'Kaalidhar Laapata' Movie Review: Abhishek Bachchan-Starrer is a Sweet Story Undone By Bland Storytelling

Madhumita’s Kaalidhar Laapata ('Kaalidhar is lost') is a Hindi adaptation of the director’s Tamil drama, K.D. (2019). But in terms of mainstream Bollywood, it has more in common with that evergreen Indian-parent bible, Baghban (2003). The story of an old, unwanted patriarch finding purpose and belonging away from his greedy family in K.D. is remodelled into the tale of a middle-aged, dementia-afflicted man on the same journey. This bearded and disoriented character, Kaalidhar, is played by Abhishek Bachchan, further supplying the film’s status as a spiritual descendant of the Amitabh Bachchan starrer. Kaalidhar’s ungrateful brothers ‘accidentally’ lose him in a crowd; the identity-less man then befriends an eight-year-old orphan, Ballu (Daivik Baghela), and they embark on a fix-it adventure together.

It’s a familiar template: childlike man and adult-like child forge an inevitable bond. It has a few worthy ideas. For instance, the brothers' ploy to get rid of Kaalidhar features a packed ‘kumbh mela’ — vintage Hindi cinema’s go-to location for plots revolving around separated siblings. Given the man’s neurological condition, there’s no need for him to literally overhear their plan; the heartbreaking shot of Kaalidhar calling out to his brother only to realise he’s being ignored is enough.

I also like that the search for him initially stems from selfish motives. The brothers need him back — superstitiously and legally — to pay off their debts. The constable tasked with finding him, Subodh (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub), starts out only because this (specific) duty will apparently bless his wife with a baby. Subodh’s quest becomes more human along the way, especially once he senses that the family is mean and maybe poor Kaalidhar doesn’t want to return. It’s almost moving that Kaalidhar’s fading memory will free him from the trauma and betrayal of becoming a "burden" for the very brothers he sacrificed everything for. It’s his only way to forget what he cannot forgive.

The film-making, however, leaves a lot to be desired. It’s a bit simplistic, particularly when musical montages and (hummable) songs are inserted to express what the screenplay cannot. The blossoming friendship between ‘KD’ and Ballu is too written; the kid is a classic example of children conceived by adults, saying eerily grown-up things and lyrical dialogue to offset the man’s dimming intellect. I get that role-reversal is the point, but the design is apparent. They even compete in guilt-tripping each other; when KD remarks that Ballu won’t understand what it means to be abandoned by a family he did so much for, Ballu sighs and says he’s right because “I was only abandoned on the temple steps by mine”. Then the kid concludes with “every relationship has an expiry date”. Not even an angry-young-man reference can alter the curated maturity of the moment.

Most of the conflicts and resolutions are too neat. Like Subodh’s wife suddenly apologising for forcing him to take up the case — it’s a nice marriage scene, but the abrupt change is scripted to suggest that the case has become personal for a ready-to-be-reformed Subodh. Kaalidhar and Ballu’s tent-life and Ram-Leela travels are convenient; the kid ticks items off the man’s bucket list (drinking alcohol, dancing at a wedding, driving a bike) while he’s still capable of living. It arrives, of course, at Kaalidhar reuniting with a lover (Nimrat Kaur) from his past, but this passage — with the infusion of flashbacks — unfolds too formally to be affecting. It’s as if the film itself has a checklist to complete within a stipulated time limit. Consequently, the toll of feeling and living and suffering is rarely visible. Friendships and decisions happen because they must; there is no rhythm.

There’s also the fact that the brothers and the peripheral noise disappear when the film focuses on the road trip. Multitasking is not its strength. One nearly forgets that there’s a parallel search on. You can tell that the story doesn’t know what to do with Kaalidhar’s dementia either: a condition he starts the film with, but one that is customised for narrative beats. An unkempt stubble and nightmares aside, there is no evidence that he is ill. If anything, once he acquires a sense of agency and closure, it looks like he’s…cured. It’s a careless way to handle the disease, which is something the sanitised Hindi version adds to the original so that the protagonist’s blankness is an inherent part of the film. Once its purpose is served, there is no endgame; it’s done away with like an errant plot device.

Abhishek Bachchan doesn’t sound the part of a rural man losing his bearings. But the actor’s sincerity — it’s always his sincerity and lack of vanity — supplies the character with a plausible struggle. It’s the actor’s fifth recent adult-child pairing after Breathe: Into The Shadows, Bob Biswas, I Want To Talk and Be Happy: a pattern that cushions the directness of the performances. His body language provides glimpses of his no-frills act in I Want To Talk — the most effective of the lot — but this film isn’t half as perceptive. It’s not bad or unlikable, but artificial sweetener replaces the natural sugar of the message. It tries to make us feel sorry for the man — instead of letting us understand him — because its DNA states that we must respect our elders. It’s not just a character who goes missing, it’s also the art of coming-of-age storytelling. The result is forgettable, but knowing the film’s attention to detail, Kaalidhar will have no issues remembering it.