Writer-director Tigmanshu Dhulia’s Paan Singh Tomar has the quiet, single-minded determination of Joey from War Horse, even Nagesh Kukunoor’s Iqbal to some degree, and he has Phoolan Devi’s writhing anger. But Dhulia’s biopic of the fauji-turned-baagi doesn’t scream out for attention as Shekhar Kapur’s Bandit Queen did. Paan Singh Tomar is not desperate for attention. It’s quite confident that it’s the bee’s knees. It is.

One, because it is directed by Dhulia, and two, because it has the full attention and brilliance of Irrfan Khan. Biopics are tough. The scrutiny is often minute and harsh. People disagree with this scene or that fact. There’s often accusation of deliberate omissions, of glossing over stuff and romanticising. I don’t know how true to fact Dhulia’s Paan Singh Tomar is, but that’s not my concern here.

Dearly beloved, I am here to admire the work of a director and an actor who have delivered a film whose each frame is carefully crafted, details are thought through, dialogue are delightfully pungent with rustic flavour and the tiniest of characters have been created and cast with the skill of an auteur.

Paan Singh Tomar’s story is like that of several other dacoits we’ve met in newspapers or on screen. But his life’s story is made even more compelling because of who he was and why he became what he did. It’s shocking but doesn’t ring false for a second. Paan Singh Tomar is set in a landscape that is like god’s gift for angry, twitchy men. Only this expansive, gruff landscape seems capable of containing their violence and isolation. It’s thirsty and greedily drinks up every drop of blood that is spilled.

But Dhulia doesn’t turn his fauji-turned-sportsman-turned-dacoit into a messianic hero. Though his loyalties are entirely with Paan Singh, and the film is dedicated to India’s unsung sports heroes, we get glimpses of Paan Singh’s brutality, loneliness and the obstinate streak that finally got him killed.

Dhulia’s direction is not gimmicky. It’s marked by a quite certitude that’s rare. He doesn’t compromise, and, frankly, he doesn’t need to. There’s quiet genius at work here, and it shows in every scene, every frame, every character. The film is full of lovely scenes and details — like the happy birthday mujra scene, Nargis Dutt’s death being announced on the radio — but Dhulia doesn’t dwell on them. That is part of his gift, knowing when to return to storytelling.

His film scores on several counts, including its unending line of gifted supporting actors, who keep coming, as if old residents of the villages, thanas and towns we visit. They are brought to life by delightful dialogue that belong to the world the film inhabits.

Mahie Gill, when she’s around, ups the temperature by at least five degrees. And if the doors are locked, by 10 degrees. But she’s not the centerpiece here. Paan Singh Tomar is. Irrfan Khan can play anything, and the meatier the material, the better he gets. Here his character is filled out and embellished with delightful details and quirks. He is a straight, firm and simple farmer. He is also a natural athlete who doesn’t take his accomplishments too seriously.

He is also a clever, ruthless and superstitious dacoit. Irrfan has lots to play with here — there’s the track he has to run on and win, at home he has Mahie Gill to chase and smother, and in beehar he has a gang of volatile men to keep in line. Though there’s a lot happening around him thoughout the film, it’s impossible to take your eyes off him. Add to that his quick, gruff dialogue delivery. Muah.