The Campus as a Pressure CookerI’ve seen this trick before—the college festival as a microcosm of society, the rival gangs as stand-ins for caste or class, the climactic riot as a metaphor for something larger. It’s a familiar setup, one that Indian cinema has mined for decades, from
Rang De Basanti to
Chhichhore. But
Dange doesn’t just borrow the template; it cranks up the volume until the speakers crack. The film is loud, neon-drenched, and relentless, a sensory overload that sometimes feels like it’s trying to distract you from the fact that its heart isn’t quite beating in rhythm with its pulse.
That’s not to say it doesn’t have a pulse. The opening sequence alone is a masterclass in controlled chaos: a slow-motion brawl in the rain, bodies colliding under flickering streetlights, the camera swirling like a drunk observer at a party that’s spiraled out of control. It’s gorgeous, the kind of visual poetry that makes you lean forward even if you’re not entirely sure what’s happening. And for a while, that’s enough.

Bejoy Nambiar, the director, has always had a flair for style—his earlier films like
David and
Wazir were similarly drenched in mood, though with more narrative discipline. Here, he seems determined to turn the college campus into a living, breathing organism, one that’s equal parts vibrant and suffocating. The cinematography (by Santhana Krishnan Ravichandran) is a character in itself, shifting from warm, golden hues in the quieter moments to cold blues and sickly greens during the film’s darker turns. The color grading isn’t just pretty; it’s psychological, a visual shorthand for the emotional temperature of the scene. When Xavier (Harshvardhan Rane) and Yuva (Ehan Bhat) lock eyes across a crowded festival ground, the world around them blurs into a haze of red and orange, as if the very air is charged with their unresolved history.
But style, as the audience reception makes clear, can only carry a film so far.
Dange is a movie that wants to be about many things—friendship, betrayal, caste, the weight of legacy, the performative nature of student politics—but it never quite settles on which of these it wants to explore deeply. The result is a film that feels like it’s constantly skidding across the surface of its own ideas, never digging in. The dialogue, in particular, suffers from this lack of focus. There are moments where the writing crackles, especially in the quieter scenes between Xavier and his sister (TJ Bhanu), where the conversation feels lived-in and specific. But too often, the script resorts to broad strokes, with characters delivering lines that sound like they were lifted from a student council manifesto rather than actual human speech. (“This isn’t about sides. It’s about what’s right.”) It’s the kind of dialogue that makes you wince, not because it’s bad, but because it’s trying so hard to be meaningful that it forgets to be real.