The Verisimilitude Problem in ‘Jigra’-OxBig News Network

Ever watched a film and thought, “Wait — why would anyone do that?” That’s not a logic flaw — it’s a verisimilitude problem. You stop believing in the world on screen, and once that trust is broken, the film falters.

Jigra, our case study for this fortnight, opens with a quiet family moment: a father apologises to his young daughter, then calmly steps off a balcony in front of her and her brother. It’s a moment of stark poetry, but it also yanks the audience straight out of the story. The question isn’t “Is this realistic?” but “Does this feel true to the film’s world?”

What is verisimilitude? Verisimilitude means “truth-like,” and it’s all about internal consistency, not documentary realism. Cultural verisimilitude aligns with genre conventions, cultural norms and audience expectations, while formal verisimilitude honours the rules the film itself establishes. Verisimilitude helps us identify with characters without scepticism. For the audience to trust a protagonist, they must know who she truly is — very early on. Break these rules, and viewers simply stop caring.

Perfect examples include Satya, which feels like Mumbai itself; Masaan, which captures raw emotion in a single stolen glance; Animal, which commits fully to its toxic-alpha fantasy and never wavers; The Usual Suspects, which plants every clue so Keyser Söze’s twist lands flawlessly; and even Superman, whose one consistent weakness — Kryptonite — keeps us grounded in a world of the impossible.

Case Study: ‘Jigra’

The world-building in Jigra’s first minutes leaves us with a host of questions. Why would a father kill himself in front of his children and scar them for life? How is Satya coping with this trauma? Has she had help? Shouldn’t the story explore her shattered psyche or the aftermath? Or if that’s not the story, why begin with it?

The seamless transition between the world-building and its dormant relationship with the core conflict defines verisimilitude: the fabric of carefully constructed reality that holds the film together.

Yet none of these questions are answered. We move instead into a fictional nation with draconian drug laws and a sister-on-a-mission plot, leaving us stranded outside the story.

Prescription:

Seeding the “knife” comes from David Mamet’s ‘Three Uses of the Knife,‘ which borrows Lead Belly’s metaphor: “You take a knife, you use it to cut the bread, so you’ll have strength to work; you use it to shave, so you’ll look nice for your lover; on discovering her with another, you use it to cut out her lying heart.”

In Act 1, the knife is a functional everyday tool. In Act 2, you improvise with it, and it becomes versatile. In Act 3, it’s unleashed as a weapon.

If Satya is to become an agent of chaos, her transformation — the call to adventure — must be seeded early. Do we see her resisting it or refusing it? Where do her skills come from? From her ordinary life in Act 1, to improvising in Act 2, to breaking out in Act 3. Without that gradual “Joker-graph” of change, her sudden all-guns-blazing finale feels tacked on.

Realism isn’t the goal. Verisimilitude is. Tarantino’s films aren’t true to life, but they’re unwaveringly consistent. Manmohan Desai’s pulp fantasies embrace comic-book logic from the first frame. Jigra tries to be grounded, then leaps into implausibility — and that’s why audiences check out.

Screenwriting 101: Writing exercise

For a quick writing exercise, draft a three-scene arc where a character evolves from passive to violent. In scene 1, establish the emotional trigger. In scene 2, show the pivotal choice. In scene 3, justify the outburst. Ask yourself whether the transformation feels both surprising and inevitable.

Next time you write a script, don’t ask “Is this realistic?” Ask, “Is this real to the world I’ve created?” Because once the audience stops believing, they stop caring.