First things first, I want to meet whoever it is at Netflix India giving a green signal to almost all the Indian content they produce. Because minutes into the film, and when I say minutes, I mean maximum five, you know that shutting your laptop screens (or wherever you choose to watch it) is going to be a smarter plot than the film itself. Not choice, plot. Because the plot, if there is any, of Mrs Serial Killer is as redundant as it could be, making this film the worst film I’ve watched this year. It’s even worse than Jacqueline Fernandez’s last film (another Netflix India film) Drive.
The film is about Dr Mrityunjoy Mukherjee (Manoj Bajpayee), his wife Sona (Fernandez) and the mess they suddenly find themselves in. There are six bodies that have been found in one of their Nainital bungalows. All of these are young girls. (I will not give spoilers, even though I beg of you to not watch this film). The bodies are discovered in the most stupid way. Anyway, so now Dr Mukherjee is put in jail, and his wife believes that he’s not guilty. So she begins her own chase of freeing her husband.
I don’t even know how this film would’ve looked on paper, but I haven’t felt dumber while watching any other film. It’s like an IQ test, that you will fail, because the film is written in that way. There’s absolutely nothing you want to look forward to, or even anything that makes slight sense. In one of the scenes, Sona’s lawyer comes to court on FaceTime, and even Sona wasn’t aware of this. Did no one give Jacqueline Fernandez a script, or was there no script?
Perhaps the only thought that you leave the film with is why did Manoj Bajpayee sign this Shirish Kunder (Joker) film. You can see it in his performance that even he does not believe in the film, in his character. Because everything about him, and this ‘thriller’ is only caricature-ish. Bajpayee is a fine actor and we know that, and I’m sure he tried his best to do something with the material given to him, but if you give him lines like, “Where is the fucking comedy?” and “I am not a fucking ice cream,” even he will not be able to deliver. At one point, when Sona asks him what’s his problem with tattoos, he says, “Taj Mahal pe graffiti thodi banate hain.” I’m not even making this up.
There’s also Mohit Raina, who we last saw in Uri and Zee5’s Kaafir. He’s been eye-catching in both his pervious works, but here, as Imraan, he fails as an actor. Like Bajpayee, I don’t rest the entire blame on his shoulders, because the writing doesn’t let him do much. Like Dr Mukherjee, his Imraan is also a caricature bearing the wrath of ugly writing.
Heading the narrative is Jacqueline Fernandez’s Sona, even though she is a far cry from being a protagonist. Each of her moves are governed by someone else – her parents, Imraan, the doctor, her lawyer. There’s always someone to tell her what to do. Someone please also tell Fernandez to either go to acting school or just drop it as a profession. I don’t want to be mean, but she’s terrible in this film. And I say this statement only on the basis of this film. So what comes as a relief for her is that even if there was a Radhika Apte or Kalki Koechlin playing the part they couldn’t have done it because the writing is pathetically bad. Also, woman also needs Hindi lessons.
And who on earth thought that it was a good idea to cast Jacqueline Fernandez and Manoj Bajpayee as a couple? And is that how you reveal to your husband that you’re pregnant?
At whatever point you choose to stop watching this film, you need to give yourself a pat on the back – either for sitting through the film, or for choosing not to. And if you choose to not watch the film altogether (would highly recommend) give yourself a pat from my side too.
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