If it were not for the talent involved, the reworking would descend into a good-looking journey of done-to-death red herrings. But, in their discerning presence and shrewd nuances, it offers an intrigue worthy of Poirot’s investigation and our time.

Despite its love for feel-good, Tumhari Sulu isn’t stuck in a fool’s paradise and confronts the conflicts thrown in its path, feels Sukanya Verma.

Fisher makes most of his defined backstory, Momoa is pure swagger but it’s Ezra Miller’s goofy charm and spontaneous humour in a Spidey-Stark reminiscent equation with Batman that evokes the maximum laughs.  

They are the only reason why nearly two hours of Justice League’s blobby structure, sullen palette and superfluous battles are all right to endure. 

Jia Aur Jia has little interest in showcasing its scenic landscapes, glorious architecture or lively cafes. This same vapid approach dumbs down the talents of Kalki and Richa into pictures of hollow passions and iffy motives.

Some of the jokes soar, some nosedive.

But to the housefull theatre I saw it in, and who laughed at every single bit, it’s the stuff Diwali releases are made of.  

Secret Superstar’s cheerful, feel-good imagery of a rotten reality, captured gorgeously in cinematographer Anil Mehta’s lens and aided by Amit Trivedi’s soaring tunes, reflects a young adult’s hopeful perspective yet to be crushed by the weight of cynicism.

What it packs with significance is a leading lady whose authority in cinema few can hold candle to. And it’s to her credit that even the most dubious figures of history can boast of a heart.

Grown up angst is a valid and neglected aspect of our storytelling. Except Menon’s digressing exploration of it feels more dull than delicious.

Varun does the best he can. But it is like the orange jeans he wears, resembling Salman’s in Judwaa. Only this one is ripped in places. 

By the time it gets on to display Dutt’s aggression and Hydari’s token participation against a red and yellow-themed climax featuring a miraculously accumulated crowd of village women in colour-coordinated costumes, Bhoomi’s blood-splattering, bone-crunching vigour is as unwelcome as the rest of this ghastly movie.