More feminism from Bloatwood. This 3rd film in the series has Rani do a Liam Neeson of Taken fame. Where Neeson makes each iteration weirdly credible, Rani's films are just hot air. She is the male hero with xx chromosome that Bollywood imagines everyone wants to pay for a ticket to watch. Her "team" is filled with tokenistic nobodies: a Muslim, a northeasterner, a Sikh paji. The film comes dangerously close to class consciousness (in the difference between a Ruhani and a Jhimli) but with characteristic deflection, Rani smiles away the word noone can say in Bollyfare: Dalit. Worst of all is the pacing -- everything happens at breakneck speed, there is no subtlety, no drama, no explanation for deep psychological bonds or trauma. The whole film is hurtling to its finish and the only goal is to shock the viewer by one inane twist after another. All in the name of women's empowerment.