Befikre review: Bland and superficial offering from Aditya Chopra 

Aditya Chopra, who has given us Hindi cinema's most cherished love story in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995) and heavy-duty love dramas like Mohabbatein (2000) and Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (2008), returns after eight years and attempts to make a modern rom-com.

While still totally in his zone of love, he does manage to shed the weight of his previous films and embark on a lighter and carefree journey with Befikre.

But the journey involves a very thin plot. It starts in the bedroom and climaxes at a wedding. Not that novel after all. It is a love story that starts with sex, goes on to a live-in relationship, leads to a breakup and moves on to friendship. And ends in... do we even need to tell you this?

Two carefree individuals — Dharam (Ranveer Singh) and Shyra (Vaani Kapoor) — who aren't looking for a stable relationship pay heed to their raging hormones and hook up. While stand-up comedian Dharam is a typical Delhi boy who has newly immigrated to Paris, Shyra is a tourist guide who has been born and brought up in France. Both are not interested in anything long term and marriage is not even a consideration.

The first half is replete with scenes of kissing, taking off clothes, and kinky dares with Vishal-Shekhar's cool and catchy music score for support.

The two promptly start living in but decide never to say I love you. Their constant clashes eventually force them to break up.

One year later, their relationship goes through a sea change, but how long will the new dynamic survive?

There is no real external conflict. Shyra's mother tells her before the climax: "Aaj tumhari ladai khudse hai. [Today you are only fighting yourself.]" And that's probably one of main conflicts in modern urban relationships today. While there are no villains or overprotective parents, the complexities of urban relationships arise due to internal conflicts. 

Unlike DDLJ's Raj and Simran, Shyra and Dharam don't need to choose between running away or waiting for parental approval. They have all the freedom in the world. 

Also, unlike in DDLJ, the parents here are not about mere desh ki dharti or Hindustani sabhyata — they just want to see their daughter happy.

Unlike in Mohabattein there is no over-romanticising of love or dramatic dialoguebaazi.

Taking off clothes, kissing and sex are treated with nonchalance, and with no strings of romance or Bollywoodisation attached.

The juxtaposing of this casual relationship with the setting of Paris, hailed as the city of romance, feels almost deliberate. 

Befikre is in that sense an un-Aditya Chopra romance. He takes everything he stood for over the years and throws it out of the window. 

What I liked about the film is that there are no gimmicks. It stays true to itself. There is nothing to take away from this, no drama or message. It's a light-hearted romantic comedy that is not trying to be the best piece of cinema.

But the problem is that this offering is plain vanilla. If you like vanilla, go for it!

Some flavour is added by Singh, who is perfect as a bratty, brash and lusty Dharam. He commands your attention with ease every time he is on screen. He is definitely the life of the film, and without him, this flimsy tale would have sunk completely. Singh also has a surprise for the audience — a fleeting glimpse at his buttocks.

Kapoor is a complete contrast to her debut film Shuddh Desi Romance's character. She nails the dancing and the French, but her character lacks the spunk she deserved. She has the acting chops, but her character doesn't feel fleshed out.

Befikre reminds you of Hollywood flicks like No Strings Attached (2011) and Friends With Benefits (2011). It may at best be a decent date movie, but it does not have many laugh-out-loud moments and completely lacks in sensitive or emotional points. There is sexual chemistry, but where are the feelings and the depth? In the process of cutting down on filmi romance, Chopra also strips Befikre of its flesh and flavour, making it a bland, superficial experience.

- Review by Suparna Thombare