Vyarth review: A subdued take on creative stagnation and the toll of waiting for recognition

Directed by Pankaj Dayani and co-produced by Kusha Kapila, Vyarth treads familiar ground, revisiting the industry's long-standing reluctance towards fresh talent and lingers on the emotional fatigue of artists stuck in limbo. 

While the entertainment industry continues to grow, certain patterns remain stubbornly in place. One of the most persistent is the tendency to cast people based on how they have been seen before, whether on screen or online, rather than recognising who they have the potential to become as performers. This approach not only limits artistic expression but also creates a cycle where actors are rarely given the space to grow beyond familiar roles. Many actors and creatives find themselves stuck in repetitive roles, playing the same kind of characters for years, waiting for that one project that finally allows them to break free and be seen differently. Vyarth leans into this very idea. It looks beyond the surface and focuses on what this kind of professional stagnation does to a person’s sense of self, presenting a subtle and honest reflection on ambition, self-doubt, and the struggle to reclaim one’s creative identity.

In Vyarth, Kusha Kapila steps away from the comedic space we’re so used to seeing her in and takes on a more intricate role. This short film, directed by Pankaj Dayani and co-produced by Kapila herself, allows her to channel the frustration and vulnerability of an actor who is constantly being boxed into roles that no longer reflect her identity or growth. And perhaps, it’s that very distance from her usual space that makes her portrayal of Bhumi, an underrated actress repeatedly offered typecast roles, all the more compelling.

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Bhumi, who is tired of being seen only as a side character in her projects, is jolted into reflection when her younger flatmate, Meenakshi (played by Kajol Chugh), asks for help with her first audition. What begins as annoyance soon turns into an internal confrontation for Bhumi, as she begins to question her own fears, insecurities, and desires. The short film touches upon the subjects of typecasting, ageism, and ambition. It speaks not just to actors or filmmakers, but to anyone who has ever felt stuck in their career or unsure of their worth. What adds to the storytelling is the thoughtful use of lighting and cinematography by Swapnil S. Sonawale. The way scenes are lit mirrors the emotional state of the characters. At times, it really feels like you’re standing in Bhumi’s shoes, feeling what she feels, without the film needing to over-explain.

While the conversation around the creative industry's bias and its reluctance to create space for new talent is important, it’s also one that has been explored in numerous projects. In that sense, Vyarth doesn’t necessarily break new ground. The themes it touches on are familiar, and the film doesn’t attempt to push the conversation forward in any unexpected direction. Instead, it feels more like a reflection of what we already know, more like a reminder. That said, some moments carry emotional weight like a brief song that captures the emotional toll of losing time while waiting for a chance, and Kusha Kapila’s monologue during an audition scene, which mirrors her personal turmoil simmering beneath the surface.

Vyarth gently nudges you to think about the roles we’re assigned, and the invisible toll of waiting, of holding on to hope that things might one day get better.

The short film is now available on YouTube.

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