1995 was a seminal year for Bollywood films. The Shah Rukh Khan-Kajol blockbuster Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayeinge set in motion a new trend: that of the ‘NRI film’. Unlike in the past where his father Yash Chopra’s Hindi films would sometimes utilise the scenic locales of Switzerland to shoot their songs, Aditya Chopra had made ‘Non-Resident Indians’ the protagonists of his film. Although most of the film’s action takes place back in India, it was clear that the characters’ mindset and issues stemmed from their distance from their parents’ generation, which was more closely tied to traditions and their connection with the homeland. It was also a brilliant device to talk about the aspirations of the younger generation which often found more in common with a global youth culture than with the stultifying atmosphere of the native older establishment.

DDLJ was a massive hit. Suddenly producers woke up to the earning potential of films made about and for the huge Indian diaspora, particularly in North America and the United Kingdom. Since then, a large number of films — particularly of the song-and-dance masala variety — have been set abroad and have helped expand the Bollywood market. Not all of this trend has been for the good — in fact, most of it has not — since NRI films more often than not tend to exist in a strange bubble of disconnectedness and have encouraged filmmakers to eschew grittier issues at home for international marketing-friendly gloss.

This trend never caught on in Pakistan for the simple reason that Pakistan’s film industry was in such doldrums that even getting cheaper domestic films made was a struggle, to say nothing of films set abroad which tend to cost more to produce. Perhaps the smaller Pakistani diaspora (at least compared to the Indian one) and a lack of access to exhibition routes abroad also played a part. The technical quality of Pakistani films did not inspire much confidence either.

Dobara Phir Se’s strength is in its depiction of contemporary expatriate urban life with a very Pakistani ethos

But there was also a lack of confidence among Pakistani filmmakers about their ability to depict such stories authentically as well as resistance about the very viability of translating them for the big screen.

Mehreen Jabbar’s Dobara Phir Se may now be considered the first real entrant in the genre of the ‘NRP film’ — the Non-Resident Pakistani film. It is a coherent, handsome-looking production which wears its expatriate setting lightly. Its characters are upper-class young men and women living in New York City who make no excuses for living like any other young men and women in that city. They party, they work, they go on vacations together and they have normal intimate relationships without any angst about how this lifestyle is far removed from the lifestyle of the ‘masses’ back home. And yet, perhaps the strongest element of DPS is how this does not devolve into some disconnected bubble — the film manages to remain grounded in a very Pakistani ethos.

This may have something to do with the story, written by Bilal Sami, which revolves around the stop-start romantic relationship of a young architect Hammad (Adeel Hussain) and illustrator Zainab (Hareem Farooq). Matters of the heart are truly universal and the focus on the personal helps to deflect attention from the alienation that arises from the American setting.

When Hammad first meets Zainab at a friend’s party, he is already smitten. But he’s just been set up with another girl Natasha (Tooba Siddiqui) and Zainab is married, albeit unhappily, to Asim (Shaz Khan of Moor fame). The budding romance is nipped before it even gets going. The story traces their liaison over many months and follows a convoluted, meandering path that feels far more authentic than the typical boy-meets-girl-they-fall-in-love fare. A special mention must also be made of the dialogue, which remains refreshingly free of clichés.

Mehreen Jabbar’s Dobara Phir Se may now be considered the first real entrant in the genre of the ‘NRP film’ — the Non-Resident Pakistani film. It is a coherent, handsome-looking production which wears its expatriate setting lightly.

Mehreen has made her name as a director of understated and nuanced television dramas which are identifiable for her autuerial style of storytelling and her ability to bring out the best in her actors. She brings that experience to DPS, far more than she did with her first film Ramchand Pakistani, perhaps aided by a milieu that is closer to her own reality (she now lives in New York herself) and the absence of any big stars.

Adeel Hussain, Ali Kazmi (as Vasay, Hammad’s friend) and Sanam Mody Saeed (as Samar, Vasay’s girlfriend) shine brightly in particular, coming across as extremely authentic in their portrayals. Too much television exposure can often be a death-knell for aspiring film actors but Adeel manages to retain his faithfulness to the character without sacrificing that element of glamour required for the big screen. He will go far.

Hareem Farooq is a bit of a more complicated case. She is simultaneously enigmatic and relatable. While she acquits herself very admirably in most scenes, managing to carry off the conflicted divorced mother of a young boy trying to balance what is expected of her with her desire, at some points one couldn’t help wonder how a more expressive, perhaps more charismatic, actress might have handled the role.

The first half of DPS is almost pitch-perfect, particularly in its photography (by two-time Emmy winner Andreas Burgess) and its editing. Where the film stumbles, however, is after its intermission, both in terms of its story and its pacing. Partly this is because a focus on the overly cutesy young son of Zainab and Asim (played by Moosa Rabbani) drags the story down into more predictable domestic television drama terrain. This is unfortunate because otherwise, DPS is resolutely fresh and adult in its tone. Asim’s character — who comes across as relentlessly controlling and aggressive — could have done with a little more nuance and the emotional reversals of some of the side characters (Atiqa Odho as Asim’s mother, Tooba Siddiqui as Natasha) stretch credibility. The film also probably needed more of an emotional explosion before its climax but the filmmakers’ desire to paint almost all the characters in sympathetic, almost-saintly, hues prevents that needed visceral drama. This makes the film feels stretched out without a payback.

Nevertheless, these critiques are in the context of a film that actually makes visual and emotional sense and has generally fleshed-out characters, which is far more than most of the films being churned out recently. It would also be remiss not to mention the use of music. Aside from one upbeat choreographed number — Shiraz Uppal’s Lar Gaiyyan — most of the rest is used as atmospheric background score and has a haunting quality. The Haniya Aslam-composed title song (which is partly lip-synced to) and Vishal Bhardwaj-composed Rasta Tham Gaya as well as Arooj Aftab’s Raske Bhare Tore Nain stand out as songs one can listen to outside the context of the film as well. An excellent acoustic version of Arooj’s jazzy rendering of Baghon Mein Parre Jhoolay is also in the film but is unfortunately not on the official film soundtrack.

DPS might struggle in the domestic market because of a general downturn in cinema attendance (after the ill-advised ban on Indian films) as well as its lack of big stars and masala-fare. But it is likely to do better with desi audiences abroad. More importantly, despite the flaws of its second half, as a film that unapologetically depicts real contemporary lives, Dobara Phir Se marks a maturation of Pakistani cinema.

Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, December 4th, 2016