It is not that Shoot On Sight is a bad film. It’s just that there is nothing memorable about it, in spite of its sincere intentions. The only positive of the film is that it attempts to document how Islamic fundamentalists are made through the extremist leadership of local Imams, and how the majority of their innocent community members have become targets of racism and bigotry by these “victims” of terrorism, instead of the real culprits. However, this is not a documentary, and merely highlighting this vicious circle of violence is not sufficient.

Jag Mundhra has come a long way from his soft porn days, having dealt with, in his recent films, serious and relevant issues like female abuse (Bawander), domestic violence (Provoked) and now terrorism, bigotry, and fundamentalism with his latest release. Shoot On Sight refers to a policy laid down by the British government post 9/11, which gave the police the liberty to shoot any person suspected of terrorist activity. This became an operational modus operandi for the cops post the 7/7 London train bombings, and is the starting point to launch the plot for his film. It is one in a series of recent films that have dealt with terrorists, and, in particular, have focused on Islamic fundamentalism as an essential ingredient of terrorism.

On its own, and a couple of years ago, this may have been a captivating film. After Khuda Ke Liye, Mumbai Meri Jaan, Aamir, A Wednesday and Black and White in the last year, Shoot as Sight has nothing original to offer in its premise or execution. There is one moment which lingers on. Stephen Greif plays a British cop who has shot a Muslim teenage kind in the beginning of the movie simply because he suspected him to be a terrorist. It was an action based on instinct, and makes you believe that a racist and bigoted cop is venting his feelings out every time he comes on the screen. But he is not one, he is actually a realist, as he claims to be, and when we discover it, the moment is beautifully done. How you wish the film had more moments that are just as unexpected and as unpredictable.

The plot itself is a doppelganger of The Devil’s Own, with Naseer playing the cop and debutant Pakistani actor Mikaal Zulfikar playing an undercover terrorist he unknowingly harbors in his house. This sets the tone for the rest of the film. Mundhra strings together a series of clichéd scenes and happenings, setup against the backdrop of a terrorist plot in the UK and involving stereotypical innocent Muslim, fundamentalist Muslims and British characters. The writing in particular is unpardonably bad. Be it the exchange between the two British cops, or the rabble-rousing speech by Om Puri, the dialogue is unoriginal, archaic, and the characters come across looking artificial and unconvincing.

Also, for a film dealing with an issue so huge, it shoots a surprising number of blanks in delivering real emotional empathy towards any of the characters. Mikaal’s character is a critical one in the film. The morality of the film and the filmmaker hinges on his actions and motivations, but Mundhra barely scratches the surface here. It would have been gratifying to know of why a man of such obvious character believed in extreme violence, and even more to have a situation where he confronts a flaw in his ideology, and is faced with a conflict that his erstwhile beliefes cannot resolve. His track follows a previously laid path, and is massively underutilized in giving the film a depth and substance that could hold it together.

It is essentially Naseer’s track that provides meat to the narrative. A Muslim cop of British nationalism investigating the shooting of an innocent Muslim kid by a British cop, a loving husband to his English wife, and a father trying to raise his children in an increasingly multi-cultural UK, Naseer is in fine form, amalgamating the various shades of his character into Tariq Ali. Beneath the veneer of a man who is comfortable with his life in his adopted motherland, there lurks the constant threat of being viewed as a Muslim, ignoring all that he has done and been all these years. This thread is finely picked and played by Naseer with an implosive frustration every time he is confronted with a situation that seems to make him a Muslim above anything else. Bankable as ever, he gives the film some dignity and weight. The supporting cast weighs in pretty well as well. Naseer is more than ably supported by Greta Scacchi, who plays his English wife. It’s a sensible, positive, and well-written character, breathing some reason and freshness in the proceedings. Gulshan Grover plays the friendly neighborhood butcher competently, and definitely reflects a realistic portrayal of the plight of the average Muslim immirgrans in London post 7/7. But the excitement of watching Om Puri and Naseer in one frame dissipates rapidly the moment a barely-in-focus Om Puri ambles into the film. He is loud in every sense of the word, and makes a caricature of the role of an extremist Muslim Imam who masterminds bombings in England. Granted the role is poorly written and lacks any layering, but it still does not justify the over-the-top performance Om Puri delivers. Debutant Mikaal Zulfikar has a comely, likable screen presence. There is a vulnerability to him that naturally extends to his character, and it works very well for him. His writers may have let him down, but he is worth watching out for.

At the end of it all, the film offers no opinion or insight into the issues it seeks to address – Islamic extremism, racism. It does not confront Mikaal’s misery that drove him to being a terrorist – thousands of his community being killed by the “war against terrorism” in Afghanistan, Palestine, Iran, and Iraq. Genocide driven by political motivations is every bit as worse as that driven by fundamentalism. It is dangerous to talk of one and ignore the other, because the danger of prejudice can very easily seep into the people watching films like Shoot On Sight. I don’t think the makers of the film realized the weight they were carrying, and I don’t think they noticed that they stumbled under it.