The sound mix in the first ten minutes of Dhamaal 4 is genuinely distracting, a low-frequency hum that seems to follow Ajay Devgn around like a ghost whenever he enters a frame. It is a small thing, sure, but it nagged at me for the entire first act, pulling my attention away from what is meant to be a high-energy return to the franchise's chaotic roots. You notice the hum, then you notice the sync issues, and suddenly you are looking for faults instead of just letting the absurdity wash over you. It is not exactly a dealbreaker, but it is the kind of technical glitch that makes you wonder if the post-production schedule was as frantic as the plot itself.

Director Indra Kumar returns to the familiar sandbox of slapstick mayhem, and there is a sense that he is working from a playbook he knows by heart. The screenplay tosses characters into high-pressure situations—a heist gone wrong, a mistaken identity, the usual suspects—without really bothering to build an emotional anchor for the audience to grab onto. It relies heavily on the legacy of the original, expecting the mere presence of the established chemistry to do the heavy lifting that the writing neglects. There is a palpable lack of stakes in the central conflict, which makes the loud, frantic set pieces feel strangely hollow when they should be pulsating with kinetic energy.

Ajay Devgn plays the straight man with a weary competence that occasionally borders on boredom, as if he is counting the days until his next serious role. He anchors the madness, but he never truly engages with it. Then there is Arshad Warsi, who continues to be the only person in these Hindi movies who understands the precise frequency required for this level of cartoonish farce. He is constantly moving, his face a landscape of shifting frustration, yet he is sidelined far too often for stunts that do not pay off. Sanjeeda Sheikh steps into this whirlwind with an effort to bring a bit of grounded personality to the proceedings, though she is frequently given nothing to do but react to the men shouting around her. If I am honest, she is the most compelling element on screen, yet the script treats her character like an afterthought.

The cinematography is bright and aggressive, leaning into the oversaturated look that has become a staple of modern Bollywood, though it lacks the visual ingenuity that made the original films feel like a genuine evolution of the genre. Every shot is framed for the widest possible demographic, resulting in a flatness that strips away any potential for visual storytelling. There are moments where the camera lingers just a few seconds too long on a reaction shot, draining the momentum from a joke that was already gasping for air. It’s a recurring mechanical annoyance. The soundtrack, meanwhile, tries to bridge the gap between nostalgia and the current trend of remix-heavy pop, but it largely lands on a generic middle ground that fails to distinguish itself.

Themes of loyalty and the futility of greed are scattered throughout the runtime like abandoned set pieces, occasionally referenced in dialogue before being immediately contradicted by the next explosion. The movie wants to be a lighthearted caper, yet it stumbles into moments of jarring sentimentality that do not fit the established tone. It reminds me a bit of the frantic energy found in Hera Pheri, though it lacks the sharp, biting social commentary that made that film endure long after its initial release. There is a disconnect here between what the film wants to say and what it actually does on screen. It is a film that refuses to commit to its own chaos, constantly trying to balance mindless fun with a half-hearted attempt at narrative structure.

The supporting cast feels like they were pulled from a grab bag of familiar faces, each doing their best to squeeze a laugh out of lines that have clearly been repurposed from better scripts. There is a sense of stagnation, a feeling that this specific corner of the Hindi film industry has run out of new ways to frame the same old jokes. You watch the characters run from one location to another, caught in a cycle of misunderstandings, and you realize that nothing about their situation changes from the start to the middle. It is a loop of activity that disguises itself as a plot.

There is a specific sequence near the middle of the second hour involving a runaway carriage that demonstrates exactly why the film struggles to maintain its grip. The editing is so frantic, jumping between angles so rapidly that the geography of the scene is completely lost, leaving the viewer to wonder where everyone is standing or what they are even trying to achieve. It is not great, not bad, just there, taking up space on the screen while the background music swells to drown out the confusion. This is the hallmark of a production that has prioritized volume over coherence.

It is worth noting that the audience in the theater laughed, which means the baseline of slapstick remains functional enough for a Friday afternoon crowd. People like the actors, they know the rhythm of these movies, and they are willing to forgive a lot of nonsense for a few moments of genuine levity. But looking past the surface, it is hard to escape the impression that everyone involved was on autopilot. They are going through the motions of a hit, hitting the marks, and waiting for the paycheck to clear. There is no joy in the craft here, just a professional execution of a formula that has been stretched thinner with every iteration.

The dialogue is peppered with references to earlier installments, a desperate reach for connection to a time when these stories felt fresh and vital. These call-backs land with a thud, serving only to highlight how far the quality has slipped since the inception of the series. When a character makes a joke that relies entirely on a viewer having seen a movie from a decade ago, it ceases to be a joke and becomes a transaction. The film does not ask you to enjoy it; it asks you to remember that you once liked something similar. There is a profound difference between the two approaches, and it is the primary reason why the narrative never finds a footing.

The climax is a sprawling, noisy affair that manages to resolve the internal conflict without actually concluding any of the character arcs, a choice that feels less like a subversive narrative device and more like a simple lack of effort. Everything is resolved because the time limit has been reached, not because the story has earned its ending. It just stops. The actors drift off-screen, the credits roll over a re-run of the title track, and the experience vanishes from your mind before you have even exited the theater lobby. It leaves nothing behind, no impression, no lingering thought, just the faint, annoying ringing in your ears from the poorly mixed soundscape that started the whole thing.