Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos Review:
I checked. Watching chef Sanjeev Kapoor getting smacked across the face was not in my 2026 wishlist (Curious. Does the signature smile wipe off?). Nor was witnessing two “agents” covertly converse over sips of chai, in a morse-coded language made out of slurp noises. A bald, white guy strolls on the screen and says ‘Hi’ every time the film’s recently-Hindi-learnt Britain-brought-up protagonist pronounces ‘tum’ as Tom. It is safe to conclude that Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos is a madcap, crazy, unabashed, absurdist, relentless ride. It doesn’t always make sense but then it never promised to. Like a constantly improvising comedy sketch, no gag is left unturned in the film, no line is without an undercurrent of humour and no minute is without you thinking: What the hell is happening?
Cast: Vir Das, Mona Singh, Mithila Palkar, Sharib Hashmi and Srushti Tawade
Directed by: Vir Das and Kavi Shastri
Written by: Vir Das and Amogh Ranadive
Standup comedian-actor Vir Das is Happy, the adopted son of two gay British secret agents. He wanted to follow his fathers’ footsteps but he failed the covert agency MI7’s exam seven times. Happy’s real calling, however, comes from the kitchen. In an early scene, we watch him assemble a mean sandwich, while doing ballet over a song whose lyrics declare: “I am alpha male.” Tiger, Pathaan and Kabir must order a takeout.
Happy soon learns that he is of Indian origin (“That’s why that girl in college called me a Paki”). And no later he is assigned to Goa, on a mission to rescue and retrieve a white woman who is being forced to work in a factory on developing a formula for a fairness cream. Her tormentor is local donna Mama (Mona Singh) who is evil enough to dip a cutlet in tea before crunching on it. She also houses an inter-generational enmity with Happy and is eager to settle scores.
With a spy-training that chiefly included watching Bollywood movies, Happy Patel lands in Goa. He speaks Hindi ‘thora thora’ (little, little) in the tone of a British administrator who is willing to forego ‘lagaan’ over a cricket match. The result is often hilarious as he mispronounces normal words to their closest sounding expletives (‘chhat’ (terrace) becomes…). Happy’s aides are the MI7’s “local” coordinator, a Goan rare-bird turbaned-Sikh Geet (the always entertaining Sharib Hashmi), a genre staple tech whizkid Roxy (singer Srushti Tawade) and a dancing girl cum honey-trap Rupa (Mithila Palkar), who reflexively slaps him anytime a romantic moment starts budding between them. Happy Patel has this enticing, comic-booky, Scott Pilgrim-coded energy which is refreshing. Anything that can go bonkers will do. Don’t be surprised if a frail waiter in the film says that he has an OnlyFans account.
In times of so much self-censorship, where each thought goes through multiple checks before being expressed, watching Happy Patel feels liberating. Debut directors Vir Das and Kavi Shastri go all guns blazing. The jokes come rat-tat-tat and although the humour doesn’t always hit the mark, the film believes that you miss all the shots you don’t take. There are both meta and Modi references and a certain actor gets to do action on ‘Pappu can’t dance saala’. Happy Patel is Delhi Belly (2011) on drugs and Madgaon Express (2024) if they all ultimately decided not to hide but to snort the cocaine.
But how crazy is too much crazy? The film has a thin plot and quickly becomes a nonsensical sensory experience that jumps from one sketch piece to another. It is bold and experimental but with too many chemical mixes there is always a risk that the beaker might just burst. Happy Patel often trades coherence for wackiness. It gets desperate enough to resort to fart jokes. You laugh but you don’t know if you are laughing with the film or at all the absurdities that are unfolding. Humour is subjective and the film is certainly not everybody’s cup of tea. It’s like dipping a cutlet in that tea. One might consider it disgusting, some might call it an acquired taste.