The Archies review: Enjoyable coming-of-age portrayal of the young and the confused

A still from Zoya Akhtar's The Archies, which released on Netflix on December 7. (Image courtesy Netflix)

“I just get a huge kick out of life. I just don’t think about politics,” Archie, played by Agastya Nanda, says in Netflix’s adaptation of the famous young-adult comic. It’s a scene, followed by a terrific, heel-twisting musical number that urges the totemic hunk of the school to step out of the delusion of self-importance and consider things bigger than himself. The journey from childhood to adulthood is after all the act of accommodating more of the world in your view of it. The more you listen, observe and empathise, the more this world will seem like worth living and fighting for. At least until adulthood beats all that optimism out of you. Directed and co-produced by Zoya Akhtar, Netflix’s The Archies is a visually exquisite, coming-of-age musical that’s easy on the eyes, brimming with nostalgia and kind on the proverbial gut.

We are, of course, in Riverdale, a fictional hill-town in post-Independence India where the majority of the resident population is made up of Anglophone Indians. Cue in the bespoke suits, the lavish surroundings, Victorian architecture, luxury cars and kindly distributed wealth. This version of Riverdale transports you to an escapist utopia that feels as foreign, and serene as anything you’d have ever visited as a tourist. A tourist who condemns a place to live its image a million times over. Riverdale echoes is a place in time, when maybe every hill-station in India was still a small hamlet, mulling its socio-economic horizon.

Agastya Nanda plays Archie, the likeable playboy, in love with both Veronica (Suhana Khan) and Betty (Khushi Kapoor). He is confused, non-committal but also open to discovery. “How can you find everything in one person,” he asks his friend Jughead (Mihir Ahuja) at one point. The rest of the gang is made up of types, the nerdy inventor, the cocksure bully, the studious workaholic and more.

The broader narrative of the film concerns a utopian town’s depleting social wealth, and the cultural imperialism that stares its tightly knit community of wishful thinkers in the face. A beloved central park — core to the community’s heritage — is being sold to a wealthy businessman. Though there is pushback from the natives, there are also men and women who’d like to see growth and opportunity. The dilemma of this situation isn’t debated, and because it’s set in a certain milieu, a bookshop carries more value than a superstore that might kindle jobs and prosperity. Nobody really debates that the continuation of the established order merely recycles economic and social hierarchies. Vintage eateries, old-school manners and cultural relics are unanimously championed as the axis structure the present against. What are we if not the stories we used to be, the film, argues.

Visually, The Archies is warm, inviting and immersive. It doesn’t overdo its Victorian aesthetic even though it perennially seems on the cusp of Christmas. You’ll have to submit to its gummy, European chic sense of place, but nothing claws you away from this adeptly built world. The performances are largely acceptable with Nanda, Kapoor and Vedang Raina (Reggie) shining. Khan, possibly the only character given a streak of arrogance and a shade of grey, is middling. As an ensemble though this is a fairly lively and, of course, spectacular looking bunch. The kind you’d wish you were a part of growing up. That says as much about our delusionary idea of teenage agency as it does about our mixed standards about appearances and reputations. The nerds, the talentless, the unfancied don’t get to lead the way.

The Archies is like a warm cup of hot chocolate, an idyllic mixture of fortune and cushioned freedom. It strings high-brow ideas like love, sexuality and political mutiny through the self-belief of privilege. There are class distinctions on show, but rarely the wherewithal to impose them on our protagonists. They are happily confused, joyously misunderstood and politely disobedient when the moment demands it. No walls are brought down or ceilings broken but the film manages to, at least, construct a hazy, wildly coloured world of whispery conflict and easy, amenable resolutions. The youngsters take charge and it is, despite the civic convenience of erasing most of India from a story seemingly set in it, satisfying in an allegory for utopia. The lie is, maybe, part of the truth youth motors on. No wonder the adults look like sappy, stiff quitters.

'The Archies' cast. (Image courtesy Netflix)

The Archies isn’t particularly swashbuckling or edgy the way Netflix’s serialised adaptation, the excellent crime drama Riverdale was. It’s predictable, risk-averse and a bit underwhelming as a musical odyssey. That said, it’s still a beautifully curated joyride, an admirable world-building exercise that believes its doughy, all-inviting texture and appealing visual affluence ought to do it. For the most part it does because Riverdale, much like the beloved comics is a mirage for the teenage provisions of imagination and agency. An abstract place that became the destination for so many of us to collectively dream and hope. Too bad we have to grow up or leave.