Srijit Mukherji's Killbill Society arrived with both weighty expectations and deep curiosity. The primary question buzzing among cinephiles and fans alike was inevitable: was this a sequel to the 2012 cult classic, Hemlock Society? The answer was a definitive 'yes'. But that answer comes with a caveat — it may be a sequel in spirit and timeline, but it’s definitely not a clone of its predecessor.
While Hemlock Society was a melancholic yet whimsical exploration of suicide prevention cloaked in romance, Killbill Society dares to take that premise further, bending genres into an edgier, quirkier space. It’s packed with dark humour, clever puns, complex plot, and unexpected narrative turns, offering a cinematic experience that’s both entertaining and unsettling in parts. But make no mistake — despite the Tarantino-echoing title, there is no stylistic borrowing from the director of Kill Bill. Instead, Srijit anchors this film in Bengali sensibilities, weaving in classical undertones, emotional complexity, and character-driven storytelling.
At the heart of the story is Poorna Aich, played by Koushani Mukherjee, a former social media influencer turned award-winning actress. Poorna’s life seems idyllic on the surface, but beneath the sheen of success lies a deeply toxic relationship with her live-in partner Jyotishka (Anindya Chatterjee). Driven by jealousy and insecurity, Jyotishka becomes emotionally abusive, eventually orchestrating a disturbing act aimed at defaming Poorna and ruining her public image. This personal betrayal forms the emotional core of the film and sets the story rolling.
As Poorna's world collapses, she spirals into despair. Enter Mrityunjoy Kar, also known as Ananda Kar — a familiar name for fans of Hemlock Society. Played once again by the ever-dependable Parambrata Chattopadhyay, Mrityunjoy appears earlier than expected, jolting the narrative into a non-linear, back-and-forth structure that editor Sanglap Bhowmick revels in. The film briefly transports us back 13 years to revisit the roots of Hemlock Society, but this time through a more mature, darker lens. It’s less about whimsical escape and more about psychological survival.
A Contract with the Unusual
Still unable to take her own life, Poorna finds an alternative: hiring a contract killer. Enter one of the film’s most standout characters, Pet-Kata Shaw, a Rabindrik underworld don portrayed with hilarious finesse by Biswanath Basu. Polite, soft-spoken, and ironically elegant in manner, Shaw adds a delightfully absurd touch to the film. His interactions, particularly a memorable selfie scene, are laugh-out-loud moments, perfectly breaking the narrative tension while highlighting the absurdity of Poorna’s situation. Pet-Kata Shaw’s character brings to mind Bob Biswas from Kahaani, but Shaw is uniquely “Pro Max” in his demeanour; a bizarre cocktail of calm brutality and lyrical gentility. Srijit’s vision, realised so fully in Biswanath Basu’s performance, finally gives the actor the spotlight he long deserved.
The Cast: A Blend of Familiar and Surprising
Parambrata Chattopadhyay is, as expected, the film’s emotional anchor. Mrityunjoy Kar — Ananda Kar, in essence — is portrayed with quiet intensity, and Parambrata’s performance is elevated by the character's dual nature: mentor and guide, but also a man burdened by his past. His bald look aligns with the character’s evolution, revealing both strength and vulnerability. A climactic monologue (spoiler-free here) is a performance highlight, evoking both love and despair in equal measure.
Koushani Mukherjee, as Poorna Aich, delivers arguably the best performance of her career so far. Though occasionally inconsistent —especially in a few early emotional beats — she rises to the challenge. Her portrayal of a woman unraveling under public and personal pressure is raw and real, although hampered slightly by an annoying pair of glasses she fidgets with far too often. Still, it marks a major step forward from her earlier roles, particularly a successful performance in Bohurupi.
Anindya Chatterjee plays the antagonistic Jyotishka with enough venom to draw audience ire — not for his acting, but for how believably detestable his character is. And that's a testament to his craft. Meanwhile, Tulika Basu as Poorna’s mother and Sandipta Sen as Sunayna, Poorna’s elder sister, offer grounded, poignant performances. Sunayna’s sacrifices and emotional support form a touching subplot, adding weight to Poorna’s decisions and circumstances.
Music, Art, and Atmosphere
Musically, Killbill Society is a rich experience. The soundtrack is a blend of melody, rock, and innovation. The track Likhey raakhi prem, composed by Tamalika Golder and sung by Rapurna and Sudip, is a personal favourite. Songs like Bhalobeshey basho na and Nei tumi ager moto are already hits, but it’s Shaatjawnmer porichoy, sung by Durnibar, that adds philosophical depth with its haunting lyrics and moving composition. Referrer bnashi, another standout, celebrates Bengali rock with contributions from legends like Rupam Islam and Sidhu. It pays off, giving the film sonic variety and emotional grounding. The cinematography by Indranath Marik supports the narrative well, especially in its contrasts, moving between the claustrophobia of Poorna’s breakdowns and the surreal calmness. The art direction enhances this with details that echo the film’s psychological undertones.
Imperfections in an Otherwise Layered Narrative
Despite its many strengths, Killbill Society isn’t without flaws. The screenplay occasionally stumbles, especially when trying to balance satire with psychological realism. For instance, the portrayal of suicidal tendencies sometimes lacks authenticity. A scene set in a nightclub, which could have been dealt with differently, feels detached from the real experiences of someone dealing with such intense despair.
Also, the script demands a suspension of disbelief at key plot twists. The clever, Irene Adler-like deductions and actions from Poorna in the final act feel out of sync with her previously established vulnerability. These inconsistencies mildly divert from the narrative, but never entirely derail it. However, where the screenplay falters, the dialogues rescue it. The puns, double entendres, and witty exchanges keep the pace buoyant and engaging. At times, they serve as both comic relief and sharp social commentary.
To circle back to the beginning, Srijit had two key responsibilities while making Killbill Society: first, to deliver an engaging, commercially viable film in a struggling industry; and second, to educate and elevate audience expectations by challenging narrative conventions. He largely succeeds on both fronts.
The film isn’t merely a sequel, nor a simplistic romantic drama. It’s an ambitious attempt to revisit death and despair with humour, irony, and philosophical maturity. While its predecessor romanticised suicide intervention with poetic melancholy, Killbill Society brings in layers of satire and postmodern twists to address the same themes through a fresher, darker lens.
The first of the film’s three climaxes, yes, ‘three’, is arguably its best. A long shot, coupled with Parambrata’s heartfelt monologue, leaves a lingering impression. It's serene, thought-provoking, and emotionally resonant, a reminder of the director’s sensitivity even within stylised storytelling. Hats off to Srijit for daring to go there — and taking us along for the ride.
Entertainment and introspection
Killbill Society isn’t a perfect film, but it is a significant one. It’s a cinematic experiment that takes risks — some pay off brilliantly, others falter, but it never feels hollow or directionless. It brings together thought, entertainment, and introspection, wrapped in a glossy, eccentric package that only a director like Srijit Mukherji could pull off in the current Bengali film landscape. For viewers willing to embrace its quirks and forgive its few flaws, Killbill Society offers a layered, pun-tastic, and emotionally resonant experience.
