Cast: Rhea Chakraborty, Varun Mitra
Director: Pushpdeep Bhardwaj
It’s so ironic that a film named after a popular sweet is completely devoid of any taste. In fact, it’s so bland that you may take it for something that’s not properly fried and can induce serious pain while chewing. Even if you somehow manage to gulp it down, rest assured its taste is not going to last long, unlike what the film’s tagline promises. In fact, it’ll make you want to have some salad, just to change the taste of your mouth. I suggest you do it as soon as as possible. That’s arguably the best way to revive yourself from the slumber that only particularly unimaginative films can induce.
Bombay girl Ayesha (Rhea Chakraborty), an aspiring writer, gets enamoured with her tour guide Dev (Varun Mitra), a PhD scholar in history, on a Delhi trip. Love prevails over good sense and they get married only to realise that they don’t want similar things from life. They get separated to meet again many years later on a Delhi-bound train, on which their co-passengers are as clueless as the makers of this film.
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Now a bit about the co-passengers. There is a woman who can talk as incessantly as FM radio hosts, the winner of a singing reality show whose face is longer than his shadow, an elderly couple who don’t care about what’s going in the film, and a young girl who does strange things to strangers. This journey could have been much more peaceful without her noisily eating something all the time.
These people are expected to make Rhea Chakraborty’s heartbroken lover to go down the memory lane and recall the time she spent with Varun Mitra’s mild-mannered Old Delhi charmer. Unfortunately, all they do is burden the audience with the labouring experience of watching the two reluctant lead actors struggle to strike an equilibrium with their unnecessarily vibrant surroundings.
In a scene where Rhea is determined to leave Varun’s house, all you can see is brilliant meme-worthy stills. Their tears will give you the joy that only scenes laden with overacting can. Even if you have been star-crossed all your life, you won’t think twice before laughing out loud.
There isn’t any point in talking about Jalebi’s aesthetics because it’s a film that neither knows its purpose nor destination. Varun Mitra tries his best to convince us of his emotive skills, but his scenes are so dull that even his bright smile looks dim. The less we talk about others, the better. Even in your most generous mood, you won’t find Jalebi better than the most average episode of a saas-bahu soap. My advice — try not to taste this stale, overdone offering.
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