6/10 Observations From The Ba***ds Of Bollywood

The reviews are out and they’re all saying pretty much the same thing: The Ba***ds of Bollywood, Aryan Khan’s much-hyped directorial debut, entertains and then some more. Fulfilling the promise of his father’s wit and charm, Khan has put together the perfect Bollywood-style response to the understated realism that streaming has so far been known for. Nepotism, tabloid romances and PR stunts, film mafia, real mafia (a version, so to speak, of real)—the film pokes harmless fun at all the trappings of an industry we, the viewers, love to have a love-hate relationship with.

Early impressions of the show, when the teaser landed a few weeks ago, held that Khan’s cooked up an OTT update of Om Shanti Om (2007), the occasionally satirical but mostly schmaltzy film about the industry. And we kind of get it now—Ba***ds bursts with cameos, autobiographical absurdism, types... masala, melodramatic cinema bleeding into the world that creates that cinema. At certain moments, it also seems like the show is a version, a performance of a performance. But that alone cannot be used as a sparing instrument for wherever it falters. Here are six of those observations:

There’s product placement. And more product placement.

D’Yavol. Mother Dairy. UrbanClap. Huemn. The thing about brands appearing so prominently in anything is that it can’t be missed. And that’s the point of it. But it’s also distracting. When that happens in a show or film that unsubtly, it becomes hard to take it seriously. And probably the makers of Ba***ds (director Aryan Khan) will want it that way.

The humour is generic. The lines are corny.

Raghav Juyal and Manoj Pahwa are almost in every scene. Juyal is obsessed with sex and sex jokes and Pahwa with Hindi expletives. Both are very entertaining actors with proven comic timing but them providing the constant comedic lining to the satin bodice that’s this show becomes tiring very soon. Also, in the third episode, producer Freddy Sodawallah (Manish Chaudhari) insults an overweight set designer calling her pig and other such shocking names. The torturous insults that they trade do not stop until Sodawallah has kicked her comically in the stomach. She flips, does two cartwheels and crashes face-down on the ground. The scene ends with a sexist comeback by the hero, Aasman, who metes out the same treatment to Sodawallah, telling him that even he doesn’t raise his hands on women. The problem with all this is that the self-deprecation of Bollywood movies and the cultural parlance it has built for us, doesn’t come across enough scathingly—like it did in, say, AK vs AK (2020).

The screenplay is... shaky

Emraan Hashmi plays an intimacy coach who, after weeks of frustration with the leads of the Karan Johar film within the show failing to mirror each other and develop an organic chemistry, locks them out on a terrace. This is meant to be a psychological trick that will unite them against the tyrannical common enemy and bring them closer. Just when they’re about to do the dreamy Bollywood kiss, he enters and tells them what the viewer knew all along. Likewise, the pub brawl after the protagonist’s nomination for a best actor award seems orchestrated for him to be abducted to meet a mafia boss whose daughter wants to write a film (while I’m on the subject, what was that Arshad Warsi song?).

This is Rajat Bedi’s most annoying turn yet

Honestly, Bollywood did Bedi dirty with parts that entirely eliminated any scope for nuance in performance, most ignobly so in Koi... Mil Gaya (2003). Here, Bedi appears in a Shakespearean-fool part that grows more irritating by the minute. One starts off reserving the most suspension of disbelief for his character, allowing him the cushion of absurdist farce. But then his character becomes imprisoned and lost in its own satirical framing as a washed-up actor whose real-life career bleeds into his onscreen character. The same, surprisingly, doesn’t happen for Bobby Deol’s character.

The self-awareness is not so self-aware

Such has been the buzz leading up to the show’s release that its world will inevitably come to be excused for its unsubtlety. Director Khan is the son of probably the most widely cherished 21st-century superstar of Hindi film, a capable actor whose body of work comprises big-ticket ventures and mainstream performances. All of it, forgiven and granted freely by his adoring fans. But for all of the wicked writing work that may have gone into writing Ba***ds, the sarcasm and meta humour is too on-the-nose. Spoofing roundtables and chat show hosts becomes gag-like mockery. A forced appearance in the first scene of a narcotics officer reeks of so much personal hurt that it feels extremely amateurish.

Lakshya is a different version of Ranbir Kapoor?

Seriously. The actor has terrific screen presence but the viewer may be forgiven for thinking they’re watching Ranbir Kapoor from a parallel universe. From voice and mannerisms to a certain earnestness of expression that RK is known for—Lakshya’s likeness with the Animal (2023) star is almost too distracting. The only thing that brought me back to the realisation was his action scenes, something that the Kill (2024) actor possesses more fluidity with.