‘Court Kacheri’ Series Review: A Performative TVF Dramedy That Loses A Case to Itself

Court Kacheri does a lot right for its first three (out of five) episodes. It unfolds as a legal dramedy that questions its own identity. The young protagonist, Param (Ashish Verma), is a reluctant second-generation lawyer by virtue of being the son of a popular senior advocate, Harish Mathur (Pawan Malhotra). Param detests the profession — he’s seen his dad entertain all kinds of criminals, shady clients and corrupt politicians over the years. All he wants to do is leave for either Dubai or Canada, but a Police Clearance Certificate (PCC) becomes a conflict after he’s caught in a fake-marksheet scam. Basically, he’s a nepo-baby who can’t handle the pressure of legacy. The outsider, Suraj (Puneet Batra), is Harish’s loyal assistant. Unlike Param, he wishes he was his mentor’s son with silver-spoon privileges; his passion for law sees him hustle to start a secret practice with a friend (Amarjeet Singh) behind Harish’s back. In short, there’s a toxic patriarch and two boys desperate to escape his shadow and become their own men.

At this point, the signs are good. The craft is sound; the starring role of Ashish Verma, an actor often relegated to the funny-bestie stereotype since his scene-stealing turn in Not Fit (2015), is a big plus. Not even a TVF trademark — that annoying mansplaining voiceover — ruins this. The director, Ruchir Arun (Little Things, Ghar Waapsi), does more than just stage a dry small-town setting. He has some fun with the template; there’s a ‘coming-of-age’ shot of Suraj, for instance, seeing the reflection of his own pensive face in a flowing stream of urine on the ground. The bond between Suraj and Param is sweet: no spy-games or jealous antics, just two different characters connected by an ambition to break free. When Harish takes up a seemingly easy divorce case of a government clerk, the conceit is designed to amplify Harish’s traditionalism — his client is the sheepish-looking husband, and a rising female advocate (Priyasha Bhardwaj) fronts up for the poor wife. She is obviously the victim, and Harish’s blind spots might further drive Param and Suraj away. Param even delivers a pained monologue about fathers and sons in jail, softening the stance of a strict cop.  

Param’s second monologue happens directly to his old man. As a viewer, one expects the old-school dad to get affected but double down on his control to keep his son back. Or perhaps he wakes up and lets the boy go. But the show takes one of the most inexplicable u-turns here: a transition that would put Jekyll-and-Hyde to shame. Or maybe the signs were always there and I ‘misinterpreted’ them. Because at this point, Court Kacheri — a series made by men, and tangibly for men — commits to a dangerous tone I’ve often associated with TVF productions (even the decent ones). The boys-club vibe rears its (meninist) head. Two things happen. The father is the one we’re suddenly supposed to sympathise with; Harish is revealed to be the wronged (not wrong) one. His plight hijacks the show, which becomes haunted by the spirit of Baghban. Param realises that “I thought I was with the truth, but I was against my dad,” while Suraj falls out with his business partner and recognises the greatness of Harish Mathur. Just like that, Court Kacheri remembers its title (not satire after all) and morphs into straight-up lawyer propaganda.  

More inexplicably, old Harish is revealed to be the representative of all wronged men and single fathers through the divorce case. Everyone else loses. The female lawyer is humbled; the poor wife is shown to be a fraud; the minions get a lesson about preconceived notions and biases. In order to assert Harish’s comeback arc, the writing turns this case into an investigation that a noxious men’s right activist on social media would approve of. If the aim is to expose how feminism (or “wokeness”) is our default hope from courtroom stories, the show chooses the worst way to do this. The lopsided commentary aside, though, it’s the abrupt switch of perspective that makes Court Kacheri a story that lacks self-awareness. When it’s sensible, it’s apparently a setup. And when it’s farcical, it’s apparently trying to be sensible. Or maybe it weaponises its awareness. It uses humanity as a smokescreen — an entry-point for viewers — before hitting us with its dodgy voice. In most similarly-themed shows (including Maamla Legal Hai), this would’ve been a tragedy; here’s it’s a slice-of-life medicine. 

The result is a viewing experience full of dissonance and delusion. One might argue that the series behaves like a manipulative (male) lawyer, which is no surprise, given how TVF writes and presents its female characters. The familiar duality brings to mind Ram Setu (2022), the Akshay Kumar starrer in which he plays a scientist who is humbled by mythology. When he is cynical about the existence of a holy bridge, he sounds like a fact-checking hero, except the film actually believes he’s a loony misanthrope. When his science falls through, he looks silly but the film worships his awakening. This amusing void between intent and perception is also what defines a show that imagines a bridge before crossing it. Our face becomes their mask. Of all the Hindi storytelling about ‘flaky’ new generations being gaslighted by older ones, maybe it’s fitting that a series named Court Kacheri reframes fiction as truth, men as victims, and serious systemic flaws as cute little misgivings.