The first question screenwriter Imtiaz Ali answers is the most obvious on one’s mind: do you even want to watch a reiteration of Laila Majnu’s story today? Well, yes you do.
Laila Majnu is a pleasant surprise that doesn’t waste time getting to the point. Minutes into the film, we know exactly what we’re getting, who we’re seeing and what we have to feel for them.
Laila (Tripti Dimri) is a school-going teenager who daydreams of being romanced by Prince Charming. At school she is beguiled by stories of her friends’ flings; to her, tales of love’s first lip-lock have the allure of a fairytale.
Laila, though enamoured by the idea of a Mills & Boon romance, is this generation’s teenager. She knows she is beautiful, and hence is a bit of flirt. Living in the small Kashmiri hillside town, Laila has a bit of a reputation with the boys — but only as an innocent tease.
Qais (Avinash Tiwari), on the other hand, is infamous for his philandering. As the town’s token rich bad-boy, he is dramatically linked to ladies in over-embellished stories that are passed around from aunties to girls.
As the Laila-Majnu tale necessitates, Laila and Qais will fall in love despite their family’s mutual animosity. The lovers will be separated, Laila will die and Majnu will wander the wilderness as a madman.
Co-screenwriter/director Sajid Ali (Imtiaz’s younger brother) paints under these broad strokes. His film is a delicately adapted, emotionally riveting present-day version that bears an immediately identifiable directorial signature.
In Sajid and Imtiaz’s point of view, both Laila and Majnu are today’s teenagers, and so their ideas of courtship and romance reflect this generations’ attitude (minus the sex and sexuality one assumes from Bollywood).
The screenplay intelligently divides its time between Laila and Majnu, building up their all-too-familiar story in a unique, enchanting setting that doesn’t give in to the norm (i.e. showing India-held Kashmir without the unrest).
The screenplay deliberately writes Laila and Majnu as immature youngsters at times. As one may expect given their ages, neither character is mature about their decisions. While there are logical ways for the story to unfold, one should appreciate the fact that the decisions Laila and Majnu make are limited by what one can think of in their 20s.
Expanding the story from that point of view is an experienced filmmakers’ choice, despite this being Sajid’s debut film.
One also realises that Imtiaz and Sajid’s take is female empowering. In a few select moments, the writers give Dimri powerful pre- and post-intermission scenes to perform in.
On the other hand, Qais and his slow regression to madness may feel a bit off, considering how it comes to pass. However, since the third act solely fixates on this side of the story, one can’t help but be swept away in the current.
On the acting front, Dimri is a revelation, and Tiwari — who in one early scene, makes fun of his own ugliness — is mesmerising as a slightly nuts, good-hearted scoundrel.
The duo is supported by a fantastic, earthy-sounding soundtrack by Niladri Kumar, Joi Barua and Alif. Six out of seven songs are catchy, upbeat numbers that stay in line with the film’s expertly measured mood and timbre.
In fact, there is good chance you’ll agree on the placement of a preppy romantic song at the end credits because, despite the story’s inherent graveness (and its datedness), after two long hours the lightheartedness grows on you.
In the end, this is not a sad story. For the Ali brothers, even death and madness come with a feather-light feel.
Laila Majnu is a delicately adapted, emotionally riveting present-day version of an age-old love story. The Russian horror movie The Mermaid tries to make up for a boring story with tame jump-scares
The Mermaid: Lake of the Dead