The Great Shamsuddin Family Review – Kritika Kamra Shines in Anusha Rizvi’s Warm, Thoughtful Family Drama

Writer–Director: Anusha Rizvi

Cast: Kritika Kamra, Shreya Dhanwanthary, Farida Jalal, Sheeba Chaddha, Purab Kohli, Joyeeta Dutta, Dolly Ahluwalia, Juhi Babbar Soni, Nishank Verma, Anushka Bannerjee, Natasha Rastogi, Anup Soni

Platform: JioHotstar

Duration: 97 minutes

Rating: 3

 

Anusha Rizvi returns to direction after Peepli Live with a film that feels like a gentle conversation rather than a loud statement. Set almost entirely within the walls of a Delhi home, the story unfolds over one chaotic day in the life of Bani Ahmad (Kritika Kamra), who is racing against time to finish a presentation that could shape her future. What she doesn’t account for is family—unannounced guests, emotional interruptions, overlapping crises, and the kind of everyday madness that turns even the simplest plan into a marathon.

 

At its heart, the film is about people—messy, loving, frustrating people. The Shamsuddin family isn’t written as a symbol or a statement; they are allowed to simply exist. That in itself feels quietly radical. Anusha Rizvi portrays a comfortably middle-class Muslim household with warmth and normalcy, letting humour, affection, and irritation flow naturally. These are mothers, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, and cousins who argue, worry, gossip, interfere, and love fiercely—just like families everywhere.

 

Kritika Kamra anchors the film beautifully. Her Bani is intelligent, anxious, ambitious, and emotionally pulled in multiple directions. She conveys the exhaustion of someone trying to hold herself together while the world keeps knocking on her door. Shreya Dhanwanthary brings sharp energy and unpredictability, while Farida Jalal and Sheeba Chaddha are absolute pillars—effortlessly commanding the screen with their lived-in performances. Juhi Babbar Soni, Dolly Ahluwalia, and Natasha Rastogi add texture and warmth, making the house feel truly inhabited. Even Anup Soni, in a brief appearance, leaves an impression that lingers.

 

The film gently weaves in heavy themes—identity, fear, generational conflict, divorce, money, and the unspoken anxiety of living as a minority—without turning preachy. Rizvi doesn’t underline her points; she trusts the audience to listen between the lines. The dialogue often sparkles with wit, occasionally stumbles into theatricality, but mostly feels rooted in lived experience. Some subplots could have been tighter, and the single-location setup does show its stage-like constraints at moments, but the emotional honesty carries the film through.

 

What makes the film truly special is its tone. It doesn’t shout, it doesn’t sermonize, and it doesn’t chase easy outrage. Instead, it observes. It smiles. It pauses. It reminds us that ordinary lives—full of interruptions, contradictions, and love—are worthy of being seen. By the time the day winds down, you may not remember every plot detail, but you’ll remember the feeling of being inside that home.

 

This is not a perfect film, but it is a sincere one. And in today’s noisy cinematic landscape, sincerity feels like a gift. Watch it for its humanity, its performances, and for the quiet reassurance that cinema can still be kind, thoughtful, and deeply relatable.

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