Jersey movie review: Shahid Kapoor's cricket drama is emotionally resonant, but thematically complacent

Language: Hindi

Full disclosure: Right at the outset, I should confess that I chose not to watch the original _Jersey_, Telugu film starring Nani, since I planned to review its Hindi remake, starring Shahid Kapoor. It’s a scene-by-scene adaptation so my impression of the Hindi film has no benchmark to measure it against.

However, some moments did take me back to Shahid’s last film, _Kabir Singh_, also an adaptation of a Telugu hit, Arjun Reddy. Here too, the director is common to both the films — Gowtham Tinnanuri, who also helmed the original Jersey. Early on in the film, Shahid is seen riding a bike. But he’s not out there to get the girl a la Kabir Singh. He’s taking his seven-year-old son to play a cricket match.

Arjun (Shahid) is a 36-year-old man in Chandigarh who quit cricket 10 years ago because he got rejected in the Indian cricket team selection. He was also suspended from his job a couple of years later because of a legal case. He now lives with his wife Vidya (Mrunal Thakur), a hotel receptionist, and their son Kittu (Ronit Kamra). While he’s a stay-at-home dad, Vidya is working hard to make ends meet.

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When Kittu asks his father to buy him the Indian cricket team jersey on the former’s birthday, the helplessness of Arjun frustrates him to the core, and eventually nudges him to chase his dream of joining the Indian cricket team again.

As the story suggests, the narrative beats of this underdog sports drama are largely familiar. But familiarity has come to be closely associated with this genre. Tinnanuri’s story, Anirudh Ravichander’s background score, and the choreography of cricket matches are all too familiar — but is that really a problem if it works? No, and yes.

No, because Jersey finds great comfort in the familiar, in the nostalgic, and in the mundane. A large chunk of the first half of the story, set in the late 1980s, is a sweet time capsule. Shahid and Mrunal dial-up their youthful charm, aided by Sachet-Parampara’s love anthem ‘Maiya Mainu’ that leaves one melting. Payal Saluja’s costume design is also well-researched but not jarringly passé. Shashank Tere’s production design is not too underlined, like it tends to be in nostalgic pieces. The sightings of an old Rs 100 note, the old Dairy Milk packaging, and glass Pepsi bottles at cricket stadiums are nice touches to a film that wants to celebrate the less-is-more times.

But Tinnanuri’s direction only fleetingly adheres to this less-is-more school. While his writing doesn’t take convenient, crowd-pleasing full swings, it also doesn’t make every single count. Effort has gone into detailing here, from Arjun crushing an unfinished cigarette under his foot to Vidya’s eyes that well up because of exhaustion and sacrifice, but that effort often shows. For a film that wants to celebrate the familiar and the simple — the means of achieving that should’ve been a little more innovative, more intricate.

There’s a lot to mine in the familiar motifs and arcs of the story here. Let’s start with the love story. Shahid and Mrunal’s easy chemistry would’ve been far more rewarding if her backstory and graph were fleshed out better. One gets why Arjun’s favourite cheerleader turns into a voice of reason. Sacrificing the family she was born into over the family she chose, coupled with the burden of being the sole earning member of the family, makes her a hardened working woman, instead of an unconditional lover.

In a refreshing breather, she keeps asking Arjun if he loves her more than their son, in order to remind him of their humble beginnings. In those moments, she transcends the sacrificial mother-and-wife stereotype, but the absence of a soundboard makes her arc far too dependent on Arjun’s. Small mercies that she’s not the manic pixie dream girl here, but she isn’t an independent player either.

Then let’s take the father-son story. It remains as emotionally buoyant as any father-son tale should be, part courtesy Kamra, who plays Kittu with the mature innocence of a perceptive kid. It also helps that Pankaj Kapur shares a lot of scenes with his son Shahid, as Arjun’s mentor, Coach Bhalli. He brings grit to his part, also because he’s an actor who’s made a career out of endless hours of net practice and singles he doesn’t even account for. To see him push Shahid, who’s now a bonafide ‘star,’ something Pankaj Kapur never was, is both heartening and layered.

I must add that Shahid’s craft has seen an upward steep, but he should continue taking notes on acting from his seasoned father, like how to tweak one’s body language and voice after an age leap. Shahid is a worthy leading man, but misses the finer touches the audience will look for while re-watching his performance in the retrospective light of the film’s climax. Again, the argument circles back to making every single count, and not just hitting every ball out of the park.

When the grown-up Kittu (played sincerely by Prit Kamani) reminisces about his father, he remembers him as a man who went against all odds and risks to play a game that lent identity and respect to him, as both a father and a sportsman. But the fact that Arjun continued to pursue his dream, even if to “live with his head held high in his son’s eyes,” without disclosing the chinks in his armour to the family, makes him an escapist — or a victim of the crushing hopes of ‘heroism’ that’s imposed on ‘unsuccessful’ men like him. In the larger picture, it’s disappointing to learn that the son’s lasting memory of his father is that of a hero, and not of a victim.

How about we talk about the world Jersey is set in? There is dearth of any nuance in the depiction of Punjab or specifically, Chandigarh. The director is unfamiliar with that turf, but even the dialogue writers Siddharth-Garima (also behind the dialogues of Kabir Singh) only perpetuate the Punjabi cliches that riddle the Hindi film industry. The only ray of sunshine is Kamra, who surprisingly steeps his accent in subtle colloquialism.

And finally, let’s address the elephant in the room — cricket. We’ve only recently witnessed two rousing/inspiring films on the sport in _83_ and _Kaun Pravin Tambe?_. While the latter, like Jersey, is about late bloomers on field, the first one is a masterclass in how to marry cricket and drama. In its defense, Jersey can’t pull off the scale of 83. While cinematographer Anil Mehta and editor Navin Nooli try, the DNA of the film is more micro than macro. It’s a far intimate story, but embracing the familiar and the comforting with abandon could’ve gone a long way in making it a more potent experience.

But maybe Jersey doesn’t want to be 83. Its climax isn’t as much of a dramatic high, as it’s an emotional one. I see its glorification of a man under undue pressure more as a tragic or cautionary tale than an inspiring one. But its belief, that the game isn’t all fours and sixes but also unrelenting singles, is a worthy lesson and reminder. Only if the director could make every single count.

Jersey is playing in cinemas.

Rating: ***1/2

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