more deeply. Because in love, sacrifice is the currency of its true expression.
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