In the Netflix film Ikka, the hand that weighs two-and-a-half kilos meets an intractable object. Siddharth P Malhotra’s legal drama stars Sunny Deol, famous for the “Dhai kilo ka haath” line from Damini, and Akshaye Khanna, reputed for a generalised contempt for humankind.
Defence lawyer Arjun (Deol) is respected both for his uninterrupted victory streak and his scruples. Shouryamann (Khanna) is the louche son of aspiring politician Harshvardhan (Shishir Sharma). Few believe Shouryamann when he says that he is innocent of grievously injuring a vastly young woman he met in a bar.
Circumstances force Arjun to become Shouryamann’s defence lawyer. Shouryamann makes sure to turn on the waterworks and say exactly what needs to be said in court. Public prosecutor Madhura (Tillotama Shome) is hard-pressed to match Arjun’s arguments.
Althea Kaushal’s story and script have a bunch of rug-pulling developments in store for the warring lawyers and the tricky client. Although running on for far too long and piling on a twist too many, the 140-minute Ikka is an engaging timepasser.
Siddharth P Malhotra’s workmanlike contribution to one of Hindi cinema’s favourite genres doesn’t deliver on its promise of fireworks, but it isn’t a damp squib either. The film’s first task is to get you to believe that there is such a thing as a hotshot lawyer who doesn’t believe in winning at any cost.
The casting of Sunny Deol, a model of guileless public service in the movies, goes some way in selling this conceit. Deol does occasionally bang his heavy fist on a table, but he’s far more restrained than he has been in recent films.
Ikka gradually coalesces around its brawny-and-brainy hero, who gets to play both defence lawyer and prosecutor. The secondary characters include Dia Mirza as Arjun’s wife Avantika and Sanjeeda Shaikh as Shouryamann’s spouse Gauri.
Although Avantika is important in swaying Arjun’s decision to represent Shouryamann, the film doesn’t have much in store for her. As the frequently nervous government-appointed advocate Madhura, Tillotama Shome fusses about and gestures conspicuously.
In portraying the endlessly odious Shouryamann, Akshaye Khanna rolls out the mannerisms that deserve patenting: the death stare with the head lowered, like an animal confronting an adversary in the wild; the dialogue delivery from the corner of an upturned mouth, the contemptuous side glance.
Perhaps some of Khanna’s ill-temper has to do with being fitted with a greasy wig and being cheated out of a contest with an acting rival.
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