Or something like that in Ranjhanaa's one-sided 'l'amour fou'
The men in the trenches of the single-screen movie hall weren’t being fooled by the clumsy attempt at nuance. They hurled abuses at the fragile, teary-eyed beauty when she consigned her paramour to a horrible fate. She had her reasons—and had they been less convoluted, the mob of unreconstructed masculinity might not have been so bloodthirsty. But since the men were being guided entirely by Raanjhanaa’s screenplay, they boisterously and uninhibitedly vented their frustration at her perfidy.
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