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Writer-director Karan Tejpal and producer Gaurav Dhingra shared some much valuable insights in this interview about their gritty thriller Stolen.
You know how Imtiaz Ali films romanticise the idea that there’s a world out there, somewhere far away from where we live? Stolen film takes that romantic notion and drags it into a horrific reality, one where the “two Indias” we often hear about truly come face to face. It reminds me of NH10, when for the first time on screen it was verbalised, “once you cross the border, the world is never the same again.” That line still rings true because in our privileged circles, where revolutions play out on social media and outrage comes with hashtags, we’re shielded from the fact that moralism doesn’t always work in the real world. And while it’s a reality we acknowledge, yet watching the Bansal brothers’ journey to seek justice, making difficult choices, fighting each other as much as they do a mob, all for the sake of helping a woman in distress, reminds us that too much pragmatism can strip us of our humanity.
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The film doesn’t preach. It simply places you in that car, alongside the characters, making you question their every decision and, more importantly, what you would have done in their place. Be morally correct and stay? Or be practical and run? Would you intervene or do nothing? Could things have turned out differently if people had given the truth a little time and a little investigation, instead of reacting with emotion? Moreover, as a privileged woman, I often wondered how each moment would have played out differently had I been in the frame, how the tension would have heightened, and how the stakes would have shifted. That discomfort, that reflection, and some hope is where Stolen leaves its impact. It’s remarkable how one film can make you go through it all and send different viewers in completely different directions. But that’s what great cinema does, doesn’t it? It doesn’t offer simple solutions; it offers perspective. It makes you step into someone else’s world, if only for a little while, and bridge the gap between your world and theirs. Whether or not it truly brings us closer, this recently released Amazon Prime Video film leaves you deep in deliberation.
And who better to explore these questions with than the makers themselves? We sat down with the first time writer-director Karan Tejpal and producer Gaurav Dhingra (Peddlers, Faith Connections, Angry Indian Goddesses) to talk all things Stolen, a film that had a strong festival run last year and now arrives on streaming, backed by a powerhouse team of executive producers including Kiran Rao, Vikramaditya Motwane, Anurag Kashyap, and Nikhil Advani.
Here's what they had to share!
The film has been widely discussed since its release, and you've spoken often about what inspired you to make it. So instead of asking why you made this film, I’d like to ask when did you realise that this particular story had to be told in this particular way?
Karan Tejpal: I realized very early on that the film needed to be told from an immersive point of view, one that placed the audience right alongside the characters. When I first saw those videos from Karbi Anglong, I was completely transported. The fear in them was immediate and overwhelming, and in that moment, I lost a kind of naivety, this illusion of freedom and control I thought I had. That emotional rupture stayed with me and shaped how I approached the story. By the time I began the first draft, the narrative structure emerged almost intuitively. It was driven by urgency, the desperate need to find the child and escape the situation. That momentum became the spine of the film and shaped how the story unfolded.
Gaurav Dhingra: Also, we realized that right in the beginning, that it has to be told in a manner which has immediacy and urgency. Right in the beginning we were going to shoot a one take. The reason for that was this immediacy and putting the audience in the driver's seat.
As mentioned, the starting point for the film was disturbing videos circulating online for voyeuristic consumption. Given that, do you guys think the film flirts with a similar line of voyeurism in drawing from real-life incidents, how did you navigate the ethical boundary between observation and exploitation, especially considering the sensitive subject matter?
KT: That question stayed with me throughout the entire process and I wrestled with it constantly. My intent was to explore how violence is consumed, how we distance ourselves from it through screens, and what it means to witness something without being able or willing to intervene. Navigating that ethical boundary was central to every decision like how much to show, from whose perspective, and what emotional distance or intimacy we were creating. The goal was always to stay with the human experience, not to sensationalize, but to evoke empathy, discomfort, and reflection. The line is thin, and I don’t claim to have walked it perfectly, but the hope was just to hold a mirror first to myself.
GD: We just showed the truth. Our focus was how the audience is going to experience it as we wanted to put the audience in the driver's seat watching from the back seat of a car.
One of the film’s most striking visual choices is its camera positioning; it often stays at a distance, watching from the backseat of a car, or from behind glass when the mob attacks or characters have to choose from two roads diverging in different directions. Why did you guys choose this observational distance over a more intimate camera? And did you ever consider shooting the entire film from within the car, almost as a contained POV?
KT: We never intended to shoot the entire film from within the car because the goal was to bring the viewer along on the journey not just as a passive observer, but as someone who is present, caught in the tension and uncertainty alongside the characters. Every camera placement was guided by that principle: where would WE, as viewers, be standing in this moment, not emotionally distant, but not omniscient either. The decision to shoot from behind glass or from the backseat wasn’t about detachment; it was about perspective. Seeing through a windshield or window evokes that feeling of being in the chase, of moving forward yet being separated, protected but only just. There's a helplessness to that vantage point that mirrors how the characters are often caught in situations they can't fully control.The two roads that diverge in different directions is a recurring visual motif. For us, it symbolized the fundamental tension at the heart of the story- the constant pull between choices, between violence and restraint, fear and courage, complicity and resistance. It’s a yin and yang that we all navigate, whether consciously or not. So those moments weren’t just narrative beats, they were emotional crossroads, and we wanted the audience to feel that weight, to recognize that there are no easy paths.
GD: Though we did consider shooting it from inside the car, most of the film. But then we decided that we have to have more dynamic visuals than just inside the car.
The film is grounded in real locations, often navigating narrow residential lanes and populated areas with non-actors or bystanders. How difficult was it to shoot under these conditions managing the chaos of real-world shooting environments? And while I was reminded of NH 10, were there any referential films that you guys saw for this?
KT: I thoroughly enjoy the shooting process and the set environment. So I never felt like it was difficult. Yes it was very challenging and we prepped and planned to the T, wherein finally on shoot day we managed pretty well. Even in case of last minute issues we had the adaptability to pivot. I would say there were three films that are my close inspirations for Stolen — Victoria, Son of Saul and Good Time.
GD: It’s extremely difficult to shoot in real-life locations as there’s barely any control over external factors. But it also gives you the most realistic film. Our production department worked day and night to have smooth shoot days. We literally became locals to understand and operate fluently in these remote villages.
Abhishek Banerjee is an intriguing choice for Gautam. But I’m especially curious about how you found Shubham (as Raman) and Mia (as Jhumpa) especially since Mia delivers such a naturalistic performance that it’s hard to believe she isn't Jhumpa in real life. What led you guys to cast these actors, and how did you work with them to achieve that balance between raw realism and narrative precision?
KT: The casting was driven purely by the strength of each actor’s craft, and I truly couldn’t have asked for a better ensemble. With only five primary characters, every role had to carry weight and each actor brought something unique and powerful to the table. Abhishek is undoubtedly one of the finest actors working today. His style is honest, instinctive, and deeply rooted in spontaneity. Casting him as Gautam Bansal was an easy decision. A consummate professional, he read the script within days and came on board without hesitation, it was a very straightforward process. Chemistry between characters was crucial, especially for the dynamic between the Bansal brothers. I was keen to cast actors with a real-life connection, and Abhishek suggested his friend Shubham. From our first meeting, I knew I wanted to work with him. He’s a meticulous, highly trained actor who can inhabit any character.
Mia was recommended to us by the incredible casting director - Dilip Shanker. I saw Mia’s short film - The Field, which left no doubt in my mind that she was perfect for Jhumpa. She’s an exceptional collaborator deeply committed, emotionally present, and willing to give everything to the work. To achieve that balance between raw realism and narrative precision, we created a space where the actors could fully inhabit their characters while still being anchored to the emotional arc of the story. We didn’t rehearse scenes in a rigid way instead, we spent a lot of time talking about backstories, emotional triggers, and motivations. That built a shared language and trust between us. One of the biggest factors was how we shot the film: in very long, uninterrupted takes. That approach brought a natural rhythm to the performances—it gave the actors space to discover moments in real time, rather than hitting predetermined beats. It also created a kind of emotional momentum that’s hard to fake; they had to stay present, fully inside the moment, because the camera wasn’t cutting away. With someone like Mia, for example, her instincts were so sharp that it became less about directing and more about creating conditions where she could be Jhumpa, without self-consciousness. That’s true of all the actors. They each brought their own internal compass, and my role was simply to guide us all in the same direction.
GD: Working with Raman and Gautam was slightly easier because we were already familiar with that world in many ways, we’re like them. But Jhumpa’s character was more challenging. Thankfully, Mia had previously worked with the Santhali tribe and brought that dialect with her. Still, it was the toughest role to write, and we put in a lot of research and effort. Each of the three actors has a different process: Abhishek is more spontaneous, Shubham is more thoughtful, and Mia is very well-prepared.
The film is full of difficult choices, both for the characters and the script itself. For instance, Jhumpa’s backstory is given because the film largely follows her story but is kept intentionally ambiguous, while Raman is driven by guilt and moralism desperately trying to save, and Gautam by money and pragmatism. Later, the so-called “male saviors” are saved by women who understand the ground reality better. Was this arc a conscious choice to hold up a mirror to society’s assumptions about who saves whom and reflect social hierarchies—where idealism and privilege going together gets humbled, moralism is complicated, and empathy is something that is earned?
KT: Yes, those arcs were very much intentional but not as a commentary aimed outward. As a team, our primary goal was to hold up a mirror to ourselves. We weren't trying to make a statement about society as much as we were interrogating our own assumptions about privilege, heroism, complicity, and empathy. The characters' journeys reflect different aspects of that self-examination. Raman’s guilt and moral desperation, Gautam’s pragmatism and detachment, Jhumpa’s quiet resilience, all of them reveal something about how people navigate power and powerlessness. Jhumpa’s backstory remains ambiguous not because it’s unimportant, but because we often look away from lives like hers unless they’re explained or made legible to us. That silence is part of the tension, we didn’t want to speak for her, but to create space where she speaks through her choices and presence. And yes, the idea that the so-called “saviors” ultimately need saving often by women who understand the ground reality better was very much part of the structure. It reflects a shift in agency, but also a deeper question: who gets to act, who gets credit, and whose labor, especially emotional and invisible labor goes unacknowledged? But again, these weren’t decisions made from a place of moral authority. They came from doubt, discomfort, and reflection. The film isn’t offering answers; it’s asking questions we needed to ask ourselves.
GD: I think the story naturally lends itself to an exciting unraveling. Jhumpa’s limited backstory gradually unfolds as the film progresses, allowing us to discover more about each character along the way. That was the narrative style we chose from the beginning. The idea of the so-called male saviors as hunters becoming the hunted was something we wanted to explore as the powerful, out of their element. When they’re placed in a situation they don’t fully understand or know how to navigate, how do they respond? What happens to their privilege? You see this especially in Gautam, his fancy clothes, his jewelry, all slowly come off, as if he’s shedding an old skin. By the end, he’s left with nothing but his half-alive brother. That transformation was intentional. We wanted to examine what happens when two very different worlds collide, and the people from one world have no idea how to cope.
The mob in your film plays both villain and saviour. At one point, it’s driven by WhatsApp-fuelled hysteria running to kill the two brothers almost to a point of making a lesson out of them while at another, it helps bring the truth to light when Gautam desperately needed it. Was this duality an intentional commentary on how easily public opinion flips and how collective rage can both destroy and redeem, depending on who controls the narrative?
KT: The mob in the film isn’t just a faceless antagonist, it shifts, it turns, and it reflects something deeper about how collective emotion operates. At one moment, it’s driven by misinformation and rage, seeking justice. And at another, it becomes the very force that brings the truth to the surface. That tension was central to how we wanted to explore the fragility of public perception. But I want to be very clear: I don’t have answers to the problem of mob violence. I’m just an individual and a storyteller trying to make sense of the world through the lens available to me. It would feel presumptuous to suggest solutions to something so complex and systemic. What I do know is that mobs aren’t inherently evil or purely violent. They’ve also been part of peaceful revolutions, of collective justice, of historic change. That potential—for both destruction and redemption was something we wanted to hold space for. So yes, the ambivalence was the point.
GD: The mob attacks are happening because of lack of trust in the system. So, yes, when the mob feels that their babies are being taken away, they try to catch the people who they think might have taken their baby. And when a different crowd realizes that this one person is actually trying to find and help find a baby, then they help that same crowd help the people. So there is some wisdom in the crowd, which, otherwise they don't have. And the reason why they get angry is because so many babies are getting kidnapped or abducted, and nobody's doing anything about it. So they take things in their own hands when there is nobody else to help them. So, yes, it's a faceless mob, they are not villains. They are victims of circumstance and loss of trust.
The film is a thriller that is also a social dramedy touching on class divides, child trafficking, and mob mentality. Did the gravity of these themes feel like a responsibility while writing or directing? Was there ever a moment where the weight of the message threatened to override the storytelling especially when it came to the film’s somewhat hopeful ending, which stands in contrast to the grim reality of life?
KT: Yes, the gravity of the themes was always present but it never felt like a burden. We went through many rounds of writing and rewriting, constantly refining the balance between tone and substance. But at the heart of it, I’ve always believed that life is hopeful and beautiful. It’s not just grim. And that worldview inevitably shaped the way we approached the story, including the ending. I never set out to deliver a message or make a statement. I wanted to tell a story about characters caught in a high-stakes, emotionally charged situation, something engaging, unpredictable, and human. The politics are inherent in the world they occupy; they don’t need to be spelled out or preached. When class divides or mob mentality or child trafficking show up in the film, they do so as part of the fabric of the story, not as a layer added on top. There were definitely moments where we had to ask ourselves: are we doing justice to the complexity of these issues without losing the pulse of the thriller, or the emotional core of the characters? But I think storytelling has room for both clarity and contradiction. The hopeful ending wasn’t about simplifying reality, it was about holding on to the possibility of change, even in the face of everything that says otherwise.
GD: We created the film in a manner that the characters are at the intersection of this class divide, child trafficking, mob mentality and other issues that exist. They were never the subject of the film. They were something that the characters dealt with, the decisions and the choices they made, you know, showed their character. We never even thought about these themes as themes. We situated the conflict within this world. So there was no weight. We knew that when they deal with this world, they will have to come up with choices, and the choices they made defined who they were as people.
There’s a thread of dark humour that runs through the film. It’s subtle but unmistakable. Was this an intentional stylistic choice to make the film more accessible, or do you guys feel that real life is often so absurd and tragic that humour naturally creeps in? Is helping someone today, in a world like this, the ultimate tragedy a person can suffer?
KT: Yes, the dark humour was very much intentional. But it’s not something we had to impose on the story, it organically emerged from the situations and the characters themselves. That tension between horror and humour, grief and laughter, is something we all live with. People find themselves in surreal situations that are both terrifying and strangely comic. That’s life, and we wanted the film to reflect that. I don’t believe that helping someone in a world like this is the ultimate tragedy. It’s hard, yes. And sometimes it comes at a cost. But to care, to act, to reach out that’s still one of the most human things we can do. The film acknowledges how messy and compromised things can get, it doesn’t see compassion as a tragic flaw. It sees it as necessary.
GD: Dark humour was a choice to make the film more accessible, but there is a lot more to it than that, there is comedy, there is humor in when life is going downhill, too, and we wanted to reflect that. Of course, we wanted it to be more approachable but it was something that we feel like happens, even when there is a tragic time.
Despite its strong film festival run, the film took a while to reach a wider audience and only did so after major filmmakers came on board as executive producers. Why do you think this happens? Is it an industry blind spot, or do audiences also share some responsibility for not championing such stories? And finally, as producers and filmmakers committed to telling these stories, what kind of support do you think is most urgently needed to bring such narratives to light, especially for audiences more prone to becoming the mob than questioning it?
KT: Stolen has had a really blessed journey, we premiered at nearly 40 festivals across every continent, and the response was deeply encouraging. On its third day on Prime, we were number one in 8 or 9 countries worldwide. So I can’t say we lacked visibility, and I honestly have no complaints. But I do recognize the question behind the question and yes, the fact that certain films only gain wider traction after they're endorsed by more prominent voices is something that reflects both industry dynamics and audience behavior. The support we got from established filmmakers was a turning point, but the film itself hadn’t changed. What shifted was perception and that’s something worth thinking about. As filmmakers, we do our best to make the most honest work we can. But we also need ecosystems- festivals, critics, platforms, audiences that are willing to take risks earlier, and not wait for someone else to vouch for the story. What we need most urgently is faith in stories that challenge, provoke, or come from the margins. And maybe a little patience too. Because sometimes, the stories that matter most are the ones that take a little longer to find their way into the light.
GD: The major filmmakers came on board after we had the deal with Amazon. They came on board to market and champion the film. The industry was down in 2023 and 24 in fact, 2024 was the worst year for the film industry across the world. So nobody was buying. You just have to make a good film and have elements of film business ingrained in your material, and that's how you will get a good story. Of course, the situation of the film industry is pretty grim even now, but yes, it is an industry blind spot for sure.
Stolen is currently streaming on Amazon Prime Video!
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