Like the title suggests,
Motichoor Chaknachoor is sweet and slight.
A 36-year-old man Pushpinder 
is desperate to get married.
So desperate that he 
tells a prospective partner
aap ladki hain hum ladka hain, 
vivah ke liye kafi hai.
His neighbor in Bhopal, a 25-year-old girl, 
is desperate to go abroad.
So desperate that she shortened 
her name from Anita to Annie
and she stares mournfully 
at her unstamped passport.
Someone says about her
woh moohphat hai 
aur sanskari toh bilkul nahin.
Pushpinder works in Dubai.
Annie aspires to London 
but after rejecting umpteen suitors
as her prospects for marriage dim, 
she decides to settle for Pushpinder.
And all hell breaks loose.
Motichoor Chaknachoor is firmly situated
in Bollywood’s flourishing genre 
of small-town movies.
15 years ago, films 
that didn’t travel abroad
for songs or storylines 
were considered hatke.
Producers had exploited 
the standard foreign locations
like the UK and Switzerland so thoroughly
that the more innovative filmmakers
started heading to places 
like Machu Picchu
and the Egyptian pyramids.
But now Bollywood has gone back 
to Bharat with such ferocity
that I fear that Tier 2 India 
is dangerously close to becoming a cliché.
In Motichoor Chaknachoor,
director Debamitra Biswal 
follows the standard beats of these films
we get the specific Hindi accent,
middle-class families with squabbling mausis
and jijis, platefuls of jalebi, kachori
and samosas, crowded streets,
a feisty heroine who refuses 
to play by the rules
and of course,
the clash of values
that the internet has created.
Annie’s foreign fantasy is largely fueled
by the desire to post pictures
so that her friends can be jealous.
The characters hit the right notes – 
especially Pushpinder’s domineering mother
played by Vibha Chibber
and Annie’s single aunt,
played by Karuna Pandey.
Both deliver their sharp lines 
with exactly the right zing.
Writer Sohaib hasan creates 
some vibrant scenes
between the neighboring families,
the Awasthis and the Tyagis.
He also squeezes some fun
out of the physical differences 
between Nawazuddin Siddiqui
and Athiya Shetty.
She’s so tall that when Pushpinder 
first meets Annie
he thinks she’s standing on something.
In another scene, as their families glare
at them, he actually hides behind her.
Nawaz dials down his signature intensity
and convincingly becomes the low-key,
hapless, perplexed Pushpinder.
Incredibly, Athiya stays the course 
with the seasoned actor.
She doesn’t sparkle but she works, 
which is saying a lot in this scenario.
But Motichoor Chaknachoor 
has modest aspirations
and it never soars above them
because the writing isn’t strong enough.
As long as the film 
stays breezy and jokey, it stays afloat.
But when the plot takes 
a more serious tone, tedium sets in.
Many scenes sag
I used that time to make
a note of the lovely shawls
the women were wearing.
The tonality also shifts jarringly 
from slice-of-life to comedy to drama.
Some of the humor is also problematic
did we really need to make 
an overweight girl a punchline?
So Motichoor Chaknachoor 
doesn’t become memorable
in the way that 
other small-town tales like
Dum Laga Ke Haisha
or Bareilly ki Barfi
or Stree were.
But it’s passable entertainment.
And sometimes that’s enough.
