Sometimes it’s hard to figure out who a show is for.
Pritam and Pedro, a new buddy-cop series (on JioHotstar) produced, written and edited by Rajkumar Hirani, feels so elementary in its cyber cops-and-robbers storytelling that it, surely, must be for children. It is, indeed, a vehicle for Hirani to showcase his son, Vir, as a leading man, the Pedro of the title. As a show to amuse children and inform them about the perils of online addiction, this series could be considered sweet and well-intentioned enough… but then Pritam and Pedro throws in the swear words, as if mandated by the streaming networks, and this series lands in no-viewer’s-land: not suitable for children, not likely to keep grown-ups engaged.
We’re told Pritam is a “cyber-genius.” His crime-solving skills—which seem largely simplistic, often built on coincidence and Truecaller records—endear him to a Goa policeman Pedro, played by veteran Hirani bumbler Arshad Warsi. The two form an unlikely alliance taking on peculiar odds in order to solve kidnappings and retrieve old tape recorders. All while another “cyber-genius” waits in the wings.
There is something here, in the concept of a Crime Branch policeman who hates being transferred to the Cyber Crime department, a man of action forced to reckon with keyboard warriors and scammers. Unfortunately typing his password to boot up his computer is an effort for Pedro, which basically signals how this show’s idea of online malevolence is considerably childish.
This is, then, cybercrime for dummies. Hirani, with longtime co-writer Abhijat Joshi, is back at it, oversimplifying things and talking down to his audience. It’s hard to see who would be struck by Pritam and Pedro after having watched Netflix’s Jamtara, for instance.
Therefore this series feels like a relic from another time, a pre-streaming time with hungry audiences without enough channels to choose from. The six episodes are poorly paced, not slick or engaging enough to hold the attention throughout. I suspect that, as with most podcasts, they might work better played at 1.25x speed. Left as they are, they oscillate between harmlessness and tedium. Not quite captivating, no.
It is, however, earnest. Despite the amateurishness weighing down the plotting and the dialogue, Pritam and Pedro does have heart. Vir Hirani is perfectly likeable as a young techie who sells vacuum cleaners and helps out his new policeman best friend, but there are no shades to this character, no conflicts, no nuance, no ambition. The series, just as unambitious, never really tests its leading man.
What can I say about his performance? He has a good smile, and reminds me more of Ba****ds of Bollywood writer Bilal Siddiqui giving an interview than any actor. He seems… nice? Let’s see what Vir does next.
The first scene has an ATM being stolen. This is found, without drama, a few scenes later, and that sets the tone for this series where knotty problems are untied rather smoothly and efficiently. It feels a bit like a Raj and DK series minus the smartness of the ideas and the genre-specific pacing that holds their shows together.
Neither does it give much to its other actors, a far more proven lot. Mona Singh, Boman Irani, Vinod Nagpal—and a couple of cameos that come at the end of the series but are spoiled right at the start by the opening credits—are wasted in bit-roles. All while Warsi, so unforgettable from the Munna Bhai movies, is made to play a one-note sulky cop.
At times, Pedro seems like he wants to say something vaguely political. “Go on, go on,” he says to Pritam abusing the police station’s Wi-Fi connection, “The criticism of the opposition is necessary for a democracy.” In another scene, negotiating with a kidnapper, he makes a crack about how demonetisation has made it hard to arrange a ransom amount. “Arre, Cashless India mein itna cash kahan se laayenge hum log?” These references feel abrupt, like afterthoughts added to a script that didn’t weigh enough. It still doesn’t.
Pritam and Pedro is, therefore, a series that can only be watched with a very indulgent and generous eye. There are moments of actual sweetness, and even a few touches of cleverness, including a fine scene where policemen are told to individually sing songs around an engineering college, and their choices include everything from Halkat Jawaani to Hum Honge Kamyaab. There are also a couple of references to the great Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron, with a DeMello bakery and a Taneja email address.
Yet six episodes need more than half-a-dozen smiles.
Watching Hirani flounder breaks my heart. I consider his Lage Raho Munna Bhai the finest mainstream Hindi film this century, and am constantly gobsmacked by the mind-boggling ambition of that film: Mahatma Gandhi, irreverence, romance, comedy, philosophy, tears. It’s crazy that a film—a sequel, for heaven’s sake—could balance all of that. I remain awestruck.
Since then, in an increasingly bleak and cynical world, Hirani’s messaging has seemed increasingly saccharine and overdone. It is true that we do not live in a world where a magical hug could solve everything, but then we never did. Back then, for a while, he made us believe. Now I wonder if the storyteller himself has lost faith.
Streaming Tip Of The Week:
The underrated Canadian buddy-cop comedy Bon Cop Bad Cop and its sequel are both on Netflix. Starring Colm Feore and Patrick Huard, the films take on the well-worn genre with panache and creativity and true laughs. Climb aboard.
Raja Sen is a critic, screenwriter and columnist. His first play, a murder mystery called The Simla Affair, recently opened in Delhi. He is currently writing a horror film.