Subhadra Mahajan’s debut feature film Second Chance begins with a blank screen and a 20-something Nia’s disembodied voice, as she leaves a voice note to her boyfriend. She is six weeks pregnant and panicking. She has to get an abortion. But her boyfriend is conveniently busy ghosting her on every platform; even Instagram. From there Mahajan takes us to the quietly atmospheric and lush stillness of the Himalayan foothills to tell a tale of loss, privilege, womanhood, and renewal.
It is shot in monochrome by Monica O My Darling (2022) and Newton (2017) cinematographer Swapnil S. Sonawane and produced by Shyam Bora of Aamis (2019) fame, which gives the project a certain gravitas. But the choice to shoot Second Chance in black and white feels more like an aesthetic affectation than a narrative necessity—visually striking, yes, but emotionally unearned. Sometimes, it floats about as aimlessly as our protagonist, never quite willing to dive into the depths it gestures toward.
Dheera Johnson stars as Nia, a 25-year-old drifting through life on a current of heartbreak and generational privilege. After being ghosted by her boyfriend, she escapes her city life and retreats to her family’s hill-side holiday cottage. There, in the sleepy rhythms of mountain living, she meets Bhemi (a luminous Thakri Devi), the mother-in-law of the cottage’s caretaker, and her grandson Sunny (a sweet, chaotic, and confident Kanav Thakur). Slowly, these new relationships become a soft landing for Nia’s healing journey.
It’s a delicate setup, but also one that struggles with relatability. At a time when many are scrambling for work or dignity in a crumbling economy, Nia’s existential drift—her failed vegan nightwear business, her vague tea-curation ambitions (fueled more by her mother’s interests because Nia really prefers coffee, you see), her interpretive dance interludes—feels more like navel-gazing than urgency. That’s not to say her pain is unworthy, but it often feels insulated—detached from the stakes of the world outside. The good thing is Nia seems to be in on the joke. As she survives the initial days of her escape smoking cigarettes and taking care of the most adorable kitten named Supercat, Nia also sniggers at her past failures while getting high and dissociating from life.
Moments of real warmth emerge at spurts and mostly when the film lingers with the locals. Nia’s bond with Sunny, their shared affection for the rescued kitten Bhemi disapproves of, and the growing tenderness between her and Bhemi ground the film in something more palpable. Bhemi is steady, cheeky, wise. When Nia finds herself bleeding out in a bathtub, it is Bhemi who calmly arranges for a doctor sworn to silence. Later, when Bhemi flirts with a local admirer who rues about climate change before inviting her to Nagarkot, it’s Nia who gifts her two bus tickets to take the plunge. These are the film’s best moments—acts of mutual care between women across class, age, and circumstance. But even in these moments, there's no deeper exploration of their class divide or unequal power dynamics.
Thakri Devi’s performance as Bhemi is earthy. You believe her completely—as a stern grandmother, a loyal caretaker, a woman still open to romance, and a vital agent in Nia’s healing. But she is also a person shaped by her cultural limitations and circumstances.
Kanav Thakur’s Sunny is a charmer and the highlight of the film. His wide-eyed dream of becoming an astronaut is sparked on and then supported by Nia, who signs up to fund his education until he turns 21. It's a soft-spoken gesture of privilege used well, though the power imbalance is always looming out of frame for those willing to observe it. Nia, even in grief, looks shinier than those around her. She has the means to do whatever she feels and go wherever she wants as long as her parents agree with her that “money isn’t everything.”
The film is peppered with abstract visual metaphors—some inspired, others indulgent. Mahajan, who co-wrote Angry Indian Goddesses (2015), seems interested in bodies— both in pain and in motion. And there’s no denying Mahajan’s sensitivity or potential. Second Chance is a decent enough debut. It excels particularly in its brighter, more humorous and humane stretches. But the film, like its protagonist, leaves you with the feeling that something more urgent, more grounded, and more affecting is just out of reach. If you’re looking for a quiet, contemplative slice-of-life story about a woman—allowed to simply be herself—told by a woman, then Second Chance is an apt watch.
Executive produced by Pan Nalin, and co-produced by Naren Chandavarkar, Sidharth Meer, and Bhaskar Hazarika, Second Chance is distributed by Platoon One Films. Its staggered theatrical release begins June 13, 2025 in Mumbai, Delhi, Bangalore, Pune, and Kochi. This echoes the long-tail model Platoon One Films used for Anamika Haksar’s brilliant and sublime Ghode Ko Jalebi Khilane Le Ja Riya Hoon (2018), which sustained a remarkable 56-day theatrical run.
Debiparna Chakraborty is a film, TV, and culture critic dissecting media at the intersection of gender, politics, and power.
