Starring Ibrahim Ali Khan and Khushi Kapoor, ‘Nadaaniyan’ blunts the Dharma Productions’ shtick of meta gags, woke updates, and confessional storytelling.
Like every soul engaged in a creative industry, I too have my panic sessions. What happens when AI takes over art? Can emotions be invoked with a prompt? Well, ChatGPT will never know what it’s like to grow up in a dysfunctional family—where every discussion is an audition of India’s Got Latent with crazy gaslighting and minus all the fun. Human stories are messy, and no algorithm can cook them up. What AI can probably manage is a film like Nadaaniyan. It looks like someone tried it. Instead, it opts for a more straightforward narrative that allows the characters to shine through their genuine interactions and relatable dilemmas. The film's refreshing approach invites audiences to engage with the story on a deeper level, moving beyond the typical tropes often seen in contemporary cinema.
The film instead opts for a more straightforward narrative that focuses on the complexities of youthful relationships and self-discovery. With a fresh approach, it captures both the challenges and joys of modern life, resonating with audiences seeking authenticity over irony. The film instead opts for a more straightforward narrative that focuses on character development and emotional depth. Viewers can expect a refreshing departure from the typical formulas, showcasing the talents of its young leads in a more grounded setting.
The film instead opts for a more straightforward narrative that emphasizes character development and genuine emotion. With a fresh approach, it invites audiences to connect with the struggles and triumphs of its protagonists in a way that feels both relatable and refreshing. As the story unfolds, viewers are treated to moments of humor and heart, showcasing the chemistry between the lead characters. This departure from the usual formula not only captivates the audience but also sets a new standard for future projects in the industry. In this evolving landscape of storytelling, filmmakers are increasingly encouraged to experiment with narratives that prioritize depth and authenticity over mere spectacle. By doing so, they not only enrich the viewing experience but also foster a deeper understanding of the human condition through their art. As these creative choices resonate with audiences, they challenge traditional conventions and invite viewers to engage more critically with the material. Ultimately, this shift paves the way for a richer tapestry of storytelling that reflects the complexities of modern life.
Like every soul engaged in a creative industry, I too have my panic sessions. What happens when AI takes over art? Can emotions be invoked with a prompt? Well, ChatGPT will never know what it’s like to grow up in a dysfunctional family—where every discussion is an audition of India’s Got Latent with crazy gaslighting and minus all the fun. Human stories are messy, and no algorithm can cook them up. What AI can probably manage is a film like Nadaaniyan. It looks like someone tried it.
How do they do it? Buy an overpriced AI tool, feed it the right keywords before the trial period ends, and out comes a screenplay with a dated American high school premise and just the right dose of Bollywood nostalgia. Throw in a mega-rich versus regular-rich divide (because the poor can’t afford sparkling water), some career ambitions no one actually cares about, and a token dash of woman empowerment because why not? Of course, no such script is complete without a line that goes, “Tum mere saath flirt kar rahe ho?” And to impress the algorithm, they toss in a dialogue so meta that it hurts: “Main koi AI robot nahi hoon.” And just like that, we get the dream debut of Ibrahim Ali Khan.
Sometimes, I genuinely feel producer Karan Johar is just performing a public service for Bollywood. There’s no way a businessman like him believes Gen-Z cares about star kids. He can’t possibly be that detached from reality. So, a film like Nadaaniyan feels less like a launchpad and more like a cleansing ritual. Why waste resources on two separate disasters when you can just bundle two celebrity children into one film, watch them flail around trying to act, let the audience collectively reject them, and wash your hands of the whole thing? Coming from the man behind some of my favorite films, this is the only explanation I’m ready to accept.
Nadaaniyan is that school group project where everyone’s just thrilled to be on the attendance sheet. Director Shauna Gautam secures her first job and spends the majority of it being captivated by the power trio of Karan Johar, Netflix, and now the Poonawalas. Ibrahim's soft launch follows years of entering and exiting the gym to keep paparazzi busy. Khushi, meanwhile, continues her on-the-job training (her own words, not mine). I know this thanks to an interview I wish I hadn’t watched, and it improves by about 10% from The Archies. They aren’t good actors. They don't perform well in their current factory settings. But I’ve found two coping mechanisms to survive them and Nadaaniyan.
One: Close your eyes when Khushi goes full throttle. Her dialogue delivery isn’t a complete disaster—in fact, it’s marginally better than her sister’s, which is hardly a compliment. That little quiver in her voice during emotional scenes reminded me, fleetingly, of her legendary mother. Unfortunately, the actor’s facial muscles fail to move—perhaps due to a reason everyone knows, and she acknowledges. It’s tragic because there’s a visible desperation to prove herself, but it’s all trapped inside.
Two: Cover your ears when Ibrahim opens his mouth. Hindi doesn’t come naturally to him. Punchlines soar past their intended targets, and his enunciation can give Siri a complex. There is no hero voice throw to talk about, although the texture is suspiciously similar to Ranbir Kapoor’s. That’s not to say he’s any great shakes otherwise—but the lad is quite easy on the eyes. The actor completely stumbles when attempting to play the quintessential Bollywood hero. There’s a moment near the climax where he forces a dramatic facial shiver—the kind Rani Mukerji masterfully delivers in Bombay Talkies upon realizing her husband is gay. If not Ibrahim, I felt secondhand embarrassment for a few seconds. Some might argue, “John Abraham ko kahan acting aati hai, yaar?” Sure, be John Abraham, but maybe master the language of your day job first.
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