‘Awarapan 2’ movie review: Emraan Hashmi’s faded sequel doesn’t rise from the riches of its past

Even if the action sequences, lighting, and camerawork have improved multifold from 2007, the sequel struggles to hold itself together as it imagines the world of ‘Awarapan’ purely as a generic genre piece, when its soul lies elsewhere

Updated - August 14, 2026 03:05 pm IST

Emraan Hashmi in ‘Awarapan 2’ | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

Ever since its release in 2007, Awarapan lived as a ghost. It was spoken about more and watched less. Its protagonist, Shivam (Emraan Hashmi), became an emblem of loneliness and love and was immortalised with his sacrifice. His melancholic face bore the brunt of his incessant vagrancy. Shivam carried little sign of life, and that’s what made him lethal. Seeing the death of his love shattered his spirits; preserving her memory infused in him the will to live. That’s what separated him from Kim Sun-woo (Lee Byung-hun), the charming, no-nonsense protagonist of the sentimental South Korean thriller, A Bittersweet Life, which inspired the unofficial remake of Awarapan. However, even with an adapted structure, director Mohit Suri and writer Shagufta Rafique breathed new life into the 2007 film, with its moving, musical rumination on faith as a pathway to healing and love as the seed of liberation.

In contrast, the sequel overlooks what made Shivam compelling in the first place. His supposed death at the end of the first part while uniting two lovers carried a touch of the divine. It became an epochal sacrifice, washing away the sins of his past and uniting him with his beloved in paradise. However, Shivam didn’t die, as the sequel tells us. Decades after the fatal day, he now lives a silent life in the Indian countryside, still bearing the pain of getting separated from Aaliyah (Shriya Saran) as he visits her grave and questions the meaning of his existence. Strangely, he remains stuck in the reflection of his own image. The evolution of Shivam’s state of mind in the glorious climax of Awarapan is swiftly ignored. Rather, he becomes his own archetype.

There’s more focus on his exteriors. His revival is explained in passing without ever delving into what fundamentally changed in his personality, apart from his slick biceps. So, Shivam remains chained to the person he was in the first part, a version that refused to fade away from the hearts of anyone who saw the film and which also prompted the making of a sequel. As a result, there’s more pandering here than movement. Shivam is no longer a person, but a set piece.

Disha Patani in ‘Awarapan 2’ | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement

He is given a mission to rescue a bunch of abducted children and save them from the dangers of human trafficking. One of them was found by him near Aaliyah’s grave, after which he gave her the same name. “I won’t let Aaliyah die again,” he tells an Interpol officer, who seeks his help to crack the gangster web in Bangkok, managed by rivals— Shabana Azmi’s mysterious boss woman, Nafeesa, and the ruthless Zoravar (Puran Gabbi). Caught in the middle of Zoravar’s violence is his sister Zara (a refreshing Disha Patani), whose pain finds expression in the notes of the cello, sprawling back memories of A Bittersweet Life. Awarapan 2 recalls the South Korean film on another occasion, reimagining an iconic moment of arranging parts of a dismantled gun and taking the first hit.

What it forgets to inherit from both, however, is the monumentality of emotions that Shivam and Sun-woo carry within. So, even if the action sequences have improved multifold, the lighting has become better equipped at capturing contrast, and the camera offers visuals to marvel over, the film struggles to hold itself together as it imagines the world of Awarapan purely as a generic genre piece, when its soul lies elsewhere. Mohit Suri’s absence is strongly felt when ‘To Phir Aao’ is heard without any powerful sequence to complement its evocative charm. On the other hand, ‘Tere Mera Rishta Purana’ still creates a soul-stirring effect when it plays at a pivotal juncture, sealing a pre-climactic moment with Emraan’s assured presence.

The actor’s face brings back the specificity of Shivam’s pain even after all these years. He carried the weight of Awarapan’s diverse themes with a rare fluidity. He does the same here, and there’s a constant feeling of not being able to see him go beyond due to the limitations in the screenplay, which renders even Shabana Azmi into an awkward mould, made to blurt Urdu dialogues as she wears a witch-like costume. She deserved better, and so did Emraan, whose bad-boy romance films in the late 2000s generated a separate fan base. Awarapan was among the few where his character had an instant likeability factor. His image of a “serial-kisser” gave way to a charming, sensitive core. He is as sincere nineteen years later as Awarapan 2 makes him captive to conventions rather than liberating him with subversions. Now, who’s going to rescue the rescuer?