Poniiy (2026): Kunal Singh’s Fable of a Lost Dog and a Found Soul
The dog does not act. The dog simply exists, and that is precisely the problem with Shibesh Motilal’s new adventure drama, which mistakes the presence of an animal for the presence of drama.
What we have instead is a film that shuffles toward its emotional destination with the enthusiasm of a reluctant retriever, never quite understanding that a journey requires friction, not just distance.
A Missing Owner and a Missing Antagonist: The Void at the Center of the Quest
The premise is disarmingly simple: a young local girl’s family takes in Poniiy after his kind-hearted owner mysteriously vanishes. The girl, sensing an injustice in the universe’s ledger, decides to find the man and restore the natural order.
It is a setup that promises warmth, discovery, and the kind of small-scale stakes that can feel enormous in the right hands. What Motilal delivers, however, is a narrative so devoid of opposition that the journey feels less like an adventure and more like a leisurely Sunday stroll that happens to involve a leash.
The owner’s disappearance is the film’s only engine, and it sputters because no one seems particularly invested in solving it. There is no villain, no ticking clock, no force pushing against the girl’s mission, only a vague sense that something happened, and perhaps we will learn what, and perhaps we will not.
When a Child Carries the Film and the Adults Carry Nothing
Ananya Raava Basu, as the young protagonist, has the unenviable task of generating momentum from sheer willpower. She is not without screen presence, there is a stubborn set to her jaw, a way she plants her feet when adults try to redirect her, but the screenplay gives her nowhere to go.
Her scenes with Poniiy are the film’s most honest, largely because the dog, blessedly unaware of the narrative burden placed upon him, simply behaves like a dog. The girl watches him with a mixture of ownership and anxiety that reads as genuine, and for a few fleeting moments, you understand why she cares.
Then the adults arrive, and the film deflates. Kunal Singh, as one of the few recognizable faces in the supporting ensemble, drifts through his scenes with the distracted air of a man who has been given no character to play. The royal relatives and village elders who populate the margins of the story function as decorative furniture, offering neither obstacle nor assistance.
The Camera That Watches Without Seeing
Cinematographer Sudeep Banerjee has an eye for texture, the dust of unpaved roads, the flat light of overcast afternoons, but his camera never finds a perspective that illuminates the girl’s inner life. We watch her walk, we watch her look, we watch her wait, but the visual grammar never tells us what she is thinking.
There is a sequence late in the second act where the girl and Poniiy rest by a roadside, and for a moment, the film achieves a stillness that feels earned. The dog’s flank rises and falls. The girl stares at nothing. The wind moves through dry grass. It is the only scene that trusts silence, and it is over almost before it begins.
Elsewhere, the editing chops the journey into indistinct segments, each one indistinguishable from the last. The first half establishes the disappearance; the second half pursues the reunion. But without escalation, without reversals, without the sense that anything is being risked, the structure collapses into a flat line.
The Performance Vacuum at the Center of the Frame
Kunal Singh has been a reliable presence in ensemble dramas, and there are moments here where his natural gravitas almost rescues the material. Almost. He plays a man caught between obligation and inertia, but the script gives him no scene that forces a choice.
His best moment, a brief, unguarded look at the girl when he thinks no one is watching, suggests what the film could have been if it had trusted its actors to carry the emotional weight. Instead, the camera cuts away, and we are back to the road, back to the walking, back to the waiting.
The supporting cast, including Raju Kher and Garima Agrawal, are given so little to do that their presence registers as a formality rather than a contribution. They appear, they speak, they exit. The film does not need them, and it knows it.
A Production House Playing It Safe
SP MEDIA has assembled a project that feels designed for a specific, narrow demographic: families who want a gentle story about a child and a dog, with no sharp edges and no difficult questions. That is a legitimate market, but it is also a crowded one.
What the film lacks is the conviction to be either a genuine children’s adventure or a meaningful drama about loss and loyalty. It occupies a middle ground that satisfies neither impulse, and in doing so, it wastes the goodwill that its premise generates.
The theatrical release strategy suggests a belief that audiences will turn out for a wholesome, animal-centered story. That belief is not unreasonable, there is an audience for this kind of film, but it requires execution that this production does not deliver.
The Uncomfortable Resolution and the Emptiness That Follows
Without revealing the film’s final movements, it is fair to say that the resolution arrives with the soft thud of inevitability rather than the release of catharsis. The girl’s journey ends, the dog finds what he was looking for, and the film fades to credits as if afraid to ask what any of it meant.
There is a version of this story that could have been devastating, a meditation on what we owe to the creatures who depend on us, and what it costs a child to learn that the world does not always reward determination. That version is not on screen.
What remains is a film that mistakes simplicity for depth and stillness for meaning. It is not offensive. It is not incompetent. It is simply there, like a dog waiting by a door for someone who is not coming back.
This stylistic discipline reflects a welcome evolution across contemporary hindi dramas, prioritizing character conviction over easy commercial formulas.
Ankit Jaiswal is the Chief Author, covering Indian cinema and OTT releases with honest, no-filler criticism. An SEO strategist by background, he brings a research-driven approach to film writing, cutting through hype to tell you exactly what's worth your time.
