Released this Eid, Pressure Cooker feels like a truly bold and risky step in Raihan Rafi’s career. Eid films usually bring a festive, heroic, and entertaining experience—where audiences look for a break from harsh reality. In recent years, Rafi has successfully delivered that kind of escapist entertainment.
I myself wrote about Taandob and how it takes viewers into an exciting, different world. But Pressure Cooker is completely different from that familiar path. This film brings a deep sense of discomfort and sadness into the joyful atmosphere of Eid.
Even from social media reactions, it is clear that instead of excitement, the film leaves a heavy emotional weight—and creating this uncomfortable feeling is perhaps the film’s biggest success.
It is almost impossible to describe this film’s story in a straight line. It does not follow a single hero or a simple storyline.
Instead, it tells the story of a city—where Dhaka is not just a background, but a living and active character. In the heart of this city, we see fragments of many lives.
These lives touch each other, but never fully connect. At the center is Reshma, who, under pressure, slowly becomes “Pakhi.”
Even while working at a massage parlor, Reshma had a sense of control—she was struggling to survive, but she had not lost herself. But fate pushes her to a point where her body becomes her only way to survive. This transformation from Reshma to Pakhi is the emotional core of the film.
The film does not move toward one clear plot or conflict. It is mainly about the intense “pressure” building inside a city. Many characters are trying to survive, but in that struggle, they slowly break down morally, emotionally, and socially.
Reshma loses control after her husband abandons her; a young man whose love is clear but whose world is uncertain; a selfish family; a violent politician; and a police officer who uses justice as a tool—all these stories come together to create a complex picture of the city.
In this sense, the film tries to present itself as a hyperlink-style narrative. However, it does not follow the usual structure of films like Babel, Crash, or Amores Perros, where one central event connects all the stories.
In Pressure Cooker, the connections are scattered, incomplete, and often emotional rather than direct. Characters enter each other’s lives, but they never fully come together. As a result, the film gives more of a feeling—of a tense and suffocating city life—rather than a neatly structured story.
In terms of character building, the film takes a clear position, especially with its male characters. The cheating and irresponsible husband played by Chanchal Chowdhury, the ruthless police officer played by Fazlur Rahman Babu, the violent political figure played by Misha Sawdagor, the controlling father played by Shahiduzzaman Selim, and the lust-driven character played by Azizul Hakim—all together show a morally damaged society.
They are not just individuals, but reflections of a larger system. However, this also raises a question—all the male characters feel very similar in their darkness. Some are more greedy, some more violent, but in the end, all lack empathy.
Because of this, it sometimes becomes difficult for the audience to tell them apart. At the same time, this can also be seen as a conscious decision by the director—to show a society that is tired and crushed under pressure.
In contrast, the female characters react differently, but they are trapped in the same harsh environment. While Reshma’s character is detailed, other female characters—such as Sheuti, the massage parlor manager, or Naima Islam Maha, who pushes Reshma toward transformation—are not fully developed.
The influencer girl’s subplot and the suppressed love story of Selim’s daughter are present, but their inner conflicts are not fully explored. Some moments—like the tension between in-laws or the silent suffering of an abused wife—feel somewhat familiar and dramatic.
However, Shabnam Bubly’s character adds another layer by showing a woman caught in a complex mix of power and violence.
Looking at the whole film, there is a consistent moral atmosphere. The characters’ work, income, and relationships are all surrounded by darkness. This similarity creates a strong mood, but it also reduces emotional contrast.
When everyone is breaking in the same way, it becomes harder for the audience to feel deeply for any one character.
Events begin to feel more important than emotional connection. It seems that Rafi intentionally shows a city where all layers of morality have collapsed, and no one saves anyone.
The chapter titles—Poran, Surongo, Toofan, Taandob—work as a kind of tribute to the director’s earlier films. From a filmmaking point of view, the film feels like the result of multiple drafts and long planning, but it also has an improvised energy.
This makes it feel both unfinished and alive. The use of anamorphic lenses gives the film a cinematic scale. Through Joaher Musavvir’s camera, characters are often seen through layers of objects and spaces, which successfully shows the pressure and claustrophobia of city life.
In music, Zahid Nirab’s background score and Ankon Kumar’s song Borai Kore blend well with the film’s mood and create a deep emotional effect. Ruslan Rehman creates different soundscapes for each character, helping to build their psychological identity.
However, the use of rap music in action scenes sometimes makes the violence feel stylized in a way that does not always fit. Still, his work shows a strong and promising direction for film music in our industry.
In terms of performance, this is a strong ensemble film. Rizvi Riju’s quiet and inward performance makes him stand out from the other male characters. Fazlur Rahman Babu shows a chilling cruelty through a very natural style.
Azizul Hakim and Misha Sawdagor successfully bring out the strength and complexity of their roles. Shahiduzzaman Selim’s silence often speaks more than dialogue.
Finally, Nazifa Tushi proves herself as the emotional center of the film. Her transformation from Reshma to Pakhi—and carrying the emotional weight of being a young mother—is portrayed with great honesty.
The main weakness of the film is perhaps its over-expansion. With so many characters and subplots, the screenplay sometimes feels loose.
If it had been more focused and tighter, it could have been a stronger hyperlink film. Still, Pressure Cooker is an important film—not because it tries to be perfect, but because it is searching.
A filmmaker leaving his familiar style to find a new one—this search is what pushes him forward. In this film, Rafi succeeds in some places, struggles in others, and sometimes goes too far—but together, these create an original experience.
This is not just a film; it is a process of becoming—something that may not be fully understood, but can definitely be felt.
Filmmaker: Abu Shahed Emon
