In Jee Ve Sohneya Jee, the cross-border romance set in England about budding wanderlust, religion swaps and stupefyingly bad climaxes, a young Pakistani from Faridkot by the name of Ali Pervaiz (Imran Abbas) falls in love with an Indian Sikhni from Chandigarh, Meher (Simi Chahal).

Ali loves to travel on his heavy-duty bike called Al-Mast and dreams of starting a travel agency. Meher is a zippy bohemian with a dress sense to match, who is, presumably, inspired by Paolo Coelho’s early autobiographical novel Hippie, and wants to go on a solo trip from England to Norway on a dingy Volkswagen camper van straight out of the 1960s.

Meher, the chirpy free spirit that she is, doesn’t want love — she puts down a dweeb suitor early in her introductory scene — but that doesn’t mean that she is not open to the idea of falling in love (how can a hippy-ish girl living a hippy-ish dream not be ready for love?).

She has a swell relationship with her mother and father and has no problems with Pakistanis — what she doesn’t like are liars. Ali, a good, decent, peace-loving guy who doesn’t like confrontations, is not a liar…and yet he lies!

The story in Punjabi film Jee Ve Sohneya Jee is miniscule, there is little forward momentum, and the big conflicts, put into place early in the film, are long expected

In a half-baked scene when they meet for the second time, Ali tells Meher that he is Sabi, an Indian from Punjab. The real Sabi (Mintu Kappa), who recently made it to the UK from India and initially had a thing against Pakistanis, agrees to swap identities with Ali.

The switch does not lead to comedy, or much of anything for that matter, other than the eventual drama it sets up. See, Ali is engaged to his sister’s soon-to-be sister-in-law Aasia (Anam Tanveer) who, unlike Ali, is not ecstatic about the idea of a life on the road; in fact, she hates the road so much that her nausea kicks in (she has a bad case of motion sickness, she explains).

Ali, being the good guy that he is, sacrifices himself for his sister’s love marriage in Pakistan. Aasia and her dad aren’t bad people per se. In a quickie scene tying up backstories, we learn that his would-be father-in-law had helped the family out when their factories burned down (Imran Abbas’s father is played by Sajid Hasan in a wasted near-mute role that has a runtime of minutes, if not seconds). And, as if that weren’t enough, he is also helping Ali get his name off the UK’s terrorist watchlist.

Now, before one gets intrigued by this revelation: Stop! — the name Ali Parvaiz just happens to be a bad one that triggers UK’s law enforcement into action. Ali is often patted down, because that’s what foreign authorities do for no rhyme or reason, it seems.

This plot point tries to save the film from one of its biggest conundrums: interfaith marriages. How can Ali, a Muslim, marry Meher, who is a Sikh, without, at the very least, starting a conversation about changing religions, and in-turn triggering ire from either community.

The solution, according to the filmmakers, is an easy way out — and it is a spoiler best left for those who want to see the film.

Before one springs for the ticket, expect this: the film, written and directed by Thaparr (single name), overstays its welcome by a good 50 minutes, at least. The story is miniscule, there is little forward momentum, and the big conflicts, put into place early in the film, were long expected.

There’s nothing new to expect…except the awkward “save” at the end, without which religious outbursts would’ve been set-off from both sides of the Indo-Pak border.

If the inanity at the very end isn’t enough, the film, with its few sets and locations, has plenty of technical shortcomings. The sequences (ie sets of scenes) — and at times the very scenes themselves — don’t match in colour. This slip is an eyesore, especially for those who have a sensitive visual palette. Colour balancing shots would have saved the vibrant, lush landscapes one sees in the UK portion of the film.

They are, however, better than the scenes shot in Pakistan by unit director Shahzad Rafique (director of Salakehein, producer of Ghoonghat and Nikah) and cinematographer Asrad Khan (Daghabaaz Dil, Taxali Gate). The scenes in Pakistan stick out like a sore thumb; the lighting is bad, the lens choices worse, and the production design none — the sequences feel devoid of budget.

All of these shortcomings — the plot, the pace, the technical glitches and the lack of imagination — could have been easily overcome, if one had just thought them through. But, then again, if that had happened, this would have turned out to be a very different film indeed.

Jee Ve Sohneya Jee wasn’t made with the intention of being a ‘shahkaar’ — a great piece of filmmaking — it was designed to be breezy romantic fluff whose success banked on its stars, Imran Abbas and Simi Chahal. Both are fine, at times good even, though Simi needs to put in hard work on her crying scenes.

A shorter running time and a better culmination that doesn’t propagate real-world hassles (or at the least not turn them into narrative blunders) would have made Ali and Meher’s journey much more enjoyable…and perhaps, less boring.

Released by Distribution Club, Jee Ve Sohneya Jee, rated suitable for families with a U (Universal) certificate, is running in cinemas across Pakistan

Published in Dawn, ICON, May 5th, 2024