Happy Patel, Khatarnak Jasoos, Review: Unhap pee Lapet, CutterNak JustSnooze

Happy Patel, Khatarnak Jasoos, Review: Unhap pee Lapet, CutterNak JustSnooze

Cut to the chase. No, begin with the chase! 1991. Two British secret agents in speeding cars being given a hot chase in Panjor, Goa by another car. Bullets fly, but the chasers are not able to stop the fleeing MI7 agents. Left rear seat window glass rolls down. Out emerge the Don’s head, and his two hands, carrying a deadly double-barrel rifle, asking the British to die for their deeds. Applause, for the Don is none other than our ‘thinking person’s hero’, Aamir Khan, trying out a role that would test his abilities. The secret agents manage to reach their destination, get off from the car and rush to their flat. They forget to lock their door and even forget to blockade entry. In walks the Don, with his two henchman, one on either side. The agents have their guns pointed at the trio, but wait for their adversary to make the first move. Bullets fly again.

During the melée, a cleaner-woman emerges from behind a curtain, nonchalantly, carrying a broom. She commands the enemies to hold their fire, until she has swept the floor. They agree. Minutes later, the spray of bullets resumes. The cleaner-woman takes a leaf..leap out of the fight composers’ manual, collects the fatal bullet, and saves her employers, while the Don stops a bullet with the left side of his stomach. He cannot believe it, but beats a hasty retreat, along with his goons. Instead of rushing to the ICU of the nearest hospital, he goes home, and tells his wife and children—two sons and a daughter—that he is dying. They jest about it. He removes a ring from his finger and offers it to his two sons, but wonders which one of the two will succeed him as the Don of Panjor. His daughter snatches the ring from his hand. The Don dies. Elsewhere, before dying, the sweeper woman makes silly demands from her ‘firangee’ bosses, like immediate payment of her salary and an advance Diwali bonus, three months before Diwali. And then she makes a dying wish that they cannot refuse: the duo will raise her infant son, who is, at that very moment, rocking in his cradle, in the kitchen. They promise. This toddler, ladies and gentleman, will be taken to London and raised by his two adoptive fathers. And guess what does he become? An expert ballet dancer and a master chèf.

Did you laugh, or at least smile, while reading this narration of the beginnings of Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos? If you did, you might be tempted to go and see the film. If the beginning was funny, can the rest of it not be hilarious? Now here comes the Statutory Critical (of a critic) Warning: the film has about 10 really funny moments in a span of 121 minutes. For the rest, it is a pain is the as_ . Forgive the typo. Come 2025, and the infant is now in his 30s. He has been raised by his two ‘fathers’, given a name and sent on a mission to India, on the command of MI7. Happy is not a Happy person. In fact, he is so unHappy that after his arrival in India, his Sardar friend had to change his all his clothes while he was sleeping with an unHappy face, in order to make him Happy. Happy is an often heard first-name among Sardars. This man was born of a cleaner-woman, who, most positively was not a Sardarnee. And I have yet to hear of a cleaner-woman with the name Sakhubai Patel. Why he is given that name remains a mystery. Since Patel is the most common surname among Indian immigrants to the UK and the USA, maybe his fathers picked it for him.

How in heaven’s name did the adopted son of two deadly British secret agents grow up to become a ballet dancer and a chèf is left unsaid. Happy, probably goaded by his Papas, nevertheless, appears for the examination to qualify as a secret agent with MI7, but fails seven times. Yet, the Big Boss at MI7 (M of the Bond films), a man with the ill-suited surname, Mole (the double agent, an insider who sells the secrets of his country), insists that he be given a crash course in secret ‘agenting’ and Hindi, and sent to Panjor Goa, to rescue British national Beatrice Feffenbaum, a dermatologist, who has been kidnapped by Panjor’s Don ‘Mama’, and held as a slave, to create a formula that will guarantee turning Indian brown and black dark skin into white, fair skin. If you haven’t guessed it yet., Mama is the daughter of the late Don of Panjor. For a ‘front’, she runs a catering business. In a confession before her deity, she admits that she killed both her brothers to become the Supremo, and promises that if her captive, Beatrice, succeeds in making a guaranteed skin whitening cream for her, she will quit her all her criminal activities, which include extortion, except the occasional, necessary, murder. To foil her plans and rescue Beatrice, the dancing cook, who has, by now, picked-up broken Hindi, is on his way. Once he reaches Panjor, he will hook-up with his local contact, Geet, and with the help of Roxy (Geet’s teenage protegée) and a dancer named Rupa, and the confrontation will begin.

After the thundering success of the James Bond movies in the 60s, we had several parallel films and few satires and parodies of the genre. Of these, Carry on Spying, a 1964 British film, made in black and white, as part of 31 Carry on spoofs (1958-1992) might have inspired the makers of the present film, to delve into the species. But, if that really funny take-off has indeed inspired them, it fades away by comparison. Writers Vir Das (Happy himself) and Amogh Ranadive (Vir’s in-house pen-pusher) try to pack in jibes at everything British, including Wimbledon, and even a few Indian films, like Sholay-1975, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge-1995, Lagaan-2001, and the films of Rohit Shetty. They do not spare Indian TV either, by lampooning Master Chèf series. Sharply contrasting with the excellently choreographed item numbers in many Hindustani films, they have their heroine dancing like a woman possessed by a demon who has two left feet. Thank God she is booed. ‘Englishman’ Happy’s mispronounced words, resulting in repetitive lewd and vulgar connotations, in Hindi, are the mainstay of the dialogue. But the main stay does not stay very long. After the 121st pun, they don’t remain punny…funny any longer. Only one pun, Hindi’s ‘tum’ (you) pronounced Tom, by Happy, is cleverly used, for repeated effect.

At least 500 words are intonated, to be ‘enjoyed’ as abusive, overtly sexual and, on many occasions, downright obscene, crass and disgusting. That the film has sub-titles makes sure that you do not miss the double entendre because it was not spelt out. With his distinctly Indian looks, how did Happy go through his entire education and live in London, without ever discovering that he was Indian? Is he so naïve that he had to ask his parents whether the term ‘Paki’, by which he was humiliatingly referred to in school, meant ‘Indian’? In his 30s, does he not know that India and Pakistan are two different neighbouring countries? Why does he decide to go away to India forever, once his Papas confirm that he is Indian? Is that enough reason? How does a man, who knows very little Hindi, and speaks many a Hindi word in an English accent, completely understand the local language, Marathi, used by three female Goan police officers, interrogating him? Why are all the experiments, being carried out by Mama and Beatrice, on skin whitening, tried only on men? Indian reality is that fairness is much more of a yearning among women, who are not fair, and some of them develop an inferiority complex as a consequence. This is a fact proven by studies carried out during 2018-2024. Fair-skinned women stand a greater chance of getting married to a person of their family’s choice, over their darker counterparts.

As directors, Brave Slave and Poet Scholar (Vir Das again, and Kavi Shastri, to those who did not catch on), have made a sordid mess of a film. It lacks consistency, has many a dull moment, there are jump cuts galore and it has very little logic. The trope, of an off-key bunch of singers singing nonsensical verse, is an amateurish ‘tribute’ to Dev D-2009. In one shot, Roxy says something and follows it with …”though I am a heterosexual”, completely out of context. But it is to their credit that they go through the motions with full conviction and straight faces. Whenever a character is introduced, his name appears on the screen in a huge size, both in English and Hindi, a ploy completely unnecessary. We also have the names of cities and countries flashed in a similar manner, with an additional detail: the population. What population has got do with it? Except a few characters, all the Goans communicate in Hindi, while, in reality, in Goa, it is largely either Konkani or Marathi. After all his training in the medium, in several countries, including 15 Hindustani films and one American film as an actor, Vir Das returns to Hindustani cinema after a nine-year hiatus. His directorial debut, however, seems a rush job, completed during off hours and weekends, as an amateur exercise.

Co-director, Kavi Shastri, is British. He is the co-founder of Zazu Productions, which has co-produced this film, along with Vir Das, Shreyas Khedekar and Arya. A. Menon. They also have an Associate Producer, Akash Sharma. The producers are Aamir Khan (Aamir Khan Films), Kavi Shastri and Aparna Purohit (ex-Amazon Prime Video). In spite of the inclusion of some heavy-weights in this list, the result is a burden that will weigh heavily on their shoulders.

Overwhelmed by the toilet humour dialogue, there is very little to expect from the actors. Aamir, in an interesting special appearance as the Don, appears to be enjoying himself. But could the keyboard killers not have written his part better? After all, he is the biggest name in the film’s role-call. As actor, Vir Das has some oddball ideas about humour. Maybe some of them worked in his comedy forays on TV, and his stand-up comedy shows. Most of them fail on screen, falling flat.

Mona Singh as Mama has a meaty role, and shows that she has evolved a lot over the years. Special Appearances are credited to Sanjay Dutt, Imran Khan and Preity Zinta. One thought that the Supermodel with super strength, who Mama wanted to endorse her product, was Imran, but one did not notice Sanjay and Preity anywhere around. Have their roles been edited out, or did they appear in blink and miss form? And where was Shraddha Kapoor? Mithila Palkar is a hard-working Rupa and Srushti Tawade is a fluent Roxy. A bad piece of casting, Sharib Hashmi, struggles to remain in character as the Sardarjee, Geet (odd name for a male Sikh). Ashwin Mushran slipps easily into the role of an MI7 operator. Sanjeev Kapoor and Meiyang Chang are wasted, with Chang’s insider comments coming off only mildly humorous.

As composers, Vir Das and Parth Pandya fail to come up with catchy tunes. My greatest sympathy lies with the editor, Daanish Shastri. Going by what has been salvaged, one can imagine what utter tripe he must have had to excise and vet. Ideally, this film should either have been deleted, or left on the hard disk, and not screened at all. But the makers must have reasons for both, making it and releasing it. I wish they would share these with us critics and film-buffs. Et tu, Aamir?

Rating: *

Trailer: https://youtu.be/YEv0zokK140