Kriti Sanon furthers her Bareilly Ki Barfi avatar into uncharted territory here, and for most part, she does fine. I also like that Mimi is an aspiring actress: a subtle comment on how the “shelf-life” of the average Indian heroine is inextricably linked to her domestic status. They’re the protagonists of their own marriage story. They are flaky, impulsive and selfish – and yes, one of them speaks Hindi too – but their desperation to be parents also humanizes them in the eyes of the viewer. I like that the American couple – who bail on Mimi once they learn (in a poorly written scene) that the baby might be “disabled” – are a subversion of Bollywood’s archetypical white villain. It’s an all-in-one package deal: single motherhood, unwed pregnancy, India’s fair-skin obsession, gender discrmination and so on.
The premise – based on the 2010 Marathi drama Mala Aai Vhhaychy! – is smart because the concept of surrogacy allows the film to organically address several other societal flaws.
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While such a trailer can be annoying for the unassuming viewer, it does free critics from ‘spoiler’ accusations. It’s a montage of the entire movie, including the conflict: The American couple ditch the deal, leaving a heavily pregnant Mimi with no option but to raise the white baby on her own. It’s no secret that commercial Hindi cinema has a trailer problem, and the three-act trailer of Mimi is no exception. The result is mildly interesting and mostly forgettable. You can almost hear the technicians’ drone-like instructions: Mating Exhibit A with Situation C, recording behavioral patterns. All of this is executed with the clinical precision of a lab experiment. Rom-com Mimi meets Social Commentary Mimi: She agrees (too easily) to be a surrogate mother for an American couple in exchange for good money. One kind of formula film simply collides – and is hijacked – by another. What Mimi does is introduce this feisty girl in her quintessential firebrand narrative – one that promises love, freedom, dreams and all that jazz – before airdropping her into the most non-feisty (it’s a word, I just invented it) situation imaginable. She dances on stage, slaps men, speaks to Ranveer Singh posters on her wall and bustles with generic North Indian spirit. Written by: Laxman Utekar and Rohan ShankarĬast: Kriti Sanon, Pankaj Tripathi, Sai Tamhankar, Supriya Pathak and Manoj Pahwaįeisty is an adjective I try not to use, but mainstream Bollywood knows no other kind of small-town girl.
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