Dhadak Review - Dil Dhadakne Do.

I walked out of Dhadak, the atmosphere around me being chatty (‘How do you think they acted?’ ‘Who was the better debutante?’). I couldn’t digest much of it, because the two minutes of silence that director Shashank Khaitan commands in the film’s indigestible climax is so engulfing, that you can’t help but gulp in disbelief. He taunts you, almost, replicating a scene that is so similar to the eponymous climax of Dhadak’s inspiration, Sairat, it could have been Nagraj Manjule himself behind the camera.

Khaitan’s praise for Manjule’s 2016 epic is no secret. He and his team have showered praise on this Marathi epic - paralleled only by Hindi cinema’s Masaan (2015) and Manjule’s previous Marathi flick Fandry (2013). So, were you to really be shocked by the lessons Dhadak imparts, I suggest you erase all three of these masterpieces from your memory - which if you have seen them, you know is impossible. But, what confuses me is why Dharma Productions has so much love for the director of Sairat, when really all they should have is searing hatred.

Because, were Dhadak not so derivative of Sairat, it could have been an even better film. Were its textures not so familiar with tweaks only to its setting and Ashutosh Rana (yet again) being a power-hungry politician, and its emotions not so echoic, it could’ve truly soared. But, what we get, is a story transferred from the smaller, bijou Maharashtrian ghats to the sprawling mansions of Udaipur, shot lovingly by cinematographer Vishnu Rao. So, other than the dialects and personal pronouns, there’s not much else Khaitan cares to change.

While Sairat was a scathing critique of the caste system, Shashank steers the narrative to personify the ugly horror - into Ashutosh Rana’s moustache twirling Ratan Singh, a power-hungry politician (think of him as a small-town Donald Trump - he owns hotels, snazzy cars and has a mostly silent wife). So, instead of being a searing analysis of this social ‘norm’, it ends up being a PSA on how bad Parthavi (Janhvi Kapoor) has it because of the Rajputi sword-wielding men in her family.

Kapoor, playing Archana (Rinku Rajguru in Sairat)’s more indecisive, bitchier little sister is absolutely brilliant. Her character arc is erratic and flawed, but Janhvi shines especially in the film’s second half when her character’s true conflicts come to the surface. She is aided (but not paralleled) by Ishaan Khatter (whose first film was Beyond the Clouds, a Majid Majidi flick). Ishaan has an everlasting effervescence, which can’t match up to the adrenaline rush that is Ranveer Singh or to the charm of Ranbir Kapoor, or even his half-brother, Shahid Kapoor, for that matter.

But still, he charges through, trembling and quivering for a large part of the film’s second half. He is especially astounding in the film’s transitional period - where the two lost lovers traverse across parts of the country, in hope for some food and shelter, as they slowly come to despise each other for taking away what could have been an unhappy yet peaceful and sheltered life. Whatever Shashank gets right, is because of Sairat. Whatever else he adds (a stint where Parthavi is a call-centre operator at JustDial) just becomes more evident of how Karan Johar and his brand of cinema were possibly the worst to adapt this film.

Johar’s pasteurised approach to the film is unappreciable and snatches away the entire appeal of it. So, in her Udaipur mansion, while others are still working with box-like Nokia phones, Parthavi is ordering people around on her brightly coloured iPhone. Even when she and Madhu (Khatter) run away, her mascara is never smeared. Yet, through these plastic discrepancies, both the kids shine. Janhvi runs with her character and gives a performance that isn’t at all derivative of her mother’s works.

It’s a singularly refreshing performance. Ishaan, too, works well as a boy who is forced to transition into a man all too quickly due to the circumstances that befall him. The two actors collaborate and give fluidity to a sometimes lifeless script. It is because of them that you could watch Dhadak. Because even though it is a flawed approach to an already brilliant film, it ascends and descends when they do.

Khaitan’s biggest victory is the unforgettable climax, where he suppresses the drama from hitting a crescendo - something even the great Manjule couldn’t master. His quieter take on things and the re-working of the culmination point is refreshing. Irrespective of its flaws, I walked out of Dhadak, like someone had kicked me in the gut. After all, isn’t that what the good folks at Dharma wanted? I’m going with 2.5 stars for Dhadak.