Spoilers ahead…
In many ways, the film feels like a heartfelt throwback to the heydays of the Chopra-Johar-Barjatya sagas, i.e. the pre-‘Dil Chahta Hai’ era.
Note: This film review is based on an almost-complete cut seen on June 6. It had temp music, and post-production was still on. Some of the things I mention here may no longer be applicable, as there may have been re-edits, etc.
Due to this “feedback viewing”, I will not be reviewing this film (or any other film where I have provided services in terms of acting, scripting, etc.) in a professional capacity. But on my blog, yes.
About Ae Dil Hai Mushkil, I said it was a satisfying bridge between Hindi cinema and Bollywood. About Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahani, I’d say it’s a satisfying bridge between Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Anubhav Sinha, and it’s possessed by the spirit of Manmohan Desai. In other words, the film is a gentle, life-lesson-y family melodrama like Khoobsoorat, it’s a #woke-era drama like Thappad, and it all unfolds under the cover of a big, blingy circus tent where just about anything goes. There’s Karan’s now-patented mix of sincerity and self-aware winking, so even when you tear up, there’s a smile just around the corner. This is a very difficult tightrope-walk (or juggling act, if you will), and Karan and his writers (Ishita Moitra, Shashank Khaitan, Sumit Roy) may be the last bunch in Bollywood who still have this DNA.
The title promises a love story between Rocky (Ranveer Singh) and Rani (Alia Bhatt), so let’s first dive into that. Rocky is like the clothes we usually see Ranveer Singh in. He’s so out there that even when he’s standing still and not saying anything, his shoulders seem to be shaking and we seem to hear chants of “balle-balle“. Rani exists at the other end of the colour spectrum. (And I really mean it when I say colour spectrum: in one of the many hilariously OTT touches, Rocky’s eye-blinding clothes match the colour of the car he’s driving at the moment.) If Rocky is a cheerful Punjabi caricature, Rani is a genial Bengali stereotype. She comes from a cultured, super-progressive, non-patriarchal family that recites Rabindra Sangeet and possesses an intimidating knowledge of the English language.
Ranveer and Alia are fantastic, and they play off each other beautifully. Ranveer unleashes every watt of his innate nuclear-power-plant energy, and Alia does something very difficult. She expresses both our amusement of Rocky, as well as Rani’s genuine affection for this big, heart-on-sleeve, clown of a man she cannot believe she is falling for. Alia really balances out Ranveer, and Rani really balances out Rocky. Gradually, the romance turns into the story of the two families. As a perceptive line goes, the lovers may be the ones holding the steering wheel, but it’s the family that does the backseat driving. The screenplay introduces everyone – Rocky’s family and Rani’s – as stick-figure caricatures to laugh at, and over the course of the narrative, they all become affecting flesh-and-blood people, most of whom we end up caring about.
The second half turns into a dramedy of errors: will Rani fit into Rocky’s patriarchal (or matriarchal, given that a stern Jaya Bachchan lords over everything) household, and will Rocky ever understand Rani’s family? (He looks at a portrait and thinks that the old man with the beard is Rani’s grandfather. It’s actually Rabindranath freaking Tagore!) We know that Rani is a television news anchor with progressive and fiery political views: she once tore into an MCP politician over his remarks on rape. Like always, Karan’s world hat-tips a certain style of dialogue-writing. Rani says, “Nazar kharab aap ki aur purdah kare hum?” Another lovely line goes “Hunar ka koi gender nahin hota.” That rhyming of English and Hindi, “gender” and “hunar“, is so apt in a film that mixes not just cultures but also styles of filmmaking.
So we know that Rani will try to “fix” the issues among the various members of Rocky’s family. But the writing takes care to show the other side, too. Yes, to Rani, doing what you want is a no-brainer, but how can she expect Rocky’s mother (a closet singer) to change overnight? The woman’s rebuke to Rani feels so right: “It’s all very well to feed me your revolutionary ideas, but have you thought about how I am going to implement them without getting kicked out of this household?” And thanks to the bumbling Rocky, we see the other side. If Rani is the know-it-all crusader, Rocky is the know-nothing chump. And through him, the film does something very important. It voices something that many of us are confused about. If you are going to be quick to cancel people because they say the wrong things, then how will anyone learn? After all, we are products of decades of a certain kind of upbringing, so why not educate the unaware instead of mocking and judging them?
Rocky Aur Rani is a long film, and it took me some fifteen minutes to get in sync with its rhythms – but the running time is truly earned. Because change is slow. People’s attitudes and behaviours can be altered only incrementally, and almost everyone gets a convincing mini-arc of transformation – as opposed to someone changing after listening to one big speech. (And it’s also nice to be reminded that some people are so set in their ways that they are incapable of change.) The mini-arc of Rocky’s mother – set to “Aap jaisa koi” – is an utter heart-warmer, and her big scene in front of a television set, where she sings Waheeda Rehman’s song of freedom from Guide, is brilliant. And just like change takes time, forgiving people takes time, too. It’s not like someone can say sorry and be instantly forgiven for years of disrespect and misconduct. These gradual, delicate changes feel refreshing in a film that can also be so broad.
In many ways, watching Rocky Aur Rani (beautifully shot by Manush Nandan) feels like watching a heartfelt throwback to the heydays of the Chopra-Johar-Barjatya sagas, i.e. the pre-Dil Chahta Hai era. One of the bits of “education” happens in the film’s best scene in… I won’t tell you where. But the stretch is at once screamingly funny and a knowing riff on the culture-politics behind a song like “choli ke peechhe kya hai?” There’s another dazzling mix of comedy and drama, involving a car chase and a reconciliation. These scenes are so out there, and yet so organically integrated into a modern-day sensibility (and modern-day Hindi cinema). At a time so much of our cinema has turned into cynical, money-making “products”, it’s good to see something that feels hand-crafted and lovingly made with desi ghee, like the laddoo-s made by Rocky’s grandmother.
What doesn’t work? The Namit Das track, for one. He could have vanished from the film and I woukd not have missed him one bit. Shabana Azmi is lovely in this universe, but I felt her romantic angle with Dharmendra (which makes use of “Abhi na jao chhod kar“) could have been treated with more gravity. This relationship is the foundation for everything that follows and I would have liked to feel some of what they were feeling for one another – not just the superficial display of what looks like a senior-citizen version of puppy love. And I would have liked to feel what Rocky and Rani felt for each other, too. They seem to fall in love over one of Karan Johar’s favourite devices, a montage of old songs, but when such a playful trope is up front and centre, it’s hard to say if Rocky and Rani are “play-acting” (with a wink to the songs) or if their hugs and kisses are “real”.
The comic touches are fantastic in the messagey scenes. The jokes deflate the pomposity that always comes with on-screen messaging: we don’t get the sense of being lectured at. But when a big romantic scene begins with “Suno suno Miss Chatterjee“, it takes something away from the Big Romance of the moment. Similarly, the ending could have used a lot more heart-swelling, and a bit less of the joshing around – especially as it involves a reconciliation after a big fight. At least in the version I saw, the temp track was too on-the-nose. It was nudging the ribs a little too insistently. The music for this film is going to be a tricky affair. It’s going to have to sell the comedy as well as the drama without over- (or under-) selling both. I look forward to what Pritam does, though I must say that his songs are not instantly catchy, especially after the super album he composed for Ae Dil Hai Mushkil.
But there’s so much heart in this movie, so much to like. I loved that an older woman feels no guilt about cheating on her husband. I loved Rani’s extraordinarily simple rationalisation for falling for Rocky: “Kyon ki dil aa gaya beech mein.” The heart has spoken. The head no longer matters. I laughed out loud at the phrase “budhdhon ke Emraan Hashmi”, and laughed louder at the sight of Rocky in a very sedate black kurta. It’s a sight gag for the ages. I loved the “Dola re dola” scene, the small and intimate and mildly adversarial conversation between two career women over the act of laddoo-making, and the sight of two halves of a photograph coming together after generations. Most of all, I loved the fresh and fantastic cast, especially Tota Roy Chowdhury, Churni Ganguly, and Kshitee Jog. Nobody is perfect in Rocky Aur Rani, and that is exactly what makes this exuberant film feel so heartfelt and human.
Copyright ©2023 BARADWAJ RANGAN.