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Movie Review: Baramulla (2025)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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The dread in Baramulla builds slowly. It has nothing to do with the missing children or the creepy house filled with strange noises and shadowy figures. By the time an onscreen dedication rolls after the climax, one’s worst fears are confirmed: the goal of this film isn’t to tell an interesting story but to push an agenda.

Baramulla takes place in the titular city in Jammu and Kashmir in 2016. Controversial Deputy Superintendent of Police Ridwaan Sayyed (Manav Kaul) is transferred to the town after some yet-unspecified negative experience necessitated a change of scenery. He arrives with his wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli), teenage daughter Noorie (Arista Mehta), and young son Ayaan (Singh Rohaan).

The house they’re put up in is spooky as all get out, with furnishings unchanged for decades. It’s massive, with two decaying wings on either side of the main building the family occupies. From the moment they arrive, everyone but Ridwaan hears unsettling sounds, sees eerie shadows, and smells weird smells that can’t be explained.

Ridwaan is too busy with work to pay attention to his family. A boy named Shoaib disappeared during a magic show at a carnival. The cops and the boy’s father — a former politician with plenty of enemies — would prefer to blame the magician, but Ridwaan isn’t convinced. No one has sent a ransom demand, and a lock of Shoaib’s hair was found in the magician’s “disappearing” trunk. If the mage had given the boy a haircut mid-performance, there would’ve been dozens of witnesses.

Ridwaan has worked in Jammu and Kashmir long enough to appreciate the factors complicating his investigation. Politics are fraught, there are militants about, and absolutely everyone distrusts the police. But it takes more disappearances and unusual occurrences for him to accept that his perpetrator could be undead.

The setup is compelling but it isn’t sufficiently fleshed out. The taciturn characters are indistinct. Ridwaan and Noorie are supposedly in a major tiff that predates their move to Baramulla, but it doesn’t feel any different from typical teenage drama. Yet when it’s revealed what led to the frosty father-daughter relationship, it’s so terrible that it makes the characters relatively blasé behavior look bizarre in retrospect.

Director Aditya Suhas Jambhale (Article 370) — who co-wrote the film with his Article 370 producer Aditya Dhar — glosses over relationships and eschews character development. Those foundational storytelling elements are secondary to the mission: making ragebait.

Global viewers who aren’t familiar with the history of the region won’t get a lot of context from Baramulla. The film was clearly written around the post-climax on-screen dedication (which I won’t quote so as to not spoil the film). There’s nothing new about using real-world tragedy as inspiration, but Jambhale and Dhar seem to think that just doing so is enough, regardless of how well it’s integrated into the present-day story they’re telling.

The laxness about the present-day storyline is most evident in the rules governing the supernatural in Baramulla, or lack thereof. Ghosts in stories are often tied to specific locations or individuals. In Baramulla, they can be anywhere — not for any world-building reasons, but simply for plot convenience.

The climax also reinforces a pernicious thread within the film: the idea that Muslim children are all potential militants and therefore not to be trusted. Further, despite their still-developing brains, Muslim children are to be held to the same (if not higher) moral standards as adults. They are not considered victims of radicalization but equal participants.

I feel like I write this a lot, but Baramulla has all the components of a good movie. Shown through a different perspective by someone with more experience with the genre, this could’ve made a powerful emotional impact. As it is, all I can be is disappointed.

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Movie Review: War 2 (2025)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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It was always going to be hard for a sequel to reach the heights attained by War in 2019, but War 2 crashes hard.

Years after the original, India’s best soldier — well, one of India’s best, given that the War films are part of the Yash Raj Films Spy Universe of movies — Kabir (Hrithik Roshan) has left India’s R&AW spy agency and works as a mercenary. Kabir’s swoony intro in the original film is the stuff of legend, so how does he make his first appearance in the sequel?

By staring down a clunky-looking CGI wolf.

The scene somehow gets worse as Kabir faces off against a bunch of ninjas in a Japanese castle. Unlike Khalid’s (Tiger Shroff) tightly choreographed, dynamic opening fight scene in War, Kabir dodges swords in slow motion. He punches and chops dozens of helpless dopes with rapid edits between shots. There’s no sense of flow to the fight since we rarely see Kabir execute more than two moves in sequence.

Kabir’s assassination of a Japanese mob boss catches the eye of a syndicate known as Kali. Made up of wealthy representatives from India and its neighboring countries, the group wants to end democracy and take over the region — and they want Kabir to help them.

Of course this was all part of Kabir’s plan to infiltrate them, coordinated by his mentor from the original film Colonel Luthra (Ashutosh Rana). What they didn’t expect was that Kali would force Kabir to kill Luthra to prove his loyalty. Kabir does, just days after Luthra’s daughter Kavya (Kiara Advani) is awarded a medal from the Air Force for bravery as a combat pilot.

Colonel Vikrant Kaul (Anil Kapoor) takes over Luthra’s post as the head of R&AW. He grudgingly lets Kavya in on the hunt for Kabir, but he’s got an ace up his sleeve — a rogue soldier named Vikram (NTR Jr) who’s Kabir’s equal in skill and tenacity.

The Indian spies track Kabir to Spain, where he’s meeting his adopted teenage daughter Ruhi (Arista Mehta). The girl exists purely to call back to the first film and set up an action sequence. In grand Bollywood tradition, she is never mentioned again.

The Spain action sequence is inspired very, very heavily by Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part One. Instead of Tom Cruise and Haley Atwell in a Fiat careening through the streets of Rome chased by Pom Klementieff in an armored vehicle, we get Kabir and Ruhi in a Mini Cooper pursued through Salamanca by Vikram in a Humvee. The duo’s little car bounces down a bunch of stairs and eventually winds up on top of a speeding train about to crash — another sequence from the same Mission: Impossible movie.

There are plenty more plot parallels with the first War movie to come, with twists, betrayals, and secret relationships from the past. Kabir has his requisite dance sequences with both Vikram and Kavya (undeniably the best parts of the film). The whole thing ends with a fight in an ice cave, just like the original War did.

War 2 collapses under the immense pressure on it to be new and fresh while also being the same as War. The absence of Siddharth Anand — who directed War and co-wrote both the screenplay and the story — from War 2 makes it clear just how responsible he was for the first film’s success. Aditya Chopra is again credited for creating the sequel’s story, Shridhar Raghavan returns as screenwriter, and Abbas Tyrewala is once more responsible for the writing the dialogues. The continuity they bring is evident, but there’s no life in the sequel.

The new kid in town is Ayan Mukerji in the director’s seat. He earned his spot by directing the big-budget supernatural action spectacle Brahmāstra Part One – Shiva, but that was a passion project of his own creation. Here he connects all the dots, but the film lacks sparks — except for those created when Vikram inexplicably competes in a Formula 1 auto race in a powerboat.

All of the actors are fine, but that’s it. They’re all better than this.

War 2 is just too silly for its own good. No one person is solely responsible for its failure. Rather, it’s the product of a bunch of talented people turning in subpar work on a project too expensive and high-profile to warrant anything less than their best.

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Movie Review: Be Happy (2025)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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The problem with writer-director Remo D’Souza’s Be Happy is that he doesn’t trust his audience to connect emotionally with his characters.

That shouldn’t be a concern in this father-daughter story. Humans have evolved to feel protective of children, so the second cute kid Dhara (Inayat Verma) shows up, we’re ready to care about her.

Dhara’s an elementary schooler who taught herself to dance by watching videos of celebrity choreographer Maggie (Nora Fatehi). Dhara and her maternal grandfather Nadar (Nassar) binge dance competition shows in the Ooty home they share with Dhara’s father Shiv (Abhishek Bachchan).

It’s been eight years since Dhara’s mother Rohini (Harleen Sethi) died. In that time, Shiv has handled the bulk of the parenting responsibilities, yet he is constantly surprised by things that happen in Dhara’s life. She wins her school’s dance competition, the prize for which is a spot at Maggie’s dance academy in Mumbai. This prize is news to Shiv, who barely seems aware of how important dancing is to Dhara. He refuses the offer, insulting Maggie in the process.

All of the ups and downs Dhara experiences are punctuated with a heavy-handed musical score that practically shouts the little girl’s emotional state at the audience. Verma is a capable young actor — she and Bachchan previously shared a subplot in the Netflix movie Ludo — so it’s not like she needs the help. I suspect anyone who doesn’t feel sad when a kid feels sad or happy when they feel happy isn’t paying attention in the first place.

Shiv relents, and he and Dhara make a temporary move to Mumbai. Under Maggie’s tutelage, Dhara earns a spot in a TV dance competition for kids. She advances to the round where the young dancers are supposed to perform a number with a family member, a development which once again catches Shiv by surprise.

This father-daughter dance is one of the few performances for which we are shown the choreography process, wherein beautiful Maggie teaches stiff Shiv to loosen up. Otherwise, the performance rounds are shown one right after the other, making it seem as though Dhara and Maggie’s other young student dancer Prem (Sanchit Chanana) are coming up with their routines on the fly. Showing them learn and struggle through the choreography process is a missed opportunity for character development.

But that gets to one of the film’s other big problems: it’s not really about Dhara, even if she is the one driving the action. Her character development is limited because Be Happy is really about Shiv’s need to move on from his wife’s death. There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, but centering the male lead actor is predictable. Just because Bachchan is the most famous cast member doesn’t mean he’s the only one able to play a character we can empathize with.

Reducing Dhara to a prop in order to center Shiv doesn’t even pay off. The little girl helps to foster a romantic relationship between her father and Maggie, but Bachchan and Fatehi have zero chemistry. If there’s any science in their subplot, it’s mortuary science.

Be Happy might be D’Souza’s safest, most disappointing movie yet. He made better dance films with his ABCD series, and even A Flying Jatt had more to say about parent-child relationships than this. There’s little to be happy about here.

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Movie Review: Hisaab Barabar (2025)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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Rarely do you find a feature film where one of the complaints is: “I wish there was more math.” Hisaab Barabar (“Settle Accounts“) has some arithmetic highlights in an otherwise corny social issue drama.

R. Madhavan stars as Radhe Mohan Sharma, an upstanding railway ticket collector. He stopped studying accounting when his father died, and then took over Dad’s job to support the family. He gets some small satisfaction teaching basic math to the vendors on the train platform.

While checking his statement from Do Bank, Radhe notices his account is short 27.5 rupees (about $0.30). The amount isn’t significant, but he demands a correction from the bank on principle. As he explains in one of his impromptu platform tutorials, 27.5 multiplied by millions is substantial.

Radhe becomes suspicious when a passenger leaves his Do Bank statement on the train, and a similarly minuscule amount is missing. One of his coworker’s accounts is also short. Radhe realizes he may have uncovered a huge conspiracy.

The highlight of the movie, oddly enough, is a scene in a mall food court where Radhe explains to his co-workers how banks calculate interest based on an account’s current balance and why the shortfall matters. He writes his equations on a window with (hopefully!) erasable marker. It’s really interesting, and the film does a fine job making the accounting understandable.

The audience already knows Radhe is right, because the movie’s opening scene confirms it. At a tacky party with horrible dancing, Do Bank owner Micky Mehta (Neil Nitin Mukesh) openly discusses amassing a fortune from his customers one stray rupee at a time with a corrupt government official named Dayal (Manu Rishi). Mehta keeps his piles of pilfered bills in a warehouse freezer, hidden from regulatory oversight.

After Radhe files a formal complaint with the police department, writer-director Ashwni Dhir over-complicates the story. Mehta uses his connections to muddle the investigation and harass Radhe and his young son Manu (Shaunak Duggal). The police officer assigned to investigate the complaint happens to be Radhe’s new girlfriend Poonam (Kirti Kulhari), whom he apparently didn’t know was a cop. For some reason, Poonam doesn’t recuse herself from the case, even when she’s pressured to charge Radhe himself with some kind of crime. Could she be holding a fifteen-year-old grudge because she and Radhe were paired by a matchmaker, but he rejected her because her math grades weren’t good enough (another thing Radhe has no idea about)?

The tone of Hisaab Barabar vacillates between goofy and sinister. A slapstick brawl between bank employees exists alongside Poonam’s superior officer warning her to do what he says, lest something nasty happen to her when she takes the train alone at night.

Ultimately, the balance tilts toward goofiness, but I don’t think that was intentional. It’s all due to Neil Nitin Mukesh giving the most absurd performance of his career as the scheming bank owner. He sings the Do Bank jingle before having his goons nab Manu, and he dances awkwardly with his housekeepers in his mansion. Every line is over-emoted. Mehta’s style and mannerisms are like an out-of-touch boomer’s idea of cool, but Mukesh is only 43.

Mukesh isn’t the only one off his game. Madhavan’s performance as Radhe is mostly flat, but he has this weird half-collapsing, half-retching reaction to a surprising death that is so bizarre as to be laugh-out-loud funny. Kulhari is mostly normal as Poonam, but her character doesn’t make much sense.

Hisaab Barabar‘s point about not letting seemingly small amounts of corruption slide is nuanced and important, but the drama around it just doesn’t add up.

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Movie Review: Fighter (2024)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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Fighter is just what you’d imagine when you think of a Bollywood version of Top Gun. The predictable action flick about a reckless jet pilot is mostly fine until an aggressively patriotic climax that veers into jingoism.

Hrithik Roshan stars as Shamsher “Patty” Pathania, ace pilot among the Indian Air Force’s “Air Dragons” squadron. Fighter director Siddharth Anand also directed Roshan in the action flick War, the highlight of which was Roshan’s character’s epic entry scene. Anand tries to give Roshan a similar introduction in Fighter, but it feels derivative.

The Air Dragons team includes fellow jet pilots Taj (Karan Singh Grover) and Bash (Akshay Oberoi), and also helicopter pilots like Minal “Minni” Rathore (Deepika Padukone). All of the other male pilots are married or have facial hair, so obviously Minni and Patty will fall in love.

Commanding Officer Rakesh “Rocky” Jaisingh (Anil Kapoor) thinks Patty takes dangerous risks, but the force needs all the help they can get to combat a rising wave of terrorism in Kashmir (the film is set in 2018, before Article 370 was revoked). The squad’s training is interrupted when a terror blast takes out several buses full of Indian soldiers on their way to the region.

If you’ve seen either of the Top Gun movies, you can more or less guess where Fighter is going. The Air Dragons retaliate for the explosion, and Taj and Bash are shot down by Pakistan’s ace pilot: “Red Nose.” (They just had to give him a stupid call sign.) Rocky blames Patty, demoting him and shipping him off to be a flight instructor. But when a recovery mission goes sideways, Patty returns to (hopefully) save the day.

The story is serviceable enough. The actors generally give decent performances, despite Anand’s preference for heavy-handed sentimentality. Padukone and Roshan are at their best in a scene where Patty packs following his demotion, leaving not just the Air Dragons behind but Minni as well.

But Fighter is a movie that says one thing and does another. Characters speak broadly about the Indian public and the military fraternity at large, but every plot point is directly connected to Patty or Minni by either romantic or familial connections. Note that Patty only plots revenge against Pakistan for his dead fiancée — another helicopter pilot (he has a type) — not for any of the other Indian soldiers killed in action that he doesn’t know personally.

Patty states repeatedly that the Indian military has nothing against Pakistan as a country, only against terrorists working within its borders. But the movie immediately follows Patty’s speech with a scene of terrorist mastermind Azhar (Rishabh Sawhney) marching into the offices of the Pakistani military and giving orders. Multiple times, the Pakistani government is depicted to be collaborating with, or controlled by, terrorists.

Fighter‘s militant brand of patriotism takes an extreme turn in the climax (which is full of ambitious but silly stunts and corny closeups). Patty claims that India is the rightful owner of all of Kashmir, and he promises that soon Pakistan will be known as “India-Occupied Pakistan.” Ending what should have been a feel-good movie with what amounts to a declaration of war needlessly pushes this triumphant moment into a dark place.

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Movie Review: Do Patti (2024)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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I’m no expert on the Indian legal system, but I’m 99% certain the events of Do Patti (“Two Cards”) could not play out the way they do in the movie.

The Netflix Original film is Kriti Sanon’s first venture as a producer, and she chose a project in which she plays a double role as identical twins Saumya and Shailee Pundir. You can tell them apart because “good” twin Saumya dresses conservatively while “bad” twin Shailee wears shorts.

The relationship between the girls has been fraught since their mother’s death when they were five. Saumya became anxious and depressed, requiring more attention from the family’s housekeeper Maaji (Tanvi Azmi). Shailee felt ignored and acted out, so their dad sent her away to boarding school. Shailee stayed away even after Dad died a few years later.

Now, as adults, shorts-wearing Shailee is determined not to let Saumya win again. When Saumya lands handsome, adventurous boyfriend Dhruv (Shaheer Sheikh), Shailee seduces him. Her efforts are thwarted when Dhruv’s rich dad threatens to cut him off if he doesn’t drop the party girl and marry someone more domestically inclined, like Saumya.

This family history is told by Maaji to Inspector VJ (Kajol), who functions as the film’s rickety narrative scaffolding. VJ is the new cop in a touristy hill town, and she’s introduced with dopey music as she and her subordinate Katoch (Brijendra Kala) argue over who’s supposed to check the fuse box when the lights go out. We get a voiceover as VJ rides her motorcycle, thinking about the differences between her “letter of the law” father and her “spirit of the law” mother.

This ethical conflict comes to bear later when Saumya accuses Dhruv of trying to kill her while they are paragliding. VJ has seen the bruises on Saumya’s face and encouraged her to report him for domestic violence before. So when Saumya is finally ready, VJ jumps at the chance to represent her in court. She’s not just a cop! She’s also a lawyer!

There’s no reason for VJ to be both investigator and attorney, other than to give Kajol more screentime. It feels gimmicky and old-fashioned, which I suppose fits with the goofball cop treatment her character gets early on. But something about the tone feels off, especially since director Shashanka Chaturvedi and writer Kanika Dhillon want to be seen as taking the issue of domestic violence seriously. Some of Dhruv’s abuse is shown in detail, and statistics at the end of the film highlight how widespread the issue is globally.

Those statistics come after a finale that is so silly that it undermines any salient points the film tries to make. The courtroom scene plays out in a way that I’m confident no Indian judge would ever allow. The corny way it tries to guide audience emotions feels outdated, and not in a nostalgic way. It’s just messy.

Dhillon’s Haseen Dillruba films for Netflix are more outlandish than Do Patti — which she co-produced — but feel more tonally consistent. Though Sanon acquits herself well in front of the camera, I wish her first turn as a producer would have been on a film with a stronger screenplay.

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Series Review: Citadel – Honey Bunny (2024)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Citadel: Honey Bunny on Amazon Prime

A streaming franchise with multiple international spin-offs is intriguing in theory, but not so much in practice, at least in the case of Citadel: Honey Bunny. There’s barely enough material in the new Indian spin-off to support a feature-length film, let alone a six-episode series with a nearly five-hour runtime.

Citadel: Honey Bunny is a prequel to the original series created by the Russo brothers and an origin story for Priyanka Chopra Jonas’s character. Surprisingly, Chopra Jonas doesn’t make a cameo at the beginning or end of Honey Bunny to make that connection explicit. Instead, the show creators count on you to remember her character’s name: Nadia.

This new series flashes back to India in 2000, where 7-year-old Nadia (Kashvi Majmundar) is on the run with her mother Honey (Samantha Ruth Prabhu). Honey is a former spy waiting for her past to catch up with her, training Nadia to fight, hide, and run when the time comes.

Honey’s own entry into the world of espionage happened in 1992. With her Bollywood acting career floundering, a stuntman named Bunny (Varun Dhawan) hired her for an unorthodox gig: distract a rich guy in a hotel bar long enough for Bunny and his colleagues to grab something from his room. When Bunny’s crew fails, she offers to nab the item herself, and thus a spy is born.

That’s about where Episode 1 leaves off and the descent into boredom begins. Episodes 2 and 3 are primarily filler, cutting between the 1992 and 2000 timelines. Real forward momentum resumes in Episode 4, continuing a slow build until a very entertaining finale with some truly exciting action sequences.

It’s not just that little happens through the middle of the series. It’s that there’s nothing fun about it. The action scenes are forgettable, as are the settings. The 1992 timeline sends Honey & Bunny’s crew to Belgrade to recover a piece of all-powerful tech. Given the geographical, architectural, and cultural diversity within India itself, taking the action out of the country is a disappointing choice.

Worst of all, the acting is monotone from an impressive cast that — besides the two popular leads — includes Kay Kay Menon as Baba, head of Bunny’s spy organization; Saqib Saleem as Baba’s flunky KD; and Sikander Kher as the rival spy Shaan.

The most obvious explanation for the show’s flat tone is network interference, because the cast is much better than they are allowed to be (at least until the last couple of episodes). There’s a generic “OTT spy drama” feel to Honey Bunny, as if the cast and crew were shoved into a mold with no room for them to utilize their unique talents.

Same goes for Raj & DK, who directed the series and co-wrote it with Sita Menon. There’s little of their signature wit until very late in the proceedings. It feels like they created the show in reverse, making sure to end with a great finale but running out of time to flesh out the rest of the story. Subplots and character development points are introduced but not explored, despite long stretches where not much happens.

Another big reason why this isn’t Raj & DK’s best work is that the whole series is terribly lit. They rely on natural lighting that often leaves the actors in shadows or backlit. It’s frequently hard to make out character’s faces, even during pivotal emotional moments. I kept squinting at the screen, not that it helped.

The (probable) network-mandated homogenizing squashes a lot of what could have been good about the series — and a lot of what would have made it feel very Indian. Though the 1992 timeline starts on the set of a Bollywood film, the location is abandoned after the first episode in favor of the Belgrade jaunt. How fun might it have been to imagine rival spy agencies operating within a film industry that was the domain of organized crime at the time?

Then there’s the waste of talent. Especially given how slow and dull Citadel: Honey Bunny is through its midpoint, I can’t imagine it winning over many new fans who only watched because of the Citadel name. Will they be inspired to seek out any of the actors’ other projects? Will they watch Raj & DK’s other Amazon Prime series — Farzi and The Family Man — after this? I doubt it.

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Movie Review: Silence 2 (2024)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

Watch Silence 2 on Zee5

Silence 2: The Night Owl Bar Shootout leans into modern streaming video viewership habits. Every detail in this murder mystery is spelled out in such excruciating detail that you’d might as well be scrolling on your phone while you watch it. Full attention is not required.

Silence 2 is a sequel to the 2021 Zee5 Original Silence… Can You Hear It?. Familiarity with the first film isn’t required, as the sequel follows a new case, and the main characters’ personal lives are hardly mentioned.

Manoj Bajpayee plays ACP Avinash Verma, leader of Mumbai’s Special Crimes Unit (SCU) within the police force. Verma’s boss is aware of genre requirements and repeatedly threatens to disband the squad if they don’t produce results.

The SCU is assigned to investigate a mass shooting event at a dive bar. Verma’s first question is, “Did someone important die?” — as if the double-digit body count alone shouldn’t warrant his attention. Turns out a minister’s secretary is among the dead, and the minister fears it has something to do with a sensitive project he’s working on.

That’s a red herring. Verma and his crew — which includes Sanjana (Prachi Desai), Amit (Sahil Vaid), and Raj (Vaquar Shaikh) — quickly realize that the lone woman at the bar was the real target. She was an escort named Aazma (Surbhi Rohra). Soon enough, the squad is hot on the trail of human traffickers.

The crew exists in order to make every clue explicitly obvious. A coded message instructs someone to “Meet at Sam’s.” They narrow the search to a handful of buildings with names like Kaveri, Samruddhi, and Riddhi. Sanjana proudly connects the dots, “Samruddhi! SAM’S!”

Desai and the other actors playing squad members actually do a decent job delivering lines that require zero nuance. Same for Bajpayee, who gives a matter-of-fact performance. Parul Gulati — who plays a rich woman named Aarti — is the film’s unsung hero for managing to give a believable performance, when the material she’s given could’ve easily been interpreted in an over-the-top way.

That’s the mistake Dinker Sharma makes as cartoonishly theatrical business tycoon Arjun Chauhan. “Theatrical,” as in he wears a cape and holds a fake skull while reciting Hamlet’s “Poor Yorick” speech. Every moment he’s on screen is annoying.

Given that a few of the other supporting performances are hammy and irritating, too, Sharma might be doing exactly what writer-director Aban Bharucha Deohans wants. Regardless, this isn’t a film that any of the actors involved will want to emphasize on their highlight reels.

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Movie Review: Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya (2024)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

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Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya (“Got So Entangled in Your Words“) has the makings of a decent movie. What begins as a high-concept romantic comedy about a man in love with a robot takes an insane turn at the end. Not once does it address the logical ethical questions that must be asked of such a relationship.

Shahid Kapoor stars in Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Jiya (TBMAUJ, henceforth) as Aryan, a robotics engineer. His family is pressuring him to find a wife, but he’s more interested in his job. He takes after his single aunt Urmila (Dimple Kapadia), who runs a big engineering firm in the United States.

Urmila invites Aryan for a visit but is called away on an urgent business trip. She leaves him in the hands of her assistant Sifra (Kriti Sanon). Sifra is gorgeous, helpful, and clearly interested in Aryan. He thinks she’s perfect.

After day of flirtatious fun in the sun, the two sleep together. Urmila returns the next morning and drops the bomb on Aryan: Sifra is an incredibly lifelike robot. Urmila invited Aryan to test if Sifra could pass as human, and she did. Aryan was none the wiser, not even while having sex with her.

Angry as Aryan is at Urmila’s deception, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s developed feelings for Sifra. But who exactly is Sifra? She is programmed to read human emotions and respond appropriately, but she has no emotions of her own. Aryan loves her because she’s hot and will do exactly what he wants her to do whenever he wants.

Under the guise of conducting further research, Aryan convinces Urmila to ship Sifra to Delhi to meet his family and see if she can fool them, too. He doesn’t tell his aunt that he’s intending on marrying Sifra if she passes the test.

None of the stuff with his family is very funny. Situations that should spark extended comic sequences — such as when Sifra downloads a virus that erases her memory — are resolved in a matter of minutes. The robotic woman angle should be fertile ground for physical comedy, but that aspect is especially weak.

There are a bunch of ethical questions that needn’t be investigated thoroughly in a comedy but should at least be acknowledged. Sifra is programmed to do what anyone tells her, so where should the line be drawn as to what constitutes an acceptable command and who can issue it? Does she have bodily autonomy? Is it permissible to hit her? (This is plot relevant, sadly.)

Before the end of the story, Aryan will have to chose whether or not to commit to marrying a robot. The way in which he’s forced to do so is chaotic and ridiculous, and the dark turn doesn’t fit with the tenor of the film to that point. Then Janhvi Kapoor appears in an epilogue cameo that is somehow even crazier than the bizarre climax.

It’s a surprise that TBMAUJ winds up being as bad as it is given that it’s co-written and co-directed by Amit Joshi and Aradhana Shah, writers of the charming 2022 comedy Babli Bouncer. That film was thoughtful about the unconventional woman at the heart of its story, as opposed to treating Sifra’s womanhood (or approximation thereof) as immaterial. Babli Bouncer was also much funnier.

Shahid Kapoor and Kriti Sanon share good romantic chemistry and look hot together in the song “Akhiyaan Gulaab” (although the closing credits dance number is kind of a mess). Neither of them perform particularly well during the comedy bits, but that’s probably more of a writing issue since no one else in the film is funny, either. The story setup is so solid and accessible that it makes the sloppy execution extra disappointing.

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Movie Review: Country of Blind (2023)

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1.5 Stars (out of 4)

It’s fair to calibrate expectations for an independent film with a smaller budget, but Country of Blind‘s problems are not really an issue of limited finances — with one glaring exception.

Writer-director Rahhat Shah Kazmi’s update of H. G. Wells’s 1904 short story “The Country of the Blind” relocates the action from the mountains of Ecuador to the Himalayas. In ancient India, a narrated voice-over explains, a tribe of people fled a war to the safety of a hidden valley. Soon after they arrived, a mysterious illness caused the people to lose their sight and for babies to be born blind. An avalanche cut the valley off from access to the outside world, and the tribe was forgotten to history.

In the 18th century, Indian mountaineer Abhimanyu (Shoib Nikash Shah) leads his European friends up an unexplored peak. He slips and falls, tumbling all the way down to the hidden valley. With no equipment to climb back up the mountain, he heads into the valley to find a way out. There, he meets the descendants of that ancient tribe, who have been totally blind for generations.

Abhimanyu is quickly disabused of the notion that his ability to see will afford him special privileges among the tribe. He can’t even explain the concept of sight to them, since none of them have ever experienced it. Further, he’s so bad at adapting to their sightless ways of living that he’s treated like a clumsy child.

The tribe’s adaptations should be a highlight of the film, but the few that are shown are rudimentary or counterintuitive. They developed a system of paths made from different materials to convey meaning to the walker based on the texture (cool!), but the main path is made of round, grapefruit-sized cobbles that must be traversed slowly so as not to slip (huh?). Also, people in the valley work over open flames without tying back their long hair.

The only reason these dubiously safe scenarios can be used in the movie is because none of the actors in the main cast is blind (as far as I know). In long shots featuring lots of extras, it’s possible to spot some extras looking down at the uneven cobblestone path so as not to lose their footing.

While Abhimanyu is initially eager to return to civilization, he hesitates when he meets a beautiful woman named Gosha (Hina Khan). Of course, he really only likes her because of her looks, which are only important to him because he can see. Country of Blind explores this in an interesting way that ultimately turns the film into more of a parable than the original short story.

While the acting is generally pretty good, the actors aren’t responsible for relaying large portions of the story, which is instead delegated to the voice-over narrator. The compact plot is padded out with flashbacks to stuff that happened earlier in the film and shots of Abhimanyu just looking around. These aren’t problems of limited finances but of editing and screenplay organization.

The one place where the producers clearly cut corners is with the film’s English subtitles, which are riddled with misspellings and grammatical errors. Besides being distracting, they’re bad enough to be confusing at points. Any non-Hindi speakers interested in watching Country of Blind may want to wait to see the film is picked up by one of the major streaming services, who typically re-subtitle movies before putting them on their platforms.

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