"Jako rakho choocha, bachaa sake naa koi," Lali, one of the three fukreys says about Varun Sharma's titular character in the third instalment of an unlikely hit franchise. Ever since the first film came out about a decade ago, Fukrey has categorized itself as a cringe/loony comedy franchise that unabashedly embraces the ludicrous. For the third time running, the premise revolves around an inexplicable gift that translates to both coincidence and conviction. In this third instalment, the scene of all madness shifts to a political battle for the heart of Delhi. And even though the stakes undergo an upgrade of sorts, with a suitably social message at the end of it all, Fukrey 3 remains at times frustratingly, but ultimately satisfyingly, true to its slapstick, cringe tropes of yore.
Pulkit Samrat, Varun Sharma, Manjot Singh and Pankaj Tripathi return as the incompetent band of misfits who despite the high of the last film's mature ending, have wasted another promising opportunity. The four have run an electronic store into the ground and are aimlessly drifting across Delhi’s whimsical streets. The horizon seems bleak, the direction unyielding and the only gift to chew on is the provision of blank time and blind privilege. When Bholi Punjaban, played by Richa Chadha, decides to contest the local elections, she entrusts the group with helping her do the canvassing. Choocha, the imbecile whose dreams and premonitions have driven the franchise, takes centre-stage again. This time, at least for the first half of the film, it’s his raw, asinine charm that offers Punjaban a formidable opponent. The soldier usurps the commander in what is a sly comment on the fickleness of popularity and fame.
Choocha and Punjaban are set to go head-to-head in a political contest that looks set to tilt in favour of the former. It’s a thin argument – popularity - but such is the franchise’s self-belief that it pins it all on Varun Sharma’s doltishness. Of course, Choocha still carries a torch for Punjaban, and expresses it as dramatically as is possible. Punjaban also happens to be in cahoots with Dhingra, a ruthless local gang lord who controls the unsaid region’s water supply. Dhingra is rude, raw, his chest hair jutting out of his loosely buttoned suits in an obvious but affecting way. Played by Amit Dhawan, Dhingra is convincing as that menacing shadow that looms over the otherwise reckless yet endearing landscape of the film. A pit-stop in South Africa, though tertiary to the plot, becomes an excuse to get some of the film’s best slapstick jokes in. A sequence where two people ask patently immature questions by screaming across a noisy mining hub is patently hilarious.
Directed by Mrighdeep Lamba, Fukrey 3 is exceptionally bullish about its strengths. It rarely entertains restraint, for some of its low comedy pushes the boundaries of acceptability. Urine and sweat come together to magically produce fuel, in what is an apt metaphor for the franchise’s relentless pursuit of farce. Its funniest bits, in fact, come about when it questions its own explicit, illogical existence. A trait perfectly embodied by the perpetually reluctant Lali (Singh), who can’t stop but question the madness that is somehow ushered towards the seriousness of method. “Iske saath kuch bhi kyun hota hai?” he remarks, defeatedly, at one point about the utter deliriousness that Choocha’s array of visions, his inexplicably gifted existence has come to purport. He is the red herring, the unicorn that tilts the balance, tears up the script and eludes all semblance of a wider structure.
Varun Sharma’s antics, his at times frustratingly unhinged self is the obvious star of this vehicle. He is utterly unpredictable, and not just to the people he has teamed up with. It’s a character whose mannerisms, constant self-sabotage, the now-iconic fumbling of the English language, continues to earn laughs despite its predictability. A character whose churlishness, and continued degradation only adds to the myth of his invincibility. At times the punchlines feel too thin, as if scratched off of the walls of a men’s lavatory from an obscure engineering college. This has always been a masculine franchise, and it serves that abraded streak of humour with mouthfuls of glee and abandon. Look beyond the cringe-worthy moments, the toilet humour and it has its own witless charm.
The entire cast, including Punjaban’s two African understudies, is eminently watchable. Pankaj Tripathi provides that air of calm reflection on the chaos that could otherwise become numbing. Singh and Samrat are capable supporting acts, with the former repeatedly analysing the delirium that can at times feel too convenient and unintelligent. For that matter, the latest gift that Choocha is bestowed with feels unnecessarily indulgent at times; an absurdist magnification of the franchise’s cockiness. But those are pain points that barely register in a film that leaps from one frantic, self-deprecating blowout to another. Though riding together in a group of fine performances, it’s really Varun Sharma who has control of the steering. It’s weirdly rewarding that you can never tell which way he will turn next.
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