Small-town realism may have been Bhumi Pednekar’s calling card—most of her film roles have been of the small-town girl—but her latest Prime Video series Daldal signals a shift in scale and swagger. As the youngest officer to head the Mumbai Crime Branch, she commands the screen in a role driven by authority, pressure, and moral complexity. In this conversation, Pednekar reflects on her decade-long career, which she likes to call an ‘evolution’, her growing appetite for ambiguity, and why she gravitates toward women who are negotiating systems.
Daldal looks like a conscious move into darker, more interior storytelling. What was it about this character or this world that made you feel this was the right choice for you at this moment?
It felt like the natural next step in my journey. I’ve always been drawn to stories that interrogate society or human behaviour, but Daldal goes inward in a way I hadn’t explored before. Rita lives in silence, in unresolved trauma, in moral ambiguity. The world of the show is bleak, uncomfortable, and psychologically demanding, and that discomfort excited me. At this stage, I’m hungry for characters that don’t explain themselves, that trust the audience, and that force me to unlearn my own habits as a performer. Daldal did all of that.
Do you find yourself being more instinctive or more deliberate about the work you’re saying yes to—and what does “the right project” look like to you now?
Both, but with far more intention than before. Instinct draws me to a script; deliberation makes me say yes. The right project today has to challenge me, scare me a little, and leave space for complexity. I am less interested in comfort and repetition. I want directors who are clear about their world, writers who respect ambiguity, and characters with contradictions rather than neat arcs.
From Dum Laga Ke Haisha to projects that explore power, privilege, and moral ambiguity, how do you look back at your filmography? Do you see a pattern or reinvention?
I see evolution more than reinvention. There’s a line of women in my work who resist being simplified, whether it was an ordinary bride in Dum Laga Ke Haisha or characters shaped by social structures, privilege, or power. The scale of the cinematic worlds may have changed, but the curiosity about people hasn’t. If there’s a pattern, it’s that I gravitate toward women who are negotiating systems, class, gender, morality and trying to survive within them.
You’ve played women rooted in realism, who carry societal weight, and now those who inhabit elite spaces. Are you trying to break the idea of being boxed into one kind of “meaningful cinema”?
I don’t want meaningful to become a box. Real people exist across genres, classes, and moral spectrums, and I want to explore all of that. Playing someone elite, morally ambiguous, or deeply flawed is as meaningful to me as playing someone grounded in social realism. What matters is whether the character is honestly written, not where she sits on a moral pedestal.
What are the stories or characters you feel you haven’t been offered yet, but are actively hoping to find?
I would love to play something wildly unfamiliar, a woman who is playful, chaotic, and even dangerous in a different way. Maybe someone operating in the world of finance or politics, or a historical figure who hasn’t been softened for cinema. I am also very drawn to female friendships and rivalries stories that explore intimacy between women without centring men.
The industry today is balancing spectacle, star-led narratives, and more nuanced storytelling. Where do you see yourself fitting into this evolving ecosystem—and what do you want to protect about your choices as an actor?
We’re in a moment where scale and nuance are coexisting. I want to move fluidly between big canvas stories and intimate character studies. What I want to protect is my ability to take risks to choose discomfort, complexity, and directors who are trying to say something honest.