Lukkhe – Web Series Review

by Deepa Gahlot

Hell Raisers:

There are so many web series with the same profanity-laden dialogue, men swaggering around flaunting their muscles and their aggression, that one can barely tell them apart after a while. Lukkhe (on Amazon Prime Video), comes soon after Undekhi 4, both with drugs as their focus, both apathetic towards the effect of the poison peddled with impunity. The recent deaths in Mumbai at a music concert, constant reports about the narcotics epidemic destroying a generation in north India (Udta Punjab caught the beginning of the trend a decade ago, makes it a subject  that needs to be handled like a live grenade.

Created by Agrim Joshi and Debojit Das Purkayastha, directed by Himank Gaur, Lukkhe has some spark, but also a feel of that déjà vu. Innocents caught in a crossfire, an upright female cop, police and politicians in cahoots—these familiar characters are placed in Chandigarh, with a rap music backdrop. Again, the issue of vulgar or provocative lyrics that have landed star singers in court, is not even touched upon.

The life of Lucky (Lakshvir Saran), a promising hockey player goes into a downward spiral, with a drug-fuelled car race that ends in the death of his best friend, Aman (Sharad Joshi). The drug that has been causing havoc in the state, is the locally produced Demon, and cop Gurbani (Raashi Khanna), wants to get to the gang that makes and peddles it. She had lost her sister to the drug, in a tragedy that also left her father bedridden. She gets little support from her boss (Akarsh Khurana), who is on the payroll of a politician, Walia (Yograj Singh).

Lucky goes into rehab, where he meets and falls for Sanober (Palak Tiwari), a recovering addict like himself. Sanober is the sister of Nihal, or rap star MC Badnaam (King), who is the secret maker of Demon. Gurbani, seeing a way into the circuit, forces Lucky to become her informant. On the other hand, Nihal lures him into the business, accepting him into his ragtag “family,” which  means poor Lucky is caught between a rock and a hard place.

Nihal lives with his girlfriend, Paddy (Kritika Bharadwaj) and buddy Jazzy (Nakul Roshan Sahdev) and dotes on his sister, also an aspiring musician. She is unaware that Nihal is one the kingpins of the drug trade, the other being a woman called Nimmo Bhabhi (Ayesha Raza), who runs her empire with an army of women.

In spite of being a famous singer, Nihal’s excuse for selling drugs is to amass power and money to bring down his rival, OG (Shivankit Singh Parihar). His reason is ridiculous and flimsy, the result of which is that the series cannot be taken seriously. Even though own sister was an addict, Nihal does not understand that he is doing something wrong. He even robs trucks of a pharma company to get raw material for his drug-cooking lab. Though the script seems to be on his side, there is no doubt that he is an unrepentant criminal, not a hero.

The romance between Lucky and Sanober has a kind of innocence, considering they are surrounded by violence and corruption. Nihal is redeemed somewhat by the loyalty of his team, but OG is a heavily tattooed, one-eyed psycho. To stretch the series to the mandatory eight episodes, there are other unsavoury characters, like the hired assassin Sutti (Pitobash) who makes an appearance to add to the mayhem,  “Punjab is becoming like America,” rues a character, as the series hurtles towards a bizarre climax..

Amidst the “I am the man” kind of machismo, Gurbani is the fearless, moral core of the story, and even she comes this close to throwing Lucky under the bus in her mission to rid Chandigarh of drugs.

The music works for Lukkhe, even though the lyrics are problematic. King, who is a rapper in real life, has a raw sincerity, probably because he is not an actor. Raashi Khanna gets the ferocity and simplicity of her character, and gives an impressive performance. Lakshvir Saran and Palak Tiwari are likeable.

It is not imperative for a show to take a stand, but still, when making a show issues that are topical and contentious, it doesn’t do to sit on the fence.

(This piece first appeared in rediff.com)

You may also like