Haq Movie Review: Emraan Hashmi and Yami Gautam shine in this film based on faith and rights.

Those who remember the tumultuous eighties will attest that the historic Shah Bano case reshaped the fractures in Indian secularism and identity politics for decades. But beyond the courts, clerical objections and political outrage, the story of faith, human dignity and a woman’s rights unfolded within the four walls. In the realm of fiction and perspective, this week director Suparn Verma presents a fresh take on the story of a devoted wife abandoned after remarriage, instant triple talaq by her husband, brutal separation from maintenance and a grueling struggle for maintenance, turning a domestic dispute into a national debate with deep socio-political implications.

The film focuses on Shazia Bano (Yami Gautam) and her husband Abbas Khan (Emraan Hashmi). Set in a small town in Uttar Pradesh in the late 1960s, the film first depicts how a seemingly traditional marriage begins to crumble under the burden of multiple divorces, neglect, and the loss of both legal and moral rights.

Over time, what unfolds is more than a personal tragedy: It becomes a study of how one woman confronts traditions, faith-based power structures, and the system of law. Haq also draws parallels to the real-life Shah Bano case, which had immense significance for women’s maintenance rights in India.

 

The special thing about Verma’s direction is that he allowed the story to breathe rather than imposing its message forcefully. Although the film feels a little slow at times, the pace is thoughtfully made. In the film, Shazia’s pre-crisis life is given space and her downfall seems earned rather than forced. There is a clear effort to maintain balance: the film avoids portraying religion as the enemy and instead focuses on how interpretation, power structures, and social inertia combine to suppress voices.

Visually and thematically, the film uses the courtroom as a battleground, but the emotional battles begin much earlier, in the kitchens, in the bedrooms, in the small betrayals that escalate until they demand a reckoning.

Through Haq, the makers also want to tackle some serious issues: triple talaq, alimony, the right to maintenance under Section 125 of the Indian Code of Criminal Procedure, the tension between religious personal laws and the secular legal system. It places the personal within the political and argues that dignity, respect and legal rights, especially for the marginalized, are interconnected.

The film’s title and logline, ‘Haq, meaning right or claim’, is not about one woman’s fight. It seeks to highlight the bigger picture: demands for recognition, equality and respect within structures that largely deny them.

Yami Gautam has honestly given the best performance of her career in Haq. The way he has brought alive Shazia’s silent frustration and anger is commendable. What impresses most is his restrained but sharp intensity in the film. Furthermore, Yami’s transformation from an obedient wife to a woman who quietly stakes her claim is finely crafted as she avoids sarcasm or theatrics.

Emraan Hashmi as Abbas Khan presents a layered portrayal of authority masquerading as religious faith. In truth they convey attraction as easily as threat. Although his character could have easily been a one-dimensional villain, there is so much ambiguity in the acting that he comes across as frighteningly credible rather than sensational. Sheeba Chaddha and Danish Hussain provide solid support and add texture to the surroundings without overshadowing the central narrative.

What really doesn’t work is the gap between the ambition and execution of the makers. Although the film’s subject matter is undoubtedly heavy, the screenplay is at times flabby. As mentioned earlier, Haq’s pacing sometimes slows down, especially in the second half of the film, where scenes seem to drag on without adding new layers to the characters or the legal battle. Some key twists are less dramatic than other drawn-out emotional scenes, making it feel like the story is taking a step back when it needs to move forward most.

Musically, the soundtrack leaves no lasting impression, moving the story along without taking it forward. The film’s songs remain functional rather than sentimental, and some of the court arguments lean more toward rhetoric rather than raw realism. Ultimately, Haq strives for restraint, which is a virtue of this kind of story, but its caution sometimes blunts what could have been a sharper, more resonant commentary on the strength, faith, and everyday courage required to find justice.