Haseen Dilruba

by Harini Chakrapani

With the evocative title of his latest film , Director Vinil Mathew makes it clear that he wants to stun you through beauty and seduction. His juiciest offering is Rani Kashyap (Taapsee Pannu) who wears sheer organza saris with sleeveless blouses and red lipstick, pines for fervent love, obsesses over Hindi pulp fiction and has blood on her hands. She’s the prime suspect in her husband Rishabh Saxena a.k.a. Rishu’s (Vikrant Massey) murder. As policeman Kishore Rawat (Aditya Srivastav), begins his investigation in the north Indian town of Jwalapur, Rani launches into a narration of how her relationship with Rishu began and later soured.  

The first half of the film is an attempt to upend the seriousness of a murder mystery. Rani’s flashbacks of her marital life are replete with humor, which works, especially when Taapsee delivers zingers. In their very first encounter --- an arranged matrimonial meeting, when Rishu talks about his hobby of fixing broken ceiling fans, Rani challenges him to repair the fan in her apartment’s kitchen, proffering  a sweet box filled with nuts and bolts. It’s a funny and a very unusual introductory scene of a hero and heroine,  reminiscent of Vinil Mathew’s 2014 film, Hasee Toh Phasee. Other light-hearted moments help the supporting cast come into their own: Rishu’s mother Lata (Yamini Das) uses body language and diction consistent with the stereotypical representation of small town folk. 

However, unlike Hasee Toh Phasee, the jokes lack variety and are sometimes crass and overdone, even repeated with festive background music to a point where they seem gratuitous and misplaced in a film that portrays serious themes such as misogyny and domestic violence. Therein lies the problem with Act I.

Too much time is spent on Rani’s hilariously desperate attempts to use her seductive charms on a coy and self-effacing Rishu, with the nadir being Rishu’s humiliating failure to consummate his marriage and Rani describing to Rishu all of the traits she wants in her ideal match: none of which Rishu possesses.

The introduction of a new character at this point, Neel Tripathi (Harshvardhan Rane) who is Rishu’s  jaw-droppingly chiselled cousin and an avid reader of Rani’s favorite pulp fiction novels, is far from a coincidence. Contrivance, however, isn’t the only weak point. Neel and Rani’s dalliance is rushed, with little revealed about the psychology of their characters, reducing them to clichés. A lot remains unanswered: why does an independent and uninhibited woman like Rani marry Rishu when he doesn’t fit the bill?

While the plot lets you down, music doesn’t. There are a total of four tracks, the words to which give you a peek into the characters’ inner world and which are easy on the ears and apt. Milaa Yun is the one that stands out with its melancholic, melodic lows and anthemic highs.

Massey redeems the lowbrow scenes of Act I. He has the most layered character,  starting off as a homely, conflict-avoidant partner and revealing sadistic shades in the sec. Yet, his transformation doesn’t feel entirely dramatic because Massey’s  subtle demeaner is a counterpoint to Pannu’s theatrics. His quiet force can be seen in his menacing smirk when Rani takes a fall, or his blank stare at her in the night. Even when he's angry upon learning about Rani’s affair with his cousin Neel, he is a dormant volcano. When he confronts Neel with an ice pick, he’s not the hero you’d expect him to be and gets beaten up funny: like a chump; you feel his rage and when it’s gone you feel sorry for him.   

Rani’s marathon narration is a poetic jewel with pearls of philosophy that screenwriter Kanika Dhillon, who also wrote the Taapsee Pannu starrerManmarziyan, wants you to notice. But it doesn’t add up to much and doesn’t help tie the loose ends. The film keeps audiences guessing but never delivers the satisfaction of who did it.  

But Act III also has its flaws that you cannot reconcile with. Like all crime thrillers, it cannot resist the temptation to show off its killer as a mastermind with the ultimate power to hoodwink authorities by conceiving of an ingenious, foolproof  plot in the shortest span of time. 

The film’s ending has generated a lot of controversy for romanticizing a violent relationship: not for the faint of heart, it  involves burnt bodies and a blood sacrifice. The cast has been quick to dismiss the public outcry with the claim that violent relationships are a reality and the film merely reflects this. 

But Haseen Dillruba doesn’t depict reality. It cherry picks facts to suit the narrative and has glaring inconsistencies. 

Rishu isn’t just physically abusive toward Rani; he is sadistic. People who derive pleasure from intentionally hurting others often have no regrets about their actions and no understanding of others’ pain or emotions. Yet, somehow, Rishu is capable of self-reflection, guilt and empathy.  

Loopholes aside, Haseen Dillruba does get a few things right it has a brilliant cast, offers an accurate portrayal of the realities of gender roles in Indian households and shows the rationalization of abuse amongst partners in toxic relationships. But It could have been so much more. Because of its fidelity to the superficial aspects of pulp fiction, all it achieves is ticking Netflix’s checkbox for ethnic shock value, as is the case with a slew of Netflix’s Bollywood releases like Ajeeb Daastaans or Ray, and nothing more.