The signs are all there—backdrops practically dripping with gilded opulence and excess; costumes so elaborate, so bejeweled, it’s a wonder the wearers don’t just topple over under the weight; sweeping, theatrical dialogues; dazzling song-and-dance setpieces; and, in the centre of all the fuss, a couple of star-crossed lovers struggling against mounting odds to stay together. Yep, you guessed right, folks: Sanjay Leela Bhansali is definitely in the house. His latest, Bajirao Mastani, is an elegant period romance based on the exploits of Bajirao Ballal, the 18th century Marathi warrior who apparently boasted a 100 percent success rate in war, winning all the 40-something battles he’d been part of and thereby playing a major role in the Maratha empire’s heady expansion across India at the time. He also had, the story goes, something of a tumultuous love life—torn between a wife of many years and a warrior princess he’d fallen for during one of his sojourns. And it’s that dilemma, rather than the political aspects of Bajirao’s career that Bhansali’s film centres on. But while certainly heavy-handed in the melodrama department—as is characteristic of the director—and lacking in terms of substance and nuance in story, Bajirao Mastani still makes for a satisfying watch overall, thanks to some truly to-die-for visuals and the quality of the performances of the leads.

The film opens in a grand Maratha court with Bajirao (Ranveer Singh) being elected Peshwa (a position equivalent to that of a prime minister) for the then-reigning Chhatrapati Shahu (Mahesh Manjrekar) following a display of athletic super-prowess—and wit—in a test involving a peacock feather. As the emperor’s main man, our hero is soon leading his troops into a great many victories on the battlefield, primarily against the Mughals, part of an effort to establish an “akhanda” or unified Hindu kingdom in the region. And it is during one of these bloody escapades that he meets the spunky and spirited—not to mention absolutely gorgeous—part-Muslim princess of Bundelkhand, Mastani (Deepika Padukone). The two hit it off instantly, and appear all set to embark on a torrid, passionate affair, except for one tiny little problem: Bajirao happens to be a married man.

Not just that, his wife Kashi (Priyanka Chopra) isn’t your typical ball-and-chain situation that was forced on him for whatever reason either—they’ve actually had a pretty good run so far, and seem genuinely happy together. What oh what is to be done then? When Mastani rides into town behind him, poor Kashi is understandably shocked and heartbroken, Bajirao’s Brahmin brood is determined to reject his new squeeze—his mother (Tanvi Azmi) is particularly adamant against welcoming a Muslim into the household—and Bajirao, well, he would just like everyone to get along, please. And so we watch as he runs around, trying to win his wife’s forgiveness, calm his family down, make Mastani as comfortable as possible given the circumstances and find some semblance of peace in his life.

There’s little I can say about Bhansali’s distinctive visual aesthetic that hasn’t already been said; the man is one of Indian cinema’s most extravagant, most ambitious directors, and the results of that are plain to see on screen, even more so in Bajirao Mastani than any of his other films. The production design and cinematography work perfectly in sync here; there is so much thought and labour invested in each individual shot—striking, beautifully-composed all—that you wish you could pause the film every now and then just to take in all that beauty. The indoor scenes are especially gorgeous, a shimmering, gleaming riot of luxurious fabrics, metalwork and jewelled ornaments—made all the more sumptuous by masterful use of light and shadow. That almost-obsessive attention to detail that’s been lavished on the visuals unfortunately isn’t extended to the actual narrative, which feels distinctly broad-stroke. Even though the film eschews all pretence of historical accuracy early on, for some reason, it isn’t able to make the most of that freedom, resigning itself to the sort of simplistic depiction of a doomed romance that we’ve seen many times before (several in Bhansali’s own films), with nothing new or interesting to add. By the time we get to the halfway mark, a sense of fatigue has set in; the songs, in particular, though impressively staged, start to seem gratuitous—case in point: Pinga, a too-obvious retread of Dola Re from Bhansali’s Devdas that really wasn’t necessary. Although things pick up somewhat towards the end, the finale itself is a prolonged, overwrought, melodramatic mess. The dialogues are another issue, and one that, for me, has dogged the director’s previous efforts as well: while that sort of meaningful, operatic prose can be exhilarating when used well, to have people always talking in such intense tones, to never have a “normal” conversation, can dampen the impact, to the extent of rendering the proceedings unintentionally funny on a few occasions.

Still, there are a number of points on which Bajirao Mastani proves effective. The core message of how love knows no boundaries—including that of religion—for example, is important, if not exactly groundbreaking, or conveyed with much subtlety here. But there is a certain thrill in seeing Bajirao dismiss the royal clergy with such cavalier ease as he does in one scene, plain refusing to submit to the dictates of unwieldy protocol. The casting is another of the film’s strengths—Padukone and Chopra are both terrific, Chopra more so, creating a persona that is more expressive, and therefore more relatable than any of the lot. But it’s Singh who steals the show: he might need a little bit of warming up to, but eventually so skillfully inhabits this tortured character in every way that it’s hard to take your eyes off him. The other actors in the film, including a number of surprise appearances such as that by Milind Soman and Aditya Pancholi in roles that you would probably never in a million years imagine them taking up, all register well enough, though I was a touch disappointed with Azmi as Bajirao’s fiercely protective mother. Having seen Supriya Pathak play a similar character on another Bhansali production not too long ago, a power-packed portrayal that pushed the bar way high, I can tell you that Azmi’s scenery-chewing stint comes nowhere close to that.

So Bajirao Mastani won’t blow you away—at least not in terms of emotional impact—but it does offer a fair few things to enjoy. What it lacks in story, it makes up for in stunning images and solid performances. I’ll leave it to you to decide whether the trade-off is worth it.