LoveYaPa, Review: The mobile phone as Pandora’s Box

LoveYaPa, Review: The mobile phone as Pandora’s Box

Those who are uninitiated might not realise that the title is a variation of siyapa, which means chaos or jiggery-pokery, and that siyapa itself comes from the Urdu word, siyah, meaning black, or dark. Siyapa has been used in the title of a film some years ago. So the makers of LoveYaPa have come up with this three-word composite term, standing for Love Ya and Pa. Translate these three words, and you get Love Or Pa (father). Clever, very clever, because the film is a romantic comedy, in which the Love, between two crazy-about-each-other lovers, is put to the litmus test by the girl’s father. Fathers opposing love marriages of their sons/daughters, and stopping at nothing to stop them getting married, even killing, is a concept that has been milked dry by Hindustani film makers during the last century. In the 21^st century, we have had so many movies showing gram panchayats (village councils, also called khaaps in some parts of the country) forming posses to bring runaway couples to mob justice, if they have dared to covet their partner from another community, and murdering them and their families brutally, as punishment.

As the heroine of LoveYaPa is 24 years old, it is safe to assume that her father is at least 48 (he looks that age). That disqualifies his inclusion in any of the three generations young people belong to: x, y and z. It’s about time somebody came-up with names, or letters of the alphabet, to indicate that the person was born after 2010 or 2020). Going backwards, the Pa must have been born in the 1970s, which would make him a generation s or t guy. This blast from the past puts a strict pre-condition on the couple, to earn his blessings, for their planned marriage: exchange each other’s mobile phones for 24 hours, and then decide whether you still want to marry each other. Since he is some kind of cranky dictator, refusing to accept his condition would put paid to the prospects of the two marrying each other. The boy’s mother is all for the liaison. They accept this SWAP. And within the next 24 hours, digital demons keep falling out of the rectangular, hand-held contraption, also called the cellular phone or hand-phone, on either side, showing the original owner in bad to very bad light. As contemporary as can be, the innovative premise does not pan out in a manner that does full justice to it. When all the demons are out, you feel you were part of an exciting journey which had a few highs initially, but, for the most part, did not touch any great height.

Gaurav (Gucci) and Bani (Bani-boo) are madly in love, having discovered each other over social media. They are almost glued to the phone, taking calls, making calls, posting stuff and watching stuff. Gaurav has a bunch of four friends whom he can totally trust. In fact, when he wants to gift Bani a features phone, and the money in his account falls short by Rs. 2,000, they chip-in with Rs. 500 each, through mobile banking. When her father, Atul Kumar Sharma, asks Bani where did she get the Rs. 37,000+ phone, she lies that she won it at a spin-the-wheel competition at a mall. Bani has several friends on social media, and one childhood pal, who has just returned from Canada, but her soul mate is her younger sister, Pinti, in whom she confides. Gaurav and Bani do have spats, but they make-up pretty soon. Whenever they feel romantically excited, Bani kisses Gaurav while placing her palm between her mouth and Gaurav’s, and, in effect, kissing her palm. So, they have not even kissed till date. Bani’s father is busy finding a suitable boy, and has short-listed a number of candidates. He warns Bani that should the couple fail the SWAP test, she will have to marry one of the suitors on the short list.

Gaurav has no such problems. His mother is all too anxious to get him married, but currently, she is caught-up in getting her daughter, Gaurav’s sister, Kiran, getting married. The short-listed prospect is an obese, well-to-do dentist, Anupam, alias Anu, who is courtesy and manners personified. For the first couple of hours or so, the SWAP poses no problems. But then the lovers get hold of each other’s passwords to open the phones, and the Pandora’s Boxes open. Bani finds that Gaurav has been browsing sites that have buxom beauties posing in their next to nothing underwear, while Gaurav finds that Bani’s Canada-returned friend, Karan, is more than just a friend to her. She had introduced him to Gaurav and company at a ceremony she was invited to by Gaurav, part of the wedding celebrations. There, she had defined him as “…like my younger brother”. But her phone tells a different story. Moreover, Bani has been meeting a body-builder, and going with him for really long drives. Blows are traded. Shouts, yells, sarcastic comments and tears start rolling out.

Gaurav desperately wants all the data in his phone to be erased before more damage is done, but that can only happen if somebody has access to it. Meanwhile Bani finds that Gaurav had one, or probably two, ‘exs’ and had, along with his college friends, formed a group on social media, which sent out unsavoury pictures and played pranks on unsuspecting innocents. After learning about the LoveYaPa that has befallen Gaurav, his sister discovers that her husband-to-be does not make or receive phone calls in her presence and does not even let her watch a selfie that they click, insisting on showing it to the ladies while holding it himself. The SWAP is extended for three days. Realising that they love each other too much, and should trust each other when it comes to fidelity, they are about to leave it all behind when two occurrences queer the pitch: firstly, Gaurav asks Bani whether she is a virgin, and, secondly, a video, apparently showing Bani having sex with a face masked-out man goes viral. This could be a point of no return, but remember, you are watching a rom-com, not an art-house or off-beat film. All is well that ends well.

LoveYaPa is a remake of the Tamil original, Love Today, released three years ago. The runway success of that film prompted the makers of LoveYaPa to give it a Hindustani rebirth. Written by director Pradeep Ranganathan and Ajay Gurunadhan, Love Today was based on App(a) Lock, by Ranganathan. The new-born avatar is directed by Advait Chandan, who directed Aamir in Lal Singh Chaddha. It brings together Sneha Desai, Sidhant Mago and Pradeep Ranganathan as writers. How far have they stuck to the original, can only be a matter of conjecture. What matters is whether the storyline and the plot points come together to form a wholesome unit. Sadly, they do not.

Although there are a few shots of the lead couple suggesting that they are employed, we see very little (in the case of Gaurav) and almost nothing (in the case of Bani). For both of them, being in constant touch is the most important activity. One cannot be blind to reality and say that this is acceptable. Surely, there must be many, many couples who cannot stay for a minute without a ring or a notification. However, we have a fairly good idea of what Anupam does, with a whole scene at his clinic, and even Bani’s senior colleague and passive lover, at work, gets to give his persona a rounded feel. Atul Kumar Sharma, a most decorated man with a coat-of-arms that includes several Ph.D.s, is not shown doing anything by way of a vocation. The entire track of the delivery boy bringing in the 20 litre canister/plastic container and Sharma haggling over two rupees, occurring twice in the film, only proves that he is a niggardly but principled miser, who lives in style and occasionally plays the sitar. But the way Bani describes him to Gaurav shows him to be a cantankerous oddball. And yet, it is his smart idea of the telephone exchange that is the very fabric of the film.   

There is no mention of Bani’s mother, just as we have no clue about Gaurav’s father. Logically, we presume that both must be dead. Kiran, Pinti and Gaurav’s hangers-on friends are all uni-dimensional, stock characters. It is difficult to believe that Bani could conceal her affair with Gaurav from her “lie detector” father for some months, or maybe a year or so. Strangely, some of the best dialogues, including some grounded home-truths, are reserved for Lalit Sachdeva, Gaurav’s mother. In one scene, Bani reveals that she went with her social media friend Coooochie-coo for a drive around Delhi (the story is set in Delhi), because he was feeling very low, and ended up at Mussoorie, which is a good 6 hr 5 min (300.1 km) drive away, seems unbelievable. It would take at least that much time to come back. Moreover, they would spend some time at the hill-station, otherwise what was the point going there in the first place? And how would she face her authoritarian father after being away for up to 24 hours? No wonder Gaurav describes her long “drive” as a “getaway”, not a drive.

On a few occasions, Sharma subjects the duo to his chaste Hindi, using words like uphaas, which is Hindi for humour, scenes that do tickle your funny bone. And then you wonder, “How is it that this tyrant did not impose his language on his two children?” Both of them speak normally, like 24-25-year-olds. It is surprising that Gaurav, who has a job in IT, cannot muster Rs. 37,000 for the phone. Since he had decided what type of phone Bani likes and wanted to buy her the same, why did he not check the price online before going into the shop and having to call his friends to pool in Rs. 2,000. The attraction between Gaurav and Bani is never delineated. What made them fall for each other? What are the qualities that they possess that enamoured them and drew them towards each other? LoveYaPa places a big price tag on virginity, with Gaurav asking Bani whether their first sexual experience, as and when it would happen, would be the first one for her? Also, director Advait does not explain why Bani lied to Gaurav about her Canadian friend coming as close to her as proposing marriage.

It would be interesting to study both versions of the film and figure out why the Hindustani version turns out to be as it is. Three years apart is not a lot of time, so have the sensibilities of us, watchers, changed so much that they will not accept LoveYaPa whole-heartedly, as they did Love Today? Think about it. Netizens will enjoy the film most, for it appears that they are the main target audience. When you look at it from the point of view of social media and its viral effect, you might like the film a little better. There is a rather large dose of messages and counter-messages that you can read on the big screen, VFX and graphics pitching in with their bit, to dazzle you with split screens, life-size v/s giant-size images.

Both Junaid Khan (son of Aamir Khan) and Khushi (daughter of Sridevi) seem to have been fitted into their characters, rather than merged into them. You often get the feel that they are performing the actions and mouthing the dialogue that is not of a calibre or level they deserve. Junaid looks the 6’2” that he is supposed to be, and has a square shaped body, that comes across as an imposing personality, not a mushy lover. Moreover, he has a very large face, and broad jaw. All these qualities are unlike his father, who would have fitted into the character much better than the son, if he had been 35 years younger. This is further highlighted in one shot, where you see Junaid in the large foreground and a video of an Aamir Khan film playing in the background. It is an iconic image, with Aamir Khan standing at an angle, having his arms spread apart. At 31, it is possible that he found the goings on a bit puerile, and the stint at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in New York had not reckoned for this. In some emotional scenes, however, he comes into his own, using his malleable face to good effect. It is when he is instructed to go over the top that the uneasiness shows. Ditto Khushi. In her case too, it is when she is instructed to go over the top that the uneasiness shows. Khushi is svelte and has a longish face. She learnt acting not far from Junaid, at the New York Film Academy. She is good when she is normal and happy/romantic. Not all the scenes are happy/romantic though, and her discomfiture sneaks out when she is made to wail. One knows the duo are capable for better, but for that, we will have to wait for another day.

Ashutosh Rana as Sharma is his usual, but played down a bit, self. The digs at difficult or uncommon Hindi words, through his speech, works on a couple of occasions. You don’t mind him chastising his daughters, or playing the sitar (in a parallel cutting style, first seen in Birth of a Nation, a century ago), but a despot haggling over Rs. 2 and treating it as a moralising opportunity is in rank bad taste, though you can only blame the writer(s) for the scene. Grusha Kapoor as Gaurav’s mother is a surprise package, having matured greatly as an actress, after her beginnings in the TV serial, Tara. Kiku Sharda, the sub-inspector in the loooooong running TV series FIR, gets a big break, as the dentist-husband, and shows that he can act normal too, something he has never done in his TV ‘comedy nights’ series. As Kiran Sachedva, Tanvika Parlikar is passable and Pinti Sharma played by Devishi Madaan is cute.

Other credits include Cinematography by Rajesh Nare, Editing by Antara Lahiri and music by Tanishk Bagchi, Bharath-Hitaarth, Aman Pant, Suyyash Raj, Viplove Rajdeo, Siddharth Singh and Ketan Sodha. Special mention of the title track, which is a package of delightful nonsense, courtesy singers Nakash Aziz, Madhubanti Bagchi, composed by White Noise Collectives, with choreography by Bosco.

At its heart, LoveYaPa is about trusting your romantic or life partner, and that is as noble a theme as you can get. Sadly, it gets diluted with the repetitive situations and graphics/VFX.

I will leave you with some lines from the title song, written by somebody who goes only by the short name, Som. There is a grammatical error in these lines, for there is no such thing as ‘jazbaaton’. It is jazba—singular and jazbaat—plural. Never mind, read and chuckle, nevertheless.

‘Babu shona kuchi, kuchiyapa ho gaya

Phenki main ney oonchee, oonchiyapa ho gaya

Mere jazbaaton ka, bhajiyapa ho gaya

Nikla tha love karney, loveyapa ho gaya

Rating: **

Trailer: https://youtu.be/rQp2-c_bTLM