Khushi (2003)
Cast: Fardeen Khan, Kareena Kapoor
Director: S.J Suryah
Synopsis: Dreadful ham-fisted attempt at "charming comedy" - is anything but charming!
Music: Anu Malik
Reviewed by: Faiz Khan

 

The title Khushi immediately conjures up memories of those wonderfully warm-hearted films that Hrishikesh Mukherjee and Basu Chatterjee made during the 1970s and 1980s. Small, intimate stories built upon simple themes, populated by believable characters and blessed with intelligent scripts and effortless performances.

My first thought was that Khushi might follow in the footsteps of Mukherjee's delightful Khoobsurat—the story of an irrepressible young woman spreading happiness wherever she goes. Equally, it could have taken the bittersweet route of Mili, where sunshine and optimism mask a deeper personal tragedy.

Sadly...

it does neither.

In fact, the title itself is perhaps the film's greatest deception.

Forget Khushi.

Dukhi would have been far more appropriate.

The film begins with a whimsical piece of destiny. We witness the births of two children—Khushi (Kareena Kapoor), born in Chamoli, and Karan (Fardeen Khan), born in Calcutta. A narrator solemnly informs us that fate has decreed these two are destined for one another.

A year later, while their unsuspecting parents shop for saris, the toddlers briefly touch hands before going their separate ways.

As Yash Chopra famously reminded us in Dil To Pagal Hai, somebody, somewhere, is made for everyone.

The audience now waits to discover how destiny will eventually reunite these two children.

Unfortunately...

the journey proves considerably less enchanting than the premise.

Our first proper introduction to Khushi is hardly what one expects from a small-town girl. Dressed in hot pants and figure-hugging tops, she dances exuberantly through the village before returning home to face a father determined to marry her off. Khushi, however, wishes to continue her education. Agreeing to the marriage only because she knows circumstances will somehow rescue her, she is conveniently spared when the prospective groom absconds before the wedding.

Curiously, although this development fits perfectly with her own wishes, the screenplay later expects us to believe it has left her emotionally scarred.

Logic quietly takes a back seat.

Meanwhile, we meet Karan (Fardeen Khan), energetically singing patriotic songs despite appearing to be somewhere on the American continent rather than anywhere remotely resembling India. Quite how he arrives home is of little consequence, because the screenplay seems equally unconcerned.

Eventually, fate brings the pair together at college.

Predictably, friendship blossoms.

Equally predictably, it is punctuated by endless arguments.

Neither Khushi nor Karan appears remotely capable of expressing affection without immediately launching into another shouting match. Presumably these exchanges are intended to generate romantic tension and comedy.

Instead, they simply become exhausting.

One particularly painful sequence sees an intoxicated Karan attempting to eat Khushi's photograph before discovering she is standing directly behind him.

It is intended to be hilarious.

I merely cringed.

By this point we were only halfway through the film.

Then comes what must surely rank among the most unintentionally hilarious romantic scenes in recent Bollywood history.

Karan becomes utterly mesmerised by Khushi's navel.

The camera lingers.

Sweat beads glisten.

Time appears to stand still as though mankind has just made an extraordinary archaeological discovery.

One could be forgiven for assuming our hero had somehow reached adulthood without ever previously encountering a belly button.

Needless to say, Khushi objects.

Another argument follows.

Another reconciliation becomes inevitable.

And the film continues treading water.

Eventually, circumstances force the estranged pair to reunite in order to help two friends whose romance is threatened by the girl's Mafia-connected father. By now, however, the destination has never really been in doubt. We know perfectly well where the story is heading.

The problem is getting there.

And it feels like an extraordinarily long journey indeed.

The tragedy is that there is actually a charming romantic comedy hidden somewhere beneath all the noise.

Director S. J. Surya adapts his own successful Tamil film, yet where the material cries out for warmth, understatement and emotional delicacy, he opts instead for broad comedy, incessant shouting and exaggerated performances. Every potentially touching moment is overwhelmed by loudness. Every opportunity for genuine romance disappears beneath forced humour and painfully stilted dialogue.

The result is a film almost entirely devoid of charm.

One cannot help imagining what might have emerged had the material been treated with the sensitivity of a film such as Saathiya. The basic story possesses considerable potential.

The execution squanders it.

Kareena Kapoor delivers one of the weakest performances of her early career. In fairness, much of the blame rests with the director's conception of the character. She spends most of the film shouting, pulling exaggerated facial expressions and generally behaving in a manner that makes genuine emotional involvement almost impossible.

Fardeen Khan fares only marginally better.

He possesses an easy screen presence, and the chemistry between the two leads occasionally hints at what the film might have become under more assured direction, but he too is trapped within an uneven screenplay that never allows either actor to develop believable characters.

It is an enormous waste of two attractive stars.

The production itself also raises questions of misplaced priorities. Vast sums are reportedly spent on the lavish picturisation of songs such as Tere Bina Tere Bina, yet one is left wondering whether that money might have been better invested in strengthening the screenplay.

After all, audiences no longer flock to cinemas simply because a song has been expensively filmed.

They have already seen it on television.

The soundtrack itself is actually one of the film's few redeeming qualities. Anu Malik contributes an enjoyable collection of melodies, with the title track, Hai Re Hai Re, Jiya Maine Jiya and the deleted Aaja Piya all making a favourable impression.

Which leaves us with the delicious irony of the title.

Throughout the film, Kareena repeatedly sings:

"Aaye Re Aaye Re Khushi... Layee Re Layee Re Khushi."

I regret to report that she comprehensively fails to honour that promise.

Few Bollywood titles have ever been quite so misleading.

Khushi contains remarkably little happiness.

For the audience, at least.