The moral—for lack of a better word—that director Hansal Mehta’s Simran attempts to get across is that robbing banks and gambling are A-Okay if you have a fun background score to support you. For viewers, this might not necessarily be a deal-breaker—after all, we do fancy ourselves a lovable rogue at the movies.
But every lovable rogue has their share of redeeming qualities. From Captain Kirk and Han Solo to James Bond, or even Jack Sparrow, the many misdemeanors are supported either by ample context or by a ton of virtues that balance them. There’s just one teensy little thing: Simran’s protagonist Praful Patel is anything but likable.
And acclaimed playwright Bertolt Brecht would tell you it’s not a bad thing at all, should it be used well. Aptly titled Epic Theatre, his fascinating medium explored characters not by means of connect, but as a psychoanalytical case study.
Brecht’s storytelling technique might not be widely favored—understandable, because it’s relatively easier for viewers to relate in their attempt to invest in any character. It is too important, however, to be dismissed, because of the many virtues it possesses, it offers its audience a wider understanding of humanity.
And at times, Simran succeeds in this. A smashing breakdown in a 7-Eleven-type at a gas station in its first hour forms an excellent example of context. The desperation that drives her to a life of crime is one of the very few sincerely crafted conflict-points in a frustratingly commitment-phobic narrative. At times, it flirts with Brechtian omniscience, backpedaling soon enough to give us The Likable A****le Movie we didn’t necessarily need.
Most of acclaimed director Anurag Kashyap’s films are perfect examples of an unflinching commitment to an unlikable character. A film like Dev.D boldly turns the detrimental flaws of its eponymous protagonist on its head, making the film self-aware of his inappropriate behavioral patterns.
Everything—from its central protagonist’s image-system to the verisimilitude it attempts to create—ends up in a murky corner of self-contradiction that it can never seem to redeem itself of.
And with a firebrand actor like Kangna Ranaut to back them, Simran had all the opportunity to give us a complex, layered character backed by a strong image system for context. Here, unfortunately, we have a Mary Sue who can do anything under the sun and get away with it because she has a fantastic sense of humor.
Never fully owning either of its two narrative tones, Simran, then, wants to have its cake and eat it too. Unfortunately (and unsurprisingly), it mostly falls flat on its face. By the end of it—and especially considering the fascinating story behind the film—it would be hard not to remember the many controversial decisions taken throughout the process of producing Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice and Suicide Squad.
That wouldn’t matter though, had the result knocked it right out of the park. What Simran really ends up being, however, is the spawn of the combined fractured DNAs of Ben Falcone’s Tammy, Shaad Ali’s Bunty aur Babli and Vikas Bahl’s Queen. Its delirious vehemence in making it an accessible movie, then, strips the movie off any identity.
Viewers, as a result, are provided a film replete with endless exposition, awkward dialogue and characters you literally can’t be bothered about. To make matters worse, it contradicts its own tone so much that you’re not sure if you’d want to go with it, or question the proceedings deliriously.
Are we looking too much into what’s supposed be a fun dark comedy? Maybe. But there is always a massive difference between using humor to support a story’s darkest areas and simply squeezing a joke out of a character flaw “for the lolz”. Matt Stone and Trey Parker’s outrageous, yet enduring, animated sitcom South Park is an effective example of transforming the dark political climates through the last two decades into outrageously offensive humor, cleverly lacing irony with every step they take.
Barring Ranaut’s smashing performance, however, the movie has little else of substance to offer. Everything—from its central protagonist’s image-system to the verisimilitude it attempts to create—ends up in a murky corner of self-contradiction that it can never seem to redeem itself of.
Quite a shame, that. Because hidden behind Simran is a potent dark comedy about a woman falling into the rabbit-hole of crime. Unfortunately, despite having waited for years to break out, banging through the coffin, a la Ryan Reynolds in Buried, that film is dead, with no possible chance of any resurrection.
