Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari’s Bareilly Ki Barfi reminds me of Bhimsain Khurana’s Gharaonda. It is the story of an ambitious young man who uses his ladylove to manipulate a defenseless third party, all for a hassle-free future. Although the similarity is not direct, what connects these stories is a male lead with grey, or rather, human shades.
On second thought, isn’t Ayushmann Khurrana the Amol Palekar equivalent of his generation? It is a void that we never expected to be filled, given the few takers for an unheroic yet vulnerable hero. Khurrana fits comfortably into that brand of cinema. In Bareilly Ki Barfi, we are of two minds about him. There is so much to love and sympathize with, and there are just as many reasons to despise him.
Written by Nitesh Tiwari, Shreyas Jain, and Rajat Nonia, the film begins as a small-town caper with its leading lady Bitti (Kriti Sanon) at the center. Soon, it begins to question societal rules for women and portrays Bitti as a misfit. Her mother (Seema Pahwa) worries about her habits that are usually associated with men of her age. As a city viewer, I could sense Bitti’s rebellion. She is generally unhappy with society’s sexist ways. Yet she has no clear ambition.
Bitti is not Aiyyaa’s starry-eyed Meenakshi Deshpande or Fashion’s go-getting Meghna Mathur. Her life feels monotonous, but nothing stops her from doing what she wants, as her parents never oppose her choices. One incident and a few tears later, she attempts to elope. This is when our interest level for Bitti tends to wane in Bareilly Ki Barfi. Once the female protagonist loses her grip, the narrative shifts focus to Chirag Dubey (Khurrana).
It feels as if Bareilly Ki Barfi unfolds in chapters when it formally does not, with intertitles and the like. The arranged marriage thread and Bitti’s alleged “manly” behavior are sidelined. Perhaps they were never substantial enough to begin with. Chirag is a far more exciting character, someone an everyday man might identify with. His sense of entitlement is evident from the start. Chirag’s proficiency in English gives him license to mock small-town staff at his printing press. He is vain about his good looks and openly takes potshots at those he considers inferior.
Chirag is aware of his charm, social clout, and can play the eligible bachelor to perfection, impressing the parents of potential brides. On a human level, he is also the classic weak-kneed man who trembles at the thought of confessing his love. Fearing both heartbreak and a dent to his ego, he refuses to utter the magical three words.
Like a true Amol Palekar comedy, the film moves at a breezy pace with many lighthearted moments. A handful of laugh-out-loud sequences are enriched by the local flavor. Soon, the story shifts from Chirag, and the spotlight moves to the mysterious Pritam Vidrohi (Rajkummar Rao), the most entertaining character in Bareilly Ki Barfi.
Vidrohi is coerced into various schemes by Chirag and his spirited sidekick Munna (Rohit Chaudhary). Why does he tolerate their bullying? One might explain it as a simpleton exploited by stronger personalities, but many of their acts do not align with their social and familial circumstances.
That said, Bareilly Ki Barfi is filled with moments that linger. The tender romantic scenes work wonderfully well. Look out for the scene where Bitti and Chirag drink late into the night, and she discovers it is his birthday. Tiwari ties the title of the film to its central metaphor with this touch.
Rajkummar Rao’s Pritam Vidrohi dominates the film. Playing squarely to the gallery, he brings depth to Vidrohi’s dual persona. This is a role that lesser actors might have overplayed, but Rao balances both sides seamlessly. His grasp of the milieu and accent surpasses every other cast member, making his bumbling charm irresistible. Sanon and Khurrana deliver solid performances, especially Khurrana.
The only distraction is when accents shift inconsistently from convent-polished English to rustic UP dialect. The dialogue writers are lenient in this regard. At one point, the word “oupcharikata” is used instead of “formality,” while elsewhere sophisticated English words are tossed in casually, leaving us unsure about the authenticity of the local language.
In her debut feature Nil Battey Sannata, Ashwiny Iyer Tiwari portrayed small-town struggles with rare honesty. Chanda’s challenges felt real, as did the humor. In Bareilly Ki Barfi, the humor feels injected at times, as if the film was designed to be funny but never fully was on paper. Some of these works, thanks to capable actors like Seema Pahwa and Pankaj Tripathi, but not without exposing a slight creative void. Even so, given Hindi cinema’s weak record in comedy of late, these shortcomings do not irritate much.
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Tiwari does not give us much of Bareilly in her film. The proceedings take place mostly indoors, with characters moving between homes and workplaces. The song “Nazm Nazm” and a couple of night sequences (one with Vidrohi blocking traffic and another on a boat) capture some atmosphere, but the cinematography favors dim lighting over the expected brightness of a light-hearted film. The posters and dance numbers suggest a different visual tone altogether. The dialogues are decent, but Javed Akhtar’s narration feels out of place, much like the Dil Dhadakne Do misstep where a pug spoke in Aamir Khan’s voice.
In the end, Bareilly Ki Barfi is one of the more watchable Hindi films of 2017. Despite somewhat uneven writing, it offers interesting characters, sharp lines, and a structure reminiscent of vintage Amol Palekar comedies. The noble intent shines through, particularly in the finale, where Khurrana narrates a heartfelt letter in true Kal Ho Naa Ho fashion. And what is better than a romantic comedy that makes you shed a tear or two?
Rating: ★★★½
Bareilly Ki Barfi is now streaming on Netflix.
