Why Radhika Apte’s latest slow-burn thriller challenges everything you think about heroes and villains

Dubai: “You’re never sure whether you like them, whether you’re rooting for them, or whether they did the right thing,” says Radhika Apte, describing the moral ambiguity at the heart of her latest psychological thriller 'Saali Mohabbat', out on Zee5 Global.

“Even after you leave the theatre, you’re still thinking about them.”

For Apte, the film’s power lies not in spectacle but in restraint.

“It’s very calm, very still. It’s a slow burn,” she explains.

“When you hear ‘crime thriller,’ you expect something fast-paced — action, blood, gore. This film is none of that. It’s more about psychology, more about the characters, almost like an investigative eye just watching them.”

Rather than giving viewers a clear moral compass, the film encourages reflection and discomfort.

“You go home, you sleep, you wake up the next morning, and if the thought comes back, you’re still contemplating,” Apte says.

“You’ve seen these people around you. I’ve known women like Smita. Not exactly what happens to her, but women who go through situations like that. Or people like — they feel familiar, like someone you know.”

That familiarity produces contradictory feelings. Apte admits that while watching, she found herself rooting for Ratan despite fundamentally disagreeing with his actions. “I root for him even though I don’t agree with anything he’s doing,” she says. “Do I like him? I’m not sure. But I don’t dislike him either.”

This complexity mirrors the way audiences respond to morally ambiguous films such as Gone Girl, where the line between empathy and complicity is intentionally blurred.

“You don’t agree with what she did,” I suggest, “but you still find yourself siding with her.”

“Exactly,” Apte agrees. “And what I like about this film is that it gives women agency — but it also questions what agency really means.”

Her character, Smita, attempts to reclaim control over her life. Yet the narrative complicates that journey by introducing another woman who appears empowered but is also shaped by society’s scrutiny.

“You think she has agency,” Apte explains, “but then you realise she’s also a victim — of society, of how people view her because of her choices.”

The relationship between these two women resists simple categorization. “There are scenes between her and my character that are really interesting. You don’t know if she approves of her choices, yet they’re still looking after each other,” Apte says.

Crucially, the film refuses to judge its characters.

“It doesn’t take sides,” she says. “It’s not telling you who’s right or wrong. There’s no moral lesson at the end. It just shows a story and leaves it to you to decide what you want to think.”

Smita embodies that ambiguity. Calm on the surface, inwardly she is complex, sometimes unsettling, sometimes innocent.

“There’s something quite scary about her sometimes, and something very innocent too. You don’t really know,” Apte says.

For the actress, realism comes from embracing contradiction.

“Real people are not one thing,” she says. “They’re complicated. Life doesn’t move in neat arcs.”

Sharing the screen with Divyendu and Anurag Kashyap added another layer of intensity to the project. Though Apte doesn’t share scenes with Kashyap in this film, she speaks warmly about him.

“He’s a powerhouse, a loose cannon, and an undiscovered gem that Malayalam cinema is embracing,” she says.

“And Divyendu — I hadn’t seen much of his work before, which is shocking given his popularity. But he’s fantastic in this film. Even now, I still think about his character.”

Working with Divyendu was deceptively effortless.

“When you have a really good actor in front of you, all you have to do is listen,” Apte says.

“In many scenes, he had pages of dialogue and I had maybe one line. I was just listening. A lot of the work was just being present.”

Apte’s approach to complex roles is also highly collaborative. She recalls extensive discussions with the director about the subtlety required for Smita.

“It’s really hard to summarise,” she says. “It’s not just about portraying her as a victim or a woman reclaiming agency. There’s a constant oscillation between innocence, fear, and quiet assertiveness. And that’s what makes her real.”

This commitment to nuanced performance is mirrored in the film’s storytelling. By resisting neat resolutions, it challenges audiences to examine their own moral frameworks. Apte reflects on the broader significance: “Cinema often tells us what to think. Here, we’re asking viewers to sit with ambiguity. That’s much closer to reality. Real life isn’t linear or tidy.”

Her remarks also touch on contemporary debates about representation, agency, and moral clarity in cinema.

“Agency doesn’t mean you have to be likeable,” she says.

“And that’s an important distinction. We can watch characters struggle, fail, or even hurt others — and still find aspects of their journey compelling. That’s human.”

The film’s slow-burn tension, layered performances, and ethical ambiguity make it as much a psychological study as a thriller.

“You’re observing,” Apte says. “You’re watching people act, react, survive. And then you take that experience home with you. That’s the magic.”