Were this a film by a lesser director, it would be easier to forgive these failings. It would be easy to enjoy Noah as a well-made popcorner that dares to explore dark themes while providing an intense visual experience. But what we have here is about 60 percent of a film that’s about 140 percent longer and more flawed than we would’ve liked. It crumbles under the weight of its own myth – and that myth is Aronofsky, not Noah.

Aankhon Dekhi is not a film that will invite public love, the way Queen or Highway have managed to garner over the past month. It eschews typical Bollywood razzle-dazzle to paint a stark but vivid portrait of the search for meaning and truth in our lives, where the laughter and the tears both come from the truth laid bare on screen. It is an intensely rewarding experience, with an ending that will haunt you for days afterwards.

By the time the end rolls around, the film has descended into chaos and is impossible to take seriously. Sincere efforts from the entire cast can’t save this well-intentioned venture from its own mediocrity. Meanwhile, I’m going to pretend that Juhi Chawla never did this film so as to keep the sanctity of my childhood crush intact.

What really elevates the film is the intensity of McConaughey’s performance. Looking skeletal and broken, his eyes glitter with a steely sense of desperate determination.

Manjule’s writing is so watertight that every occurrence in the screenplay feels natural. Ultimately,Fandry’s greatest victory is that it flows with the same languid pace one would expect of village life, despite its hardships, and, by putting the viewer in Jabya’s shoes, Manjule let you live in his world for a while.

At the intermission point of Angry Indian Goddesses, I was kinda done with it. So far, about one hour in, all the ‘female buddy film’ — not an entirely accurate description, by the way — had done was hurl stereotype after stereotype at the screen, stopping occasionally only to swat logic aside as though it were a particularly enthusiastic mosquito.