Pakistani films are slowly shedding some of what’s held them back for so long — poor scripts, uninspired direction, shoddy production. But one thing filmmakers haven’t been able to shed yet is a sense that a single film is, somehow, responsible for addressing and correcting every social ill that plagues us. Haissam Hussain’s latest directorial venture Balu Mahi, though pleasing on many counts, buckles under the weight of this responsibility. But more on that later.

Balu Mahi marks Osman Khalid Butt’s first stab at playing the hero in a major big-screen production as Balu (Bilal) to Ainy Jaffri’s Mahi. Balu Mahi also marks Ainy Jaffri’s film debut. This pairing is enough of a draw to the film — Osman is known as a smart, considered performer who has gained a sizable fan following roles in TV dramas such as Diyar-i-Dil and Ainy, as fresh talent, begs a closer look.

The film is a mainstream romantic comedy delivered in two acts and populated by the usual suspects: a serious young man, a feisty young woman, an ‘other’ woman and an obstruction to their romance coming in the form of a threatening, overbearing patriarch. As Balu crashes a wedding hoping to persuade a former flame to be his, he stumbles into the wrong shaadi hall and tangles with Mahi, a reluctant bride who uses him as an excuse to make a run for it. The pair spend one long night navigating Lahore as they try to evade Mahi’s family, getting to know each other better in the process. This endless night constitutes the entire first half of the film.

A promising film, Balu Mahi, is let down by Pakistani filmmakers’ own clichés

You’d think you’d long for sunrise but, oddly, this is the most effective part of Balu Mahi. As Balu and Mahi duck through back alleys in the old city and stumble across shrines filled with ecstatic devotees, the story takes on a fantastical, otherworldly quality, mirroring the unreality lovers experience when they begin to fall in love. Haissam’s focus on gorgeous, vibrant colours and Rahat Fateh Ali’s accompanying haunting song suggest Balu and Mahi’s heightened senses and their savouring of the moment. The two are mostly the only characters on screen during this spell and that’s fine. Osman is convincing as the practical young man trying to do the right thing and Ainy is magnetic as the girl coming into her own despite her family’s stranglehold on her.

If only this had been allowed to continue — or better yet, Balu Mahi should’ve closed at its strongest point. Instead, the film’s second act seeks to offer up a complete resolution to the lovers’ story and loses its vibrancy. This is where that deadly belief Pakistani filmmakers cling to – the belief that a movie must definitively and directly address social ills to be relevant — sinks the film.

Near the end, as Mahi struggles to claim her identity as a person in her own right, we’re treated to several stilted, contrived monologues on how women are treated as second-class citizens and how terrible this is.

Near the end, as Mahi struggles to claim her identity as a person in her own right, we’re treated to several stilted, contrived monologues on how women are treated as second-class citizens and how terrible this is. One of these monologues is delivered by Osman Khalid Butt. He compares Mahi’s treatment by her family to female infanticide practiced centuries ago in Arabia, and that’s when you know the film has overstepped its mark. Everything we needed to know about women’s quashed desires, about the complex interplay of familial loyalty and desire for self-actualisation that determines a young woman’s decisions — was already subtly, and so, effectively delivered to us over the course of Balu and Mahi’s endless night. Screenwriters and producers, take note: a slow, steady drip of meaning reinforced by motifs of corresponding significance is a more potent means of delivering a message than a blaring public service announcement.

Another problem: if a film sets itself up as a means to deliver the ‘right’ social messages, then this aim must cut across all aspects of the production. Every role must be sketched with an eye to making the larger point, every casual reference must be carefully calibrated. This is where Mahi’s character fails us. She presents herself as a jazbati [emotional] girl (the default identity of the modern Pakistani heroine, it seems) who wants to be azad [free]. That’s all fine, but the film fails to communicate how desiring freedom and acquiring freedom are two entirely different prospects. One doesn’t necessarily lead to the other, at least not without a plan.

I’d hate to think this film sends young women the message that running away from your family without a ready course of action is commendable or smart. It isn’t. Freedom — both physical and intellectual — is hard work. It’s not as easy as meeting a stranger and falling in love.

As Balu Mahi arrived at its conclusion I was left saddened and frustrated. The film came so close to being the kind of cinema we ought to strive for. I was rooting for it, but it let me down.

Published in Dawn, ICON, February 19th, 2017