Review of “Call Me Bae”: Ananya Panday is absolutely perfect in her bluntly relaxed and decidedly sanitized series debut | Web series

(Also Read – Exclusive Interview with Ananya Panday on Call Me Bae: ‘Nobody comes close to what Kareena Kapoor did with Poo’)

From Bae to Bae-ghar

Call Me Bae was touted as a 'riches to poverty' story, where Bae somehow brings Bae-ghar from her two filthy rich families – Sasural and Maika – to Mumbai, where she must earn a living and build her own identity. No, Bae doesn't sleep on footpaths or trudge around in local trains. In fact, she sprays disinfectant on the beach bench before devouring her first vada pao and makes her debut in an autorickshaw, comparing the rick to a Mini Cooper – 'only much airier'. For many of us, it is Bom-Bae's dream fight, and yet one can never underestimate her sufferings.

Creator Ishita Moitra, director Collin D'Cunha and co-writers Samina Motlekar and Rohit Nair chisel out a tone that is unabashedly frothy, decidedly sugarcoated, yet increasingly meaningful. Just as Ishita managed to do with Rocky Randhawa (Ranveer Singh) in Karan's last year's blockbuster Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani, Rocky remains West Delhi ka launda at heart from start to finish, but you see an evolution within. Likewise, Bae doesn't go all Poo bani Parvati, but just goes with the flow, open to whatever life throws at her, rather than going all “mera toh itna life kharab ho gaya” out of Kangana Ranaut's Queen.

This ability to be open to what life has to offer also comes from Bae's innate passion to constantly expand her arsenal. Sure, she hasn't exactly navigated the ups and downs of the beast that is life, but she has gained experience, made new friends and forged a new path wherever she has landed. This makes Bae more of a kaleidoscope queen than a monochromatic princess. Whether she's dressing up for the occasion, quoting dear society friends like Raghu (read: Raghuram Rajan) when she needs to talk about economics, or taking a course in whatever skill she pulls out of her hat, Bae almost becomes a superhero we never had, didn't deserve, but somewhere longed for.

No Instagram Reel

Ananya simply gets Bae. Whether it's her superpower of distancing herself from her privilege and looking at it from a Siddhant Chaturvedi perspective, or simply the solid crutches of an impeccable script, Ananya ensures that Bae is consistently entertaining, understatedly self-deprecating and, surprisingly, so much more. Filmmakers have exploited her clueless appeal cleverly (Gehraiyaan) and not so cleverly (Liger) in the past, but as she showed in her last film, Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, Ananya is capable of acing roles that require her to go beyond her perceived personality and potential.

But an 8-episode series is not an Instagram reel. It requires a character chart, regardless of the harmless fun you bring. By the 3rd or 4th episode, a sluggishness sets in as the pace of its development slackens. You want to unload all your cheeky poo-jokes on the writers: “What are we waiting for? Christmas?” Or respond to a friend who asks you, “Bae tonight?” with “Tell me how it was!” But the plot turns PHAT (Pretty Hot and Tempting!) when Bae clashes with Satyajit Sen (Vir Das), her Arnab Goswami-esque boss at the TV news channel, who frowns on social media coverage and considers prime-time news the gold standard.

Since Ishita Moitra was a journalist herself, she places various Easter eggs in the newsroom. For example, there is a reporter whose sole job is to disguise himself in front of the camera – he is a tendua (leopard), a cop or a poor mother who lost her children in a tragedy, whichever is trending at the time. Vir seems to have fun playing his counterpart as an incorrigible, satya-spilling siren who serves as the perfect match for Bae, giving her an underdog arc that can help her win our hearts.

It brings up issues like MeToo and data leaks, but the tone never changes. It has no intention of getting serious, and takes these evils casually as if they were a second skin. As much as that annoys the brain, it doesn't bother the heart, because by then we've become as inclusive, accommodating and adventurous as Bae herself.

Blessing or Bae-n

Bae's magical part doesn't come without its own problems. Between her dazzling nature and Satyajit's bleakness, some supporting characters struggle to find their place. Gayatri, for example, as Bae's mother, is smart and sassy, ​​but Mini Mathur could have turned her into gold if she wasn't burdened with lukewarm lines. If her comedic timing in Mind the Malhotras is to be believed, she would have made Gayatri a far quirkier character. Varun Sood's Prince, the fitness coach who befriends Bae because no one understands her, is no more than a gentle giant who has the brains for tech and hacking along with the brawn. Green flags galore in this show, as Gurfateh Pirzada's Neel is a lovable, idealistic journalist who has to beef up and delve into the unknown to make it work. Vihaan Samat as Bae's husband Agastya makes you root for him with his puppy dog ​​eyes and boyish charm despite his presumptuous, chauvinistic tendencies.

The men get their fill, but the canvas of Call Me Bae pretty much belongs to the women. The thread of Behencode (“it’s older than the Da Vinci Code”) runs far, wide and deep into the show’s DNA. From discovering a more conformist sister in her mother to winning over her competitive colleague-turned-roommate, Bae gets a Behen intervention at every stage that makes her journey easier. Muskkaan Jaferi lives up to her surname by exploiting her witty one-liners to the last syllable and charging the entire room with her energetic presence. Lisa Mishra makes an incredibly understated acting debut as Harleen, the lovesick producer of Satyajit’s show. All the sisters pump blood into their own arteries rather than just supplying the central spine that is Bae. Many more show up along the way – Sayani Gupta, Karishma Tanna and even Faye D’Souza.

But these cameos are not superfluous – they are brief but well-rounded appearances, apart from a random shoutout from Orry announcing Bae's arrival on the scene. There are references to Poo in the form of dialogues like “Minus” and “Special class today” (yes, with that exact gesture). But neither Kareena Kapoor nor costume designer Manish Malhotra have cameos, although there would have been narrative scope for both. Speaking of costumes, Anaita Shroff breathes enormous life into the wardrobe, not just Bae's, but Satyajit's too (Vir Das wears shorts during the show because the audience can't see him below the belt in more ways than one). Bae wears polka dot eyeliner in one scene to accentuate her moist eyes, or mismatched earrings in a scene where she is torn.

The costume department is in complete agreement with the script department in emphasising that for rich, sheltered South Delhi girls like Bae, branded clothes and accessories are an escape under the protective shell of exhibitionism. In many ways, they are the only emotional support they can afford – especially when they live in a family that sees them as model wives/daughters rather than trophy winners. On her biggest, self-made professional day at the end, Bae is uncomfortable in her usual glittery, flashy favourite clothes. She instead chooses a dark blazer to hide her blood-red top. In that moment, she becomes BAE in the truest sense of the word – she chooses her true happiness, above all others.

“Call Me Bae” is streaming on Prime Video India.