Call Me Bae Review: Ananya Panday is perfect in her breezy and decidedly sanitised debut | Web series

(Also read – Ananya Panday’s exclusive interview on Call Me Bae: ‘No one can come close to what Kareena Kapoor did with Poo’)

From Bae to Bae-ghar

Call Me Bae has been touted as a “riches-turned-rags” story, in which Bae somehow gets Bae-ghar from his two filthy rich families – sasural and maika – to land in Mumbai, where he has to make a living and carve out his own identity. No, Bae doesn’t sleep on pavements or hustle on local trains. In fact, he sprays disinfectant on the beach bench before devouring his first vada pao, and makes his autorickshaw debut and compares the rickshaw to a Mini Cooper – “only much cooler.” It’s Bom-Bae’s dream struggle for many of us, and yet we never dismiss his misfortunes.

Creator Ishita Moitra, director Collin D’Cunha and co-writers Samina Motlekar and Rohit Nair strike a tone that is unabashedly frothy, decidedly sanitised, yet progressively meaningful. Much like what Ishita achieved with Rocky Randhawa (Ranveer Singh) in Karan’s blockbuster last year, Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani, Rocky remains West Delhi ka launda at heart from start to finish, but there’s an evolution to be seen within. Similarly, Bae doesn’t become Poo bani Parvati, but simply goes with the flow, open to whatever life throws at her, rather than saying “mera toh itna life kharab ho gaya” to Kangana Ranaut’s Queen.

This ability to be on the lookout for life’s offerings also comes from Bae’s innate passion to keep adding to her arsenal. Sure, she hasn’t exactly navigated the ups and downs of the beast that is life, but she has gained an experience, made a new friend, and finished a new course, wherever she landed. That makes Bae a kaleidoscope queen rather than a monochromatic princess. Whether she dresses up for the occasion, quotes dear society friends like Raghu (read: Raghuram Rajan) when she has to talk about Economics, or has completed a course for every skill she pulls out of her kitty’s sleeve, Bae almost becomes a superhero we never had, didn’t deserve, but yearned to have somewhere.

It’s not an Instagram Reel

Ananya just gets Bae. Whether it’s due to her superpower to distance herself from her privilege and examine it from the point of view of a Siddhant Chaturvedi, or simply the solid crutches of impeccable writing, Ananya ensures that Bae is consistently funny, modestly 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 proved in her latest film Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, Ananya is capable of pulling off roles that require her to stretch beyond her perceived personality and potential.

An 8-part series is not an Instagram Reel, though. It demands a character graph, regardless of the harmless fun you bring to it. An inertia sets in by the third or fourth episode, where the pace of their growth slows down. You feel like unloading all that Poo sass on the writers, “What are we waiting for? Christmas?” or responding to a friend who asks “Bae tonight?” with a “Tell me how it was!” But the plot turns FANTASTIC (pretty hot and tantalizing!) when Bae starts to butt heads with Satyajit Sen (Vir Das), his Arnab Goswami-esque boss at the TV news channel, who frowns on social media journalism and considers prime-time news to be the gold standard.

Since Ishita Moitra has also been a journalist, she plants several Easter eggs in the newsroom. For instance, there’s a reporter whose only job is to dress up for the camera — he’s either a tendua (leopard), a policeman, or a poor mother who has lost her children in a tragedy, depending on the news of the day. Vir seems to be having a ball playing her antithesis as the irredeemable, satya-spewing siren, who serves as the perfect enemy for Bae, giving him an underdog arc with which to climb and win our hearts.

In the process, issues like MeToo and data breaches come up, but the tone never wavers. It has no ambition to get serious and wears these ills casually as if they were a second skin. As much as that irritates the brain, the heart doesn’t care because, by then, we’ve become as inclusive, accommodating and adventurous as Bae herself.

Blessing or Bae-n

The magical part of Bae is not without its hiccups. Between her iridescence and Satyajit’s bleakness, some supporting characters struggle to find their space. For instance, Gayatri as Bae’s mother is smart and sassy but Mini Mathur could have turned her into gold if she wasn’t saddled with tepid lines. If his comic timing in Mind the Malhotras is anything to go by, he would have made Gayatri a much quirkier character. Varun Sood’s Prince, the gym trainer who hangs out with Bae because no one understands them, is nothing but a gentle giant who also has a brain for technology and hacking along with the muscles. Green flags galore on this show as Gurfateh Pirzada’s Neel is a kind and idealistic journalist who needs to get his act together and dive into the unknown to make it work. Vihaan Samat, as Bae’s husband Agastya, makes you root for him with his puppy eyes and boyish charm, despite his chauvinistic and pretentious leanings.

The men get their brushstrokes, but Call Me Bae’s canvas largely belongs to its women. The thread of Behencode (“it’s older than The Da Vinci Code”) runs through the show’s DNA. From finally discovering a more conformist sister in her mother to winning over her competitive colleague-turned-flatmate, Bae gets an intervention from Behen at every stage that smooths her journey. Muskkaan Jaferi lives up to his surname by milking his witty one-liners to the last syllable and filling the entire room with his vivacious presence. Lisa Mishra makes a stunningly restrained acting debut as Harleen, the producer in love with Satyajit’s show. All the sisters infuse blood into their own arteries rather than just servicing the central backbone that is Bae. Many more appear along the way: Sayani Gupta, Karishma Tanna, even Faye D’Souza.

But these cameos aren’t gratuitous — they’re brief but complete bits, barring a random greeting from Orry that announces Bae’s arrival on the scene. There are nods to Poo in the form of dialogues like “Minus” and “There’s a special class today” (yes, with that very gesture). But neither Kareena Kapoor nor costume designer Manish Malhotra show up for cameos even though there was narrative space for both. Speaking of costumes, Anaita Shroff brings a tremendous amount of life to the costumes, not just of Bae but even of Satyajit (Vir Das wears shorts while on air because the audience can’t see him below the belt, in more ways than one). Bae wears dotted eyeliner in one scene that accentuates his dewy eyes or mismatched earrings in a scene where he’s conflicted.

The wardrobe department is in complete sync with the writing department in underlining that for rich, sheltered South Delhi girls like Bae, branded clothes and accessories are an escape from beneath the protective veneer of exhibitionism. In many ways, these are the only emotional support system they can afford, especially when they live in a family that sees them as trophy wives/daughters rather than trophy winners. On her most important professional day at the end, Bae doesn’t rock her usual go-to bright and flashy garments. Instead, she chooses a dark blazer, beneath which she hides her bleeding red blouse. At that moment, she becomes BAE in the literal sense – she chooses her true happiness, over anyone else.

Call Me Bae is streaming on Prime Video India.