Promos for the new Phillauri, by first-time director Anshai Lal, had promised a fun time, if nothing else—all signs pointing to the sort of fluffy rom-coms that don’t demand much cerebral exertion on the part of audiences, where expectations are happily limited to a few good laughs, reliable performances and a sufficiently engaging love story. It certainly starts out that way: Kanan (Suraj Sharma), a Canada-dwelling NRI, has just flown back to his homestead in Punjab to finally tie the knot with childhood sweetheart Anu (Mehreen Pirzada), whom he has been dating since the 10th grade. The wedding is, in the tradition of wealthy Punjabi families, a lavish affair, the kind of fairytale production that, though impressive, can oftentimes threaten to drown out the real people at the centre of it all. This is what Kanan, already a touch disoriented being back home after an extended stay abroad, is feeling—overwhelmed, almost oppressed, by the sheer scale of the event, and the various complicated rituals he’s made to partake in.

One of these rituals involves his having to get married to a tree—Kanan bursts into guffaws when it’s first suggested, before realising it’s not a joke—to undo some sort of astrological aberration he’s evidently under the influence of, and which could put his marital happiness at risk. He obliges, but upon returning home the night of the ceremony, discovers he’s inadvertently acquired a sidekick. Lying dormant in that tree he’d just gotten wedded to, you see, was the spirit of Shashi (Anushka Sharma), a young woman who died almost a century ago, and who is now wide awake and bound to Kanan. 

The poor boy is naturally scared out of his mind—Shashi might not be an aggressive ghost, but she’s still a ghost nonetheless, and fully see-through at that—and ends up alienating his bride-to-be and the entire family in trying to come to grips with the situation. No one else can see the ghost, and they just assume Kanan has a major, and terribly-timed, case of icy feet. Eventually, he’s able to calm down enough to hear Shashi out: who she is, what happened to her, how she ended up inside the tree, so that he might find out how to possibly set her and himself free.  

It is in these frequent flashbacks to Shashi’s lifeback in the day that Phillauri visibly loses steam. This whole section, occupying roughly half of the film, feels utterly contrived, both in terms of plot points, as well as production design—overly neat, and predictably sepia-tinged in a clichéd bid for nostalgia. Her story might possibly have been interesting had it been fleshed out with more care, but this back-and-forth structure that the film employs leaves just enough time to slot in the broad strokes, little else. With the result that the blasts from the past have an unappealing, preachy air about them. The pacing, too, is an issue. Moving along at a clip in places where it could’ve used some breathing room, more elucidation, but then prolonging some scenes and songs to the point of absolute tedium, Phillauri makes for an uneven watch at best. 

And then there’s the matter of tone: Kanan’s dilemma—whereby he is suddenly saddled with an unwanted, but still fairly benign, supernatural presence, forced now to juggle the drama of his upcoming nuptials while helping his ghostly friend sort out her own troubles—is very much the stuff of escapist screwball comedy. And Mr Sharma, whom you might remember from 2012’s Life of Pi, works to augment this effect, opting for a silly whinger of a persona—pretty convincing, even though the affected nasality of his speech doesgrate from time to time. In any case, the buoyant mood here clashes quite perceptibly with the solemnity of Shashi’s trips down memory lane, a mismatch that gives one the sense of watching two entirely different films. Out of these, the first is the one I’d have been most interested to see, where the hokey premise of a friendly ghost crashing a wedding were embraced in its entirety, rather than trying to force gravitas somewhere it didn’t fit. This is especially true of the “twist” that comes at the end, where a real-life tragedy is exploited rather gratuitously to score easy emotional points, coming off in poor taste. 

All this isn’t to say Phillauri doesn’t have its moments. Kanan and Anu drum up a warm, relaxed banter, the sort that suggests a long friendship. Ms Sharma—also one of the producers—is good as the spectre in the present day, and enjoys a playful big-sistery rapport with Sharma, but it’s in those pre-Independence segments that she really shines. Her scenes with Manav Vij afford these flashbacks what little authenticity they boast. Had such relationships been better explored, it probably could’ve excused much of Phillauri’s other faults—but the script seems to have the attention span of a squirrel, unable to stay still and examine even one of these tracks in any persuasive manner, easily distracted and glossing over what could’ve made for compelling plot and character development.

Indeed, that’s the main issue with the film’s approach: Phillauri refuses to commit fully to froth, but doesn’t have enough heft in terms of commentary either. In trying to cover too much ground, it lurches from goofy slapstick to epic romance and back again and so forth, squandering opportunities on both ends. The special effects are decent, but nothing to write home about, and they get a bit overzealous in the finale. Middling and forgettable, Phillauri just doesn’t cut it. To be honest, the ridiculous controversy wherein India’s Censor Board reportedly demanded one of the scenes in the film be mutedfor the most absurd of reasons was actually a great deal more entertaining than the film itself. I’d recommend sitting this one out.