‘Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos’ (2026) Movie Review - Vir Das In A Mediocre Comedy

Making comedy is already very difficult. On top of that, making it work is a Herculean task. This is why I think comedy and comedians deserve far more respect than the thespians who receive acclaim and awards for screaming at the top of their lungs and flaring their nostrils in the name of prestige acting and drama. However, it's not a good sign when, while watching a comedy, you find yourself thinking about the effort that goes into delivering a good joke instead of enjoying the jokes being delivered right in front of you. Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos is mostly that kind of film. It's far from a good comedy, but it does deepen your respect for good comedians.

To label it a total washout would be unfair because Happy Patel does have its moments. But what those moments reveal is that the film is strictly the work of a stand-up comic who has written not a screenplay but bits. Hence, the laughter comes courtesy of clever manipulation of words. By making the titular Happy an NRI, writers Vir Das and Amogh Ranadive deploy verbal humor by swapping "ladki" with "lakdi," "jhaadu" with "jaadu," and "chidiya" and "chhat" with "chu…," well, two dirty c-words known to many Indians.

The movie, co-directed by Das and Kavi Shastri, opens with a disclaimer stating that social media outrage is injurious to health. Later, at a party, when everyone says "Copy," Sharib Hashmi's character responds, "Can't hear." Again, what this proves is that Happy Patel is deeply word-dependent when it comes to tickling the audience. The situations it sets up look comically outrageous on paper, but they feel flat onscreen: a rescue is carried out with the help of gas; a "special cutlet" is wielded as a deadly weapon; the climactic hero-versus-villain confrontation turns into a cooking competition. In theory, these ideas burst with flavor. The final result, however, is limp and colorless.

Blame the directors, who don't sculpt, shape, or present the jokes with any sense of timing or pleasure. Instead, they throw everything at the wall with manic energy and then attempt to organize it afterward. One doesn't sense filmmakers enjoying their work, but rather tired laborers huffing and puffing to make the audience laugh.

One way to be more specific is to divide Happy Patel into two parts: the film we see pre-interval and the film we see post-interval. The former is, I think, among the worst movies of the year. Scene after scene, we are hammered down by exhaustion. Nothing truly tickles; nothing truly works. The first half is woefully stiff and humorless. There is no fixed tone attached to the scenes; the camera impersonally records a collection of try-hard jokers. When an old waiter slowly approaches a table with a customer's order, you know you're supposed to laugh, but the moment is so plainly, so solemnly shot that it doesn't elicit chuckles. The punchline, moreover, is painfully predictable. And that's Happy Patel's major flaw: it lacks surprise. Even the jokes that land are mild. You are never seized by astonishment. The film is just funny enough to sustain patience. You walk out feeling mildly amused, having sat through something merely serviceable.

Then there is the Happy Patel you encounter post-interval, which is comparatively better and largely responsible for making the entire film serviceable. I suspect the pre-interval portions were shot by one director and the post-interval portions by another. The latter saves the face of the former. What's more, there is—wait for it—a third Happy Patel, marked by good intentions. If I were to guess, I'd say it's entirely the brainchild of the Vir Das who speaks about society and politics in his stand-up.

That Vir Das attempts a form of course correction by, for instance, giving us a clumsy "alpha male" who must be rescued by a woman and who is slapped by one. Most gangster films are centered on men doing dirty business. In Happy Patel, the vicious villain is a woman named Mama (Mona Singh). The women in the film excel at jobs typically assigned to men. Who's the IT expert? A woman. Who's adept with weapons? A woman. Who successfully runs a crime syndicate? A woman. Who's the agent who manages to do their job secretly and efficiently? A woman. And the men? Hashmi plays a jester who eats sandwiches mid-fight, while Happy cooks tasty dishes—a job traditionally assigned to women.

Das, one might say, tries to dismantle toxic movies and images of toxic masculinity. Yet this doesn't stop him from admiring one of Hindi cinema's most beloved toxic films and its OG toxic figure: Raj from Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge. Shah Rukh Khan, it seems, gets a free pass. The right wing has its own messiah, whom it uncritically admires. For the left and liberals, that messiah is Khan. These figures are placed above criticism, and their adulation is becoming a problem. Das, then, isn't as sharp or clear-eyed as one might expect based on his comedy and speeches.

He makes generic gestures toward what it means to be Indian and tries to suggest that people have power over their abusers. But these statements are ineffective and toothless. Das appears more invested in playing the role of a mainstream filmmaker chasing box-office success. As a result, the critical bite is dulled, and what's prioritized is a supposedly zany collection of bits that should, ideally, leave you in stitches. Mama's secret lab, for instance, is devoted to developing a Fair & Lovely–like product whose formula makes a man's face shine like a light bulb.

The actors are all fine, but Mithila Palkar's Rupa genuinely puts a smile on your face with her dancing steps. For her, dance signifies freedom, which is funny, considering she performs only two steps like a pre-programmed doll. Das and Hashmi are okay—they don't surprise you in any manner. The one performer who does surprise and stands out is Mona Singh. Even if only momentarily, she makes you feel Mama's sadness upon being rejected by Sanjeev Kapoor, her crush-cum-idol. Only an actor of her caliber could extract such human feeling from a cartoonish character amid absurd circumstances. Singh rules the film like a boss. Someone like her doesn't need a cream or a lab-made formula to shine within the confines of mediocre material.

Final Score- [4/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times