Bachchhan Paandey movie review: Akshay Kumar, Kriti Sanon film can’t replicate the Machiavellian spirit of the original-Entertainment News , Firstpost
Bachchhan Paandey tries to overcompensate for its lack of tonal loyalty to Jigarthanda by rushing through its key moments in the second half, hoping for the pace to make up for the punch — but it only feels like one last half-hearted attempt at redemption.
It is interesting that despite all the strides made in films of the last few years, the consensus remains that our mainstream cinema is still largely driven by the hero-figure, and the female stars still do not enjoy as much spotlight or attention as their male counterparts, both from the filmmakers or at the box office.
So when I came to know that Kriti Sanon plays one of the protagonists of Bachchhan Paandey, replacing a male filmmaker character from the original, it filled me with hope… And somehow, also dread. Watching Bachchhan Paandey, however, confirms one’s worst fears and prejudices about mainstream filmmakers, and remains an underwhelming experience because of the makers’ fear to stray away from their archaic beliefs about how a female protagonist should be.
Do not get me wrong, I tried my best to watch the film with a fresh perspective. But Bachchhan Paandey never lets me forget the original — by making such jarring changes and tweaks that remind you why Jigarthanda, the original, held itself so beautifully in the first place.
Surely, changing one of the male protagonists to a woman looks promising on paper, but it remains futile if you cannot dare to go all the away. I should have taken a hint from the way they titled the film — it is about Bachchhan Paandey, the villainous lead, and in effect — Akshay Kumar.
So we have a female protagonist here who is ambitious, has career goals of her own, and is technically the protagonist — and yet, she is as harmless as they come. As the film proves, our popular cinema still cannot imagine a morally ambiguous woman without a tragic past or wound, a woman who can beat a man at his own game, a woman who is purely selfish for her own selfish reasons.
This is where Bachchhan Paandey does a major disservice to the Machiavellian spirit of the original. Myra [Kriti Sanon] is an aspirant filmmaker, but not a particularly obsessive one. She is driven about finding a great story, but not to a point of narcissism or scary self-absorption. What the writer-director team does not realise is by making some minor tweaks to the filmmaker’s character, they rob the essence of the conceit — there are no red herrings anymore, only genuine tears.
It is not Akshay Kumar’s fault that the writers forgot the original idea — and he shines in several moments. The scenes built around the idea of cat-and-mouse shenanigans work, so do some of the moments where the tables are quietly turned between the timid filmmaker and his feared hero. And yet, Farhad Samji fails to capture the essence of the original — which was eventually about the clash of two unlikely equals. Bachchhan Paandey mellows down one of its protagonists a little too much for comfort, and refuses to push the envelope.
Sanon has obviously gotten better since the last couple of films, but Samji does not manage to tap her improved potential. How different does this remain from that story arc in Welcome then, where two harmless lovebirds convince a feared gangster to pursue his lost dream of acting? Where is the sinister energy lurking underneath?
There are some smart moments and decisions in the film, like the usage of retro songs which add a much-needed sense of lark to the narrative. [Hearing the iconic ‘Tadap Tadap Ke’ will never be the same again, and shall only remind me of Kaandi’s plight, not Salman Khan or his forlorn eyes]. However, the best bits that work are the ones that stay loyal to the original script, be it Kandi’s sprint to his house or the interval sequence that offers a major twist.
There are also some bewildering choices made on execution level, especially when it comes to the background score. The film keeps trying to tell us when to laugh and how much [and these sound effects come straight from the ’80s, I warn you]. To further underline its slapstick staleness, there are some lazy jokes built around burps and stammering as well. But the most cliched part is how writers Sajid Nadiadwala and Farhad Samji fail to resist the temptation of adding a gooey backstory to many of the primary characters, including the supposed-to-be-heinous Bachchhan Paandey himself, who gets a tiresome flashback detailing his past, his short-lived love-life, and the real antagonist of his life, which does not add anything to what we know of his evil [There is an elaborate love song shot with all the self-seriousness of an epic romance, sung by Arijit Singh and Shreya Ghoshal, no less].
In the midst of all of this, we have Dolly Thakore appearing as a scholarly figure who helps Myra with her research about her subject. But this is the least of wastage of acting talent, as we realise later. Abhimanyu Singh and Saharsh Kumar Shukla appear in roles where they are frequently visible in the frame, albeit without much prominence. Sanjay Mishra too seems lost in a part too undeserving of him, and I do not even want to talk about Seema Biswas whom you might miss out on if you focus a little more on your popcorn.
Arshad Warsi, fortunately, is in top gear playing Myra’s guileless friend Vishu, delivering an adequate amount of laughs on the smallest of opportunity he gets — but that is the issue, he gets far too few chances. And every time we fear getting jaded by Pankaj Tripathi’s consistent appearances, he manages to disperse those fears like in this film where he rises once again above his minuscule part, elevating many comic moments beyond their potential.
Bachchhan Paandey tries to overcompensate for its lack of tonal loyalty by rushing through its key moments in the second half, hoping for the pace to make up for the punch — but it only feels like one last half-hearted attempt at redemption.
Towards the end, Myra, while addressing her colleagues and audience, says, “Har sikke ke do pehlu hote hain” [Every coin has two sides] in reference to human nature, which is never black or white as we are often prone to believe. Sadly, the makers seemed to forget that in an ideal world, this would have applied to both Myra and Bachchhan, who were both originally capable of surprising themselves on moral ground.
Myra sadly remains uni-dimensional more or less, and Bachchhan Paandey remains a golden opportunity lost.
Bachchhan Paandey is playing in cinemas.
Rating: **
BH Harsh is a film critic who spends most of his time watching movies and making notes, hoping to create, as Peggy Olsen put it, something of lasting value.
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