Phillauri is a spirited attempt that soon loses steam

The humour remains measured and sharp through most of the first half. The absurdity of a manglik marrying a tree – still a prevalent custom; the loud music, the endless drinking and partying, as seen from the perspective of a skeptical 100-yearold ghost.

A nearly silent humour sequence, with lots of caricature and running around, is especially remarkable, almost Chaplin-esque, and sees Suraj at his best.

But as it goes into flashbacks – increasingly long, and often oblivious of the contemporary plot – the story begins to meander. Here, it’s all golden dawn lighting, people dressed in Fab India-ish ethnicwear, and way too many songs, even for an oldschool romance over music and poetry.

Yet, there is a solid, redeeming twist that could have held and justified Shashi’s back story. As the educated girl with a deep interest in poetry, young Shashi is a feminist ahead of her times. Even her romance with the local village bard (Diljit Dosanjh) is a match of intellect rather than attraction.

Unfortunately, the film takes on too much – rituals and superstition, patriarchy, class divide, even a bit of colonialism.

By the climax, you’re sick of the retro yellow light filter and the melodrama; the witty writing of the first half has long been forgotten. What started as comedy ends up as sob story.

Perhaps it might have worked as a shorter film. Perhaps it needed a punchy ending.

The idea shows so much promise that you want it to work. And yet, in the end, just like those long-drawn-out Indian weddings you just can’t wait for

H