Swear
to
God
and
hope
to
die
if
I
lie.
But
I
really
love
love
stories
even
if
they're
spelt
as
'luv
-storys'.
But
debutant
director
Punit
Malhotra's
I
Hate
Luv
Storys
(IHLS)
just
proves
an
over-sassy,
under-written,
rudderless
out-of-control
disappointment,
coming
as
it
does
from
Karan
Johar
production
house
which
in
the
last
one
year
has
given
us
two
films
by
debutant
directors
-
Rensil
D'Silva's
Kurbaan
and
Ayaan
Mukerjee's
Wake
Up
Sid,
which
made
a
difference
to
the
way
we
look
at
contemporary
commercial
cinematic
entertainment.
IHLS
is
neither
romantic
enough
nor
cynical
in
sufficient
measures
about
romantic
cinema.
Neither
mushy
nor
tongue-in-cheek,
the
relationship
between
a
dreamy-eyed
romantic
art-director
Simran
(Sonam,
looking
suitably
dreamy-eyed
and
romantic)
and
a
sardonic
sneering
cynical
assistant-director
Jay
(Imran
Khan)
hovers
uneasily
between
romance
and
its
rejection.
We
never
know
which
of
the
two
is
the
guiding
factor
in
the
plot.
So
take
a
look.
We
have
this
goofy
messy
guy
named
Jay
who
hates
his
surname
'Dhingra'
because
it
isn't
'cool.'
Making
fun
of
mushy
films
is.
Even
if
your
helping
one
to
be
made.
The
cool
quotient
in
Punit
Malhotra's
screenplay
spills
out
in
unchecked
amounts.
Characters
roll
their
eyes
and
chuckle
loudly
at
the
mention
of
romance.
Their
aggressive
denial
of
all
things
lovey-dovey
should
have
been
backed
up
by
oodles
of
basic
common
sense,
warmth
and
witticism.
The
writing
lacks
all
three
qualities.
The
screenplay
is
uneven
and
the
lines
that
the
characters
mouth
are
intentionally
designed
to
be
cool
.They
end
up
being
unintentionally
awkward.
Urban
cool,
like
glamour
and
chutzpah
only
works
when
it's
done
unselfconsciously.
Most
moments
that
take
the
narration
towards
the
inevitable
embrace
of
the
diehard
romantic
and
the
laugh-hard
cynic
are
strung
together
like
one-line
SMS
jokes
stretched
into
a
love
saga
from
here
to
New
Zealand.
Much
of
the
mushy
mismatch
happens
on
the
sets
of
a
moody
director
(Samir
Soni)'s
film.
The
director's
passion
spills
onto
sets
and
characters
who
lampoon
Sanjay
Leela
Bhansali's
Hum…l
De
Chuke
Sanam,
Devdas
and
Saawariya.
But
a
trueblue
spoof
is
as
tough
to
undertake
as
a
true
homage.
Bhansali
gets
neither
treatment.
Samir
Soni
plays
the
mercurial
director
with
warmth
that
you
miss
in
the
other
characters.
The
film-within-film
format
creates
a
clutter
in
the
screenplay
that
doesn't
warrant
or
tolerate
complexities.
If
the
two
protagonists
fall
in
love
on
the
sets
of
a
romantic
film,
that's
their
look-out.
The
characters
don't
generate
any
empathy
in
us.
What's
worse,
they
seem
to
enjoy
their
self-absorbed
definition
of
romance
and
commitment
much
more
than
we
do.
There
are
tongue-in-cheek
references
to
the
romantic
cinema
of
Bhansali,
Aditya
Chopra
and,
ahem
ahem.
Karan
Johar.
We
don't
really
know
when
that
tongue
goes
out
of
the
cheek.
Nothing
in
the
pacing
of
the
plot
suggests
a
well
thought-out
kismet
for
the
proceedings
or
a
graph
for
the
characters.
Shockingly,
for
the
first
time
in
a
Karan
Johar
film
the
presentation
is
patchy.
The
colour
schemes
jump
across
various
sequences
unmatched.
The
haphazard
chaos
on
a
film
set
never
seems
unreal
enough
to
be
real.
Even
the
chaos
in
the
plot
seems
much
too
self-conscious.
Imran
Khan
is
charming
when
he
isn't
busy
making
faces
and
throwing
lines
into
the
air
that
we
hardly
find
worth
catching.
His
character's
growth
from
a
man
who
finds
love
a
joke
to
a
neo-Devdas
who
chokes
on
his
angst
is
a
direct
descendent
of
Maamu
Aamir
Khan's
splendidly-evolved
character
in
Dil
Chahta
Hai.
I
bring
up
the
'Maamu'
factor
because
Imran
cheekily
does
so
himself
in
some
part
of
the
crowded
saturated
soundtrack.
While
Sammir
Dattani
as
the
proper
fiance
hardly
gets
a
chance
to
have
a
say,
Sonam
Kapoor
looks
lovely
and
is
apt
at
expressing
the
romantic
yearnings
of
a
girl
who
probably
read
all
the
Mills
&
Boon
books
before
she
turned
13.
Her
character
suffers
from
a
serious
absence
of
motivation.
One
minute
she's
devoted
to
the
nice
sweet
Gujarati
boy
(Sammir
Dattani).
The
next
minute
she's
confessing
her
love
to
the
roguish
Jay
in
a
coffee
shop.
And
then
you
go,
'Huh,
when
did
that
happen?'
When
did
love
turn
into
a
string
of
sitcom
jokes
told
without
canned
laughter?
Love,
we
grew
up
believing
to
be
blind.
But
not
bland,
for
Cupid's
sake!
Does
anyone
really
care
why
Simran
chooses
the
Prem
Rogue
instead
of
the
Prim
Beau
when
in
today's
day
and
age
every
clear-thinking
girl
looks
at
her
prospective
husband's
bank
balance
and
mental
equilibrium
with
equal
dispassion?
But
then
who
said
anything
about
dispassion
and
equilibrium
over
here?
I
Hate
Luv
Storys
is
filled
with
possibilities
that
don't
even
begin
to
crystallize;
the
protagonists
are
too
busy
trying
not
to
be
what
they
have
set
out
to
scoff
at,
rather
than
being
true
to
character.
The
film's
uneven
pace
and
an
absence
of
space
for
the
lovers
to
get
cosy
for
the
camera
let
alone
with
one
another,
make
this
a
big
disappointment.
Hate
love
stories?
Not
quite
the
entire
genre,
though
this
one
tries
hard.