Shubhra Gupta

A three-way modern romance set in a small town. That’s the pitchline of Musafir Cafe, based on a novel of the same name by Divya Prakash Dubey, created by Sharanya Rajgopal and directed by Ruchir Arun, and the eight-part show takes the memo very seriously indeed. Chander and Sudha — someone here is evidently a fan of Dharamveer Bharati’s classic novel of the same name — meet and ignite in Bhopal. Having quit his software job in the US, he works in a dull government office, nursing a dream of opening his own cafe in the hills, while meeting suitable girls with a view to marriage.

A film made four years back, releasing only now, suddenly feels current. Mention of protests and placards woven into the plot around an unravelling couple makes you feel that it’s reflecting the times we are passing through. But then, who is to say that thorny relationships and problem-ridden times aren’t the story of us, decade upon decade? Max (Siddharth Menon) and Min (Medha Shankr), a pair whose relationship is heading south, find themselves connecting over their cat. Or is it just the handsome creature that draws Min back to Max, especially when things aren’t quite as smooth with the new man in her life? The feelings are relatable: if you’ve been together for a while, parting is never easy, and could perhaps encompass residual warmth alongside resentment and sadness.

This seven part series reminds me a little of Maamla Legal Hai, the show set in a lower Delhi court in a part of the national Capital far away from the swag and smoothness of Central Delhi. Adarsh Baal Vidyalaya functions in the same mould: this is a sarkari school in the fictional mohalla of Tinki Toli, whose students come from a certain section of society, with parents working low rung jobs, whose only way out of the rut is education.

What does an honest, idealistic lawyer, successful enough to own a sea-facing flat in Mumbai, do when faced with the prospect of defending a man charged with the grievous assault of a young woman? The face off between won’t-defend-the-indefensible Arjun Mehra (Sunny Deol) and entitled rich jerk Shauryaman Gaur (Akshaye Khanna) is your standard battle between the good guy vs the bad guy. Left to himself, Arjun wouldn’t touch Shaurya with a bargepole, but here, the writers try and finesse it, by forcing the former into the latter’s corner, by coming up with a you-can’t-be-serious crutch. But we are asked to roll with it, because it is that kind of film; truth being stranger than fiction, and all that.

In 2007, Indra Kumar came up with Dhamaal, in which a whole bunch of characters led by Sanjay Dutt, tumbled and fell into holes full of risible jokes. This was followed by Double Dhamaal and Total Dhamaal, which were more of the same, in terms of crassness. 2007 was a big year for brainless comedy, with Partner, Hey Babyy, Buddha Mar Gaya the big hitters, toplined by Bhool Bhulaiyaa. Inaneness was the name of the game, but the occasional touch of goofiness and entire starry ensembles committing to stupidity, saved these films. How do you top the last two Dhamaals? Dhamaal 4 comes up with a number, because it can’t be bothered with thinking of what comes after double and total: maybe four was better than double double or total total.

Satluj opens with a chilling sequence which sets the tone of the film. It is pitch dark, a jeep full of joshing cops stops, pulls out a few men, their hands tied behind their backs, and shoots them dead. The casual cruelty that colours this shocking scene gives us, in a snapshot, the darkness that had engulfed Punjab in ’95, rolling over from the decades-long battle the state had waged against insurgency. Men, women, even children weren’t spared in this clean-up operation, which became a battle against ordinary citizens, who were rounded up and killed, their gutted bodies dumped in the river to be picked clean by hungry fish. It’s in this atmosphere of dread that Jaswant Singh Khalra (Diljit Dosanjh) steps in, and steps up, first as just a concerned individual asking about a disappearance, going to the local thana for help, receiving nothing but threats, and warnings to stay away. And then, slowly and steadily becoming the fulcrum of the fight against the massive human rights violations happening under the iron-fist of the Punjab police.

Baby Do, sure. Baby Die, okay. But Baby Do Die Do? Can there be a clunkier title? Or is it plain kinky? I went into the theatre wondering what I was in for, and I’m happy to report that fans of desi-style South Korean actioners are in for a treat: Huma Qureshi playing a deaf-mute contract killer comes up with an implacable stare, and a weapon hiding in plain sight, as she goes about decimating her victims one after another, getting support from a solid ensemble. The grey-blue screen, the acid rain, the frequent pull-backs to give us a panoramic view of Mumbai at night, people clawing their way up in chawls and high-rises, and the things they do in the dark when no one’s looking: in this Sion-via-Seoul aesthetic which the film commits to completely, no punches are pulled, and the pace rarely flags.

Finished reading the credit list above? Phew. All right, eyes here, as I tell you more. The intention, from the get go, is clear. Whistle up a massive cast, making the previous editions of the Welcome series seem positively sparse in comparison. Have it led by Akshay Kumar, currently riding his comedy wave. Concoct a plot line where anything goes. Get in a couple of leggy ladies, whose job is to swoon and be silly. And when all else fails, conjure up a CGI gorilla. Not going to bother sharing any other details because there are none. As befits such films, the premise is thinner than a wafer. A richie rich guy wants to make a flop film to pour black money down the drain, leading this bunch into a jungle where reel villains turn out to be real, and mayhem ensues.