In the latest season of Mirzapur, Ali Fazal’s character Guddu Pandit has ascended the ranks and claimed the throne he long desired. He perceives himself as the new ruler of Mirzapur, but the landscape is as turbulent as ever. A gathering of crime lords, referred to as a “baithak,” convenes to evaluate whether Guddu truly deserves the title, or if his rival Shukla (Anjumm Sharma) would be a more suitable successor. Notably, the fate of Pankaj Tripathi’s iconic character, Kaleen Bhaiya, remains unexplained.
The narrative extends beyond Mirzapur, introducing new cities such as Prayagraj and Varanasi. As the competition escalates, so too do the stakes—and the violence. Despite the changes in characters, Shukla reminds viewers that the core conflict remains unchanged: “khel aj bhi wahi hai, bas mohre badal gaye hain” (the game is still the same, just the players have changed). Throughout the ten episodes, viewers are treated to a mix of brutal gunfire, emotional turmoil, and the relentless pursuit of power.
Overstuffed Screenplay Mars Seasoned Performances
Although the third season shows marked improvement over the sluggish second, the series still struggles with inflated writing that detracts from its original appeal. The season carries over many missteps from its predecessor, resulting in subplots that clutter the narrative without adding much depth. While these elements might set the stage for future developments, they primarily serve to extend run times rather than enhance storytelling.
One particularly problematic moment involves Zaheera (Anangsha Biswas), a former Bhojpuri dancer turned politician, who promotes a government initiative for women. Instead of confronting the objectification she faces, she performs a provocative dance in exchange for sign-ups, raising eyebrows regarding the show’s treatment of such themes.
The season finale also features an awkwardly placed sultry scene that feels unnecessary. Although the series has a history of integrating bold moments that contribute to the story, this instance fails to achieve that effect.
Mirzapur’s Characters Are Still Its Highlight
Despite the convoluted writing, certain sequences succeed in recapturing the show’s essence, particularly those featuring Guddu Bhaiya. A standout moment occurs when he erupts into a maniacal laugh after a kill, instantly evoking the ruthless glee from the first season.
Golu (Shweta Tripathi), Guddu’s sister-in-law, has transitioned into a fierce figure, filling the void left by her late brother Bablu Pandit (Vikrant Massey). Once an idealistic student, she now commands respect as a formidable force accompanied by a cadre of armed followers, dispensing wisdom to Guddu much like Bablu once did.
Other characters also show notable growth. Shukla becomes more calculated, while Beena reclaims her confidence and Dimpy (Harshita Gaur) adopts assertiveness akin to her brothers. Madhuri Devi (Isha Talwar), who is now widowed, resolves to dismantle the cycle of violence in Mirzapur.
The most striking transformation belongs to Pankaj Tripathi’s Kaleen Bhaiya. The once fearsome gangster has morphed into a grieving father, seemingly resigned to his fate. His limited presence is felt acutely, leaving devoted fans wanting more.
Moreover, the dialogue occasionally seems overly verbose, with characters repetitively emphasizing their occupations, which comes off as condescending to the audience’s intelligence. Whether it’s Lala proclaiming his identity as a businessman or an aspiring poet lamenting his financial woes, the characters often feel one-dimensional.
However, the season makes commendable strides in showcasing powerful female characters who rival their male counterparts. Isha Talwar’s determined chief minister and Golu’s evolution into an assertive figure are notable advancements, with the women claiming agency in their story arcs.
In one scene, Isha’s character calmly addresses an aging minister who questions her competency, exemplifying her earned authority.
Despite her limited screen time, Rasika Dugal’s performance remains impactful, showcasing her talent in the few scenes she appears in.
Ali Fazal Is the Star of the Show
The season also offers sharp satirical moments, such as a politician’s mispronunciation of “karuna” (compassion) as “corona,” eliciting frustration over convoluted speech. The dark humor interspersed throughout provides levity amid the escalating chaos in Mirzapur.
Visually, the series employs rich metaphors, exemplified by a moment where Kaleen Bhaiya is depicted leaning on a walking stick reminiscent of previous seasons, symbolizing shifts in power dynamics.
In this season, the characters’ motivations for engaging in violence are explored, particularly through Ramakant Pandit, who confronts the injustices of the legal system as he navigates life in prison. His insights, though somewhat ironic coming from a lawyer, reveal a deeper questioning of justice and morality.
A poignant interaction occurs in the seventh episode between Ramakant and Guddu as they reflect on their divergent paths, unveiling the complexities of their characters and their shared experiences. This exchange lingers in the mind long after viewing.
While the ensemble cast delivers strong performances despite a somewhat fractured narrative, Ali Fazal shines particularly bright. His portrayal of Guddu expertly oscillates between rage and vulnerability, showcasing his character’s internal battles. The impressive range he displays helps to anchor the season.
One scene in the eighth episode showcases Guddu grappling with the aftermath of his actions, offering insight into his psyche. Fazal’s portrayal during this moment highlights his ability to convey deep emotional conflict.
Despite the season’s dramatic revelations and compelling performances, the finale leaves viewers with unresolved questions and open plot threads. The potential for character returns looms large, signaling further adventures in future seasons. Additionally, a mid-credit scene hints at a surprising twist that could redefine power dynamics in upcoming installments. While there is ample room for expansion, it begs the question—how much more of this narrative do audiences truly need?
