As the scope and breadth of indie-producer Javed Ahmed Kakepoto’s premieres swell — at first his films didn’t have any, then there were small-ish family-like affairs in one of the smaller halls at Atrium Cinemas, and now a lavish two-screen showing at Nueplex DHA — one wonders if a film like Javed Iqbal — a fictionalised take on the notorious child serial-killer — is worth the pageantry.

Probably yes, because, as Kakepoto’s frequency of releases gain him notoriety in film and press circles, the big premieres give his writer and director Abu Aleeha his much-merited time in the spotlight as well.

Javed Iqbal, as Aleeha self-confessed in his interview in Icon, took six films to make; his previous five (four of which have been released till date), gave him enough exercise as a filmmaker to get a handle on the medium…and it shows.

This is probably Aleeha’s best work as a director till now. One can see his characteristic idiosyncrasies in every nook and cranny of his frames: the shoulder-mounted, wobbly camerawork, the long takes, the hard-hitting, insinuatory dialogues — they’re all there, just much more refined.

A bigger budget and a rewrite would have worked well for Javed Iqbal, the much-awaited film on the notorious child serial-killer, and might also have benefitted the dimensionless lead actors. But at least director Abu Aleeha’s craft seems to be improving with every film

In the film, Yasir Hussain plays Javed Iqbal, a serial killer of over 100 children who self-confessed his crimes to a newspaper in 1999 and turned himself in, because, as he says time and again in the film, no one would’ve been able to get to him, or know of his exploits, if he didn’t do just that. Ayesha Omer plays Zara, the hardcore female inspector who is given his charge.

Set squarely in the brief span when he turned himself in and was shifted to prison, the story — if there is any — centres on a series of interrogations that don’t really bring anything new to the news headlines we’ve read and heard. It remains as ambiguous as the serial-killer, his motives, or the vague allusions of surreptitious higher powers supporting his insanity.

The film is adapted from Aleeha’s own novel Kukri, and since this writer didn’t read the source material, one cannot talk about the faithfulness of the adaptation.

However, like his first directorial venture, Tevar (set in late-1989 during the Orangi Town operation in Karachi), Javed Iqbal’s topicality appends naturally to Aleeha’s style. The film, for example, has a powerhouse scene where a desperate, grieving mother — played by the excellent Rabia Kulsoom — pleads to Iqbal to give her a sign that he hasn’t killed her son.

The scene accomplishes something no other scene does: it humanises Iqbal — it gives him dimension, in what is mostly a dimensionless, superficial portrayal of a man no one seems to know about. Feeling almost like an afterthought, the scene gives us the allusion that the madman had a soul.

Contrary to what people may presume, Aleeha’s film doesn’t paint the mass-murderer as the victim of the system, though there are insinuations of that as well. Throughout the 96-minute run time, Javed Iqbal admits his wrongdoings with the egoistical glee of Hannibal Lecter — with Yasir Hussain happily pushing the boundaries of the role he is given.

The portrayal is a contradiction to what we’re told about Javed Iqbal at the very beginning of the film. When he is first introduced, the police are baffled by his unsuspecting, quiet, presumably ‘normal’ nature. Zara, being the astute one in the police station, informs her officers (and in turn, the audience) that not every killer exhibits signs of their insanity like they do in movies and television — yet, Yasir does just that.

He sits like a kukri (ie. chicken; a fact known about the real Javed Iqbal), and gives off malicious, smiley, all-knowing looks with a tilted-head; he looks like any other stereotypical psycho from film or television. There is no gradual ramp-up of performance either; Yasir’s take stays unvaried until the parting shot in the film.

Ayesha Omer, the other big lead of the film, is quite a bit worse. Her constant playacting of jaw-clenching, eye-blinking disdain belittles her years of experience in television and film; she comes across more amateur than amateur actors at times. It is through their performances that one gets an inkling of the short shooting schedule and the limitedness of the budget (the film was shot in eight days according to the director, and is mostly set in one police station).

A bigger budget and a rewrite would have worked well for the film. It certainly would have benefitted its lead actors, for they would have gotten the time to really give themselves to the characters — if, that is, they wanted to. The supporting cast, which includes Paras Masroor as the deputy inspector, fare much better, even in these constricting circumstances.

Regardless of its shortfalls, one cannot deny Aleeha’s gradual sophistication in the craft. He seems to be learning and unlearning on the go — keeping the good stuff in, unlearning the narrative calls that didn’t work before. Despite the gritty, dark and harried tone of the film, there is a new sense of calm in his storytelling abilities. His next could really be the one to look out for.

Released by Metro Live Movies, Javed Iqbal is rated ‘A’ for its dark subject matter. The film is playing in cinemas across Pakistan

Published in Dawn, ICON, January 30th, 2022