Beneath its hard contrast colour palette and the razor sharp-looking frames, Rangreza asks a lot of introspective questions. For instance, it asks of the great divide between those born rich and the lower- middle class. The difference between true love and temporary flings. Honouring relationships tangled in old promises. Of today’s music, and the gharanas of old. Of choosing to tell a story or just shooting pretty frames.

Most of the times — not always, but often enough — director Amir Mohiuddin shows the wherewithal of a crafty filmmaker. The beat of the background score, as an example, booms at the right moment or the characters say and do stupid, yet pertinent things we expect in a motion picture so that the story progresses. These moments are apt and foreseeable, but badly timed and imprudently shuffled around the movie.

The story is simple enough to grasp (actually it reminds me of old dramas on ARY). A handsome rock-star son of a politician, who wants nothing to do with the family business, falls in love with a girl from a striving lower-middle class qawwal family. The parents throw insults at one another. The young couple strives. A brief tragedy brings everyone together. The old people and the staunch mindsets give in. Everyone lives happily ever after. The villain gets what he deserves. The audience grumbles, yet lives to see another film another day.

There are a lot of socially relevant moments in Rangreza, but the lack of narrative rhythm, a fluctuating tone between comedy and drama and some bad editing choices take a lot away from the experience

As I wrote earlier, one sees a lot of socially relevant moments, but the lack of narrative rhythm, a fluctuating tone between comedy and drama and some bad editing choices (like the placement of the scenes, length of the cuts that is often snipped when a rough cut is assembled) take a lot away from the experience. One doesn’t get bored though. A lot of dramatics take place, even when nothing is happening.

When we first see Reshmi (Urwa Hocane, nothing but unblinking stares), she is at our leading lad’s concert. Immediately afterwards she becomes aloof and chanchal (vivacious) at home, floundering around her mother. From her second appearance, she stands nearly silent in frames, and eventually we get to a point where we ponder her relevance as a character. Who is she, other than the token heroine with a pretty face?

At one moment, the hero asks her if she’s a musician and she replies: “Nahin, mein Reshmi hoon” (No, I am Reshmi) — as if that really gave perspective to anything.

Ali Zain (Bilal Ashraf, all dimples and heavy monotonic voice) has the same dilemma. Other than what we are told of him in the beginning of the film, we never see him flesh out as a character. Isn’t this one of the basic fundamentals we go to see in movies? The progress of a character? Even Dominic Torreto of the Fast and the Furious or say, Patric Mason (Sean Connery) in The Rock progress as individuals by the actions in the story (action films have the least level of characterisation in comparison to drama films).

Ali Zain (Bilal Ashraf, all dimples and heavy monotonic voice) has the same dilemma as Reshmi (Urwa Hocane). Other than what we are told of him in the beginning of the film, we never see him flesh out as a character. Isn’t this one of the basic fundamentals we go to see in movies? The progress of a character? Even Dominic Torreto of The Fast and the Furious or say, Patric Mason (Sean Connery) in The Rock progress as individuals by the actions in the story (action films have the least level of characterisation in comparison to drama films).

Even when there are some changes, they happen too late or appear understated to make a difference in the story.

Performances oscillate from mediocre to theatrical with Tanveer Jamal and Saleem Mairaj standing out. Speaking of performances, with the exception of a few ear-catching songs, Rangreza’s biggest draw would be Gohar Rasheed as Waseem Wallay (or was it just Waseem?) — an overblown, eccentric, illiterate villain.

Waseem — who has an attention-grabbing collection of shirts, sporting big bold symbols like a bomb or a heart pierced by cupid’s arrow — is Reshmi’s cousin and husband-to-be. No one takes Waseem seriously and it seems that the lack of attention and constant ridicule by his friends and family made him bonkers to the extent that he refers to himself in the third person.

Gohar’s scales his acting chops from oddball to a goofball (sometimes at the expense of ruining well-crafted scenes). However, he does keep the momentum going.

Waseem doesn’t have any layers to him, unlike the pondering questions the movie brings up — the ones I mentioned at the beginning of the review. He is simply written to be daffy. Sometimes it is fun to just keep things simple. An advice, I think, every Pakistani filmmaker should take to heart.

Published in Dawn, ICON, December 24th, 2017