‘Saiyaara' review: Mohit Suri romance offers familiar gloom and doom

Mint

2 days ago

Every generation deserves its Aashiqui, if only to show that audiences here will never tire of morose musicians neglecting their mental health and then singing about it. The crowd at my Friday morning screening mostly comprised college kids. Invariably, there was a good bit of wisecracking and talking back to the screen. But when it was time for the big concert number, many of them had their phones out and recording.
Saiyaara, directed by Mohit Suri for Yash Raj Films, actually began life as a third Aashiqui that never worked out. It isn't a Bhatt production, but it's a Bhatt film in spirit. Which is to say, it's gloomy, emotionally charged, self-flagellating, and full of hummable rock ballads that all sound the same.
Pitching a song to a popstar, aspiring singer Krish (Ahaan Panday) sets to music a partially written poem by fledgling writer Vaani (Aneet Padda), whom he barely knows. They're hired to work on it together (I winced when he snatches her notebook as she's working—a move that would earn you the lifelong enmity of any real writer). Initially, they seem to reinforce each other's sadness. He has an alcoholic father and a massive chip on his shoulder; she was dumped by her fiancée on their wedding day. But as the song takes shape, they start to trust, then encourage, each other. She opens up, he calms down, they grow closer.
Mohit Suri has been around long enough for everyone to know he isn't one for innovation. He's happy to repeat the same beats, film after film, with minor variations. Angsty love stories are his bread and butter, and Saiyaara progresses serenely from one setback to the next. For a while, it seems like Krish's temper and lack of control will be the stumbling block in their relationship. But there's something about Vaani's haunted expression that suggests she might have more complicated demons.
[spoiler in the next paragraph]
When Vaani offhandedly mentions she writes in her diary because she's forgetful, it felt like a significant detail. Sure enough, one day she collapses and is rushed to hospital. The diagnosis emerges on a subsequent visit: early onset Alzheimer's. Vaani's condition, almost unnoticeable till then, rapidly deteriorates until she's having frequent episodes where she forgets her past and present, including Krish. Even allowing for creative license, it's alarming how quickly Suri and screenwriter Sankalp Sadanah have Vaani with a knife in her hand, screaming at Krish.
It's amusing to see Krish rage about 'nepo kids' early on, given that Ahaan is the nephew of actor Chunky Panday and son of Chikki Panday, a businessman with ties to Bollywood. He acquits himself well enough, locating a softness without losing the character's edginess. Padda, like so many actresses in Hindi film now, operates from a place of safety: stoic face, almost blank, letting emotions flicker across. Whether or not it was intended, she makes an already guarded character unknowable.
After the big twist in the middle, the film does surprisingly little in its second half. Vaani recedes, into herself at first, and then from the narrative (that her caring, protective parents allow her to just leave home is difficult to swallow). Saiyaara becomes Krish's story, and is weaker for it. Apart from reiterating that love has made him a more responsible person, the film can't think of anywhere interesting for him to go (compare this to where Varun Dhawan's Dan ends up in October, a genuinely thoughtful trajectory).