Call
Me
Bae
is
a
spirited
new
addition
in
guilty
pleasures
for
the
fashion-loving,
rom-com
starved
soul,
applauds
Sukanya
Verma.
If
the
DNAs
of
Elle
Woods,
Cher
Horowitz,
Blair
Waldorf
and
Rachel
Green
could
be
cloned
to
create
a
brand
new
human,
she’d
be
something
of
a
Bae.
All
these
fashionable,
flush
with
money
ladies
of
big
screen
and
small
proved
to
the
world
they
could
be
more
than
their
stylish
clothes
and
sunshine
smiles
without
ever
feeling
apologetic
about
their
stylish
clothes
and
sunshine
smiles.
Created
by
Ishita
Moitra
for
Dharma’s
streaming
offshoot
along
with
co-writers
Samina
Motlekar
and
Rohit
Nair,
Call
Me
Bae‘s
eight
episodes
of
fluff,
fashion
and
feminism
take
forward
the
Gen
X
brand
of
starry-eyed
optimism
to
an
up
in
arms
Gen
Z
audience
in
poor
little
rich
girl
Bella
Chowdhary
aka
Bae’s
(Ananya
Pandey)
flights
of
fancy.
(For
those
not
so
well-versed
with
generational
slang,
Bae
is
a
term
of
endearment
referring
to
someone’s
sweetheart.)
It’s
fun
when
a
premise
is
not
only
clear
about
its
frivolity
but
turns
it
into
a
cheerful
ploy
to
put
snooty
scoffers
to
shame
by
the
advocates
of
keto
diet.
Nothing
like
oodles
of
wit
to
deal
with
wealth
and
woes
in
art.
And
Moitra’s
tongue-in-cheek
zingers
come
in
good
supply
as
much
as
her
finger
on
the
pulse
of
pop
culture
whilst
telling
the
familiar
story
of
a
fish-out-of-water
discovering
her
calling
in
the
city
of
dreams.
Directed
by
Collin
D’Cunha,
earlier
impressing
this
year
with
his
segment
in
Love
Storiyaan
trickling
in
the
warmth
of
a
transgender
couple’s
real-life
romance,
Call
Me
Bae‘s
cutesy
confection
and
featherweight
ideals
start
out
like
a
designer
dystopia
only
to
quickly
advance
into
a
rose-tinted
fantasy.
Everything
about
Bae’s
golden-spooned
existence
is
so
far
removed
from
bourgeois
reality
even
its
absence
becomes
a
source
of
amusement.
Spending
the
night
on
the
streets
in
a
fancy
Audi,
lodging
in
a
bohemian
hippy
collective
called
Lostel,
paying
rent
by
selling
off
her
pet
Patootie
(luxury
handbags
have
nicknames
too)
for
cash,
snuggling
in
her
bespoke
Charlotte
Thomas
bed
sheets
for
warmth
superior
than
humans,
it’s
the
kind
of
glamorous
struggle
security
guards
of
high-rises
aspire
for
as
hilariously
highlighted
in
a
meta
moment
that
blurs
the
lines
between
Bae’s
ignorance
and
Ananya’s
privilege.
Raised
in
a
posh
South
Delhi
lifestyle
by
the
worrier
second
wife
(Mini
Mathur)
of
a
workaholic
moneybags
to
marry
into
more
money,
Bae’s
childhood
memories
comprise
of
winning
mini
Poo
pageants
and
an
adult
life
manifested
in
Jane
Austen’s
wry
views
on
match
making.
The
pressure
of
striving
to
be
a
Birkin
in
a
world
full
of
fakes
and
posting
round-the-clock
life
updates
and
larger-than-Louis
Vuitton
selfies
across
social
media
are
part
of
upholding
that
distinction.
I
am
Bae,
I
am
here
to
slay,
mere
Sara
Ki
Shayari-style
affirmations
form
her
core
philosophy
—
one
that
she
must
constantly
comply
with
to
fit
in
her
world.
But
it’s
only
when
she
uses
it
as
a
mantra
to
follow
her
heart
that
Bae
finds
her
groove.
Following
a
dream
wedding
to
a
young
tycoon
Agastya
‘Aggy’
(Vihaan
Samat),
which
looks
like
a
cross
between
Deepika-Ranveer’s
Lake
Como
nuptials
and
Siddharth-Kiara
romantic
union,
Bae
finds
herself
bored
stiff
in
a
mansion
of
all
luxury,
no
life
with
the
added
pressure
of
having
a
baby
by
the
nondescript
mum-in-law.
One
slip
up
and
Bae
is
cast
out
as
a
social
pariah
with
neither
friends
or
family
nor
finances
at
her
disposal.
Arriving
in
Mumbai,
saviour
of
lost
souls
and
rebellious
women
since
time
immemorial,
Bae
finds
her
smarts
and
survival
instincts
kicking
hard
over
serendipitous
encounters
with
bright-eyed
behens
as
well
as
bosses
while
adding
another
feather
in
her
‘Guts’
cap.
Bae’s
breezy
friendships
with
the
sassy,
jugaad-expert
Saira
(Muskkaan
Jaferi)
and
uptight
yet
superstitious
colleague
Tammarrah
(Niharika
Dutt)
evokes
the
camaraderie
of
Rachel,
Monica
and
Phoebe
under
one
roof
as
they
go
from
mates
to
roommates,
flirtations
around
the
iron-pumping
Prince
(Varun
Sood)
and
Neel
(Gurfateh
Pirzada),
the
suave
journalist
she’s
interning
under,
a
happy-go-lucky
new
life
unfolds
over
the
course
of
eight
light-hearted
episodes.
There
are
pressing
issues
and
pestering
bullies,
too,
in
the
form
of
a
#MeToo
whistleblower
and
SS
(Vir
Das)
—
the
pompous
TV
host
of
a
TRF
channel
at
loggerheads
with
Bae,
reminiscent
of
an
infamous
yeller
known
to
maul
his
guests
under
the
pretext
of
nation
wants
to
know.
Call
Me
Bae‘s
snazzy
momentum
pursues
social
activism
like
a
tagline
not
a
punchline.
Where
its
toxic
office
space
is
more
in
line
with
A
Devil
Calls
Prada
and
Bruce
Almighty,
lifting
the
lid
on
influential
men
taking
advantage
of
vulnerable
women
has
the
seriousness
of
a
Nancy
Drew
investigation.
Bae’s
history
of
dysfunctionality
crops
up
in
fleeting
flashbacks
connecting
to
her
attention-grabbing
tactics
in
the
present
but
they
aren’t
as
effective
as
the
array
of
fields
she
specialises
in.
Mixology
courses
from
Ibiza
to
climate
resilience
for
the
high
net
worth
individual
to
following
a
diet
of
only
oranges
to
fit
into
a
bikini,
Bae’s
talent
is
as
wide
ranging
as
it
is
wild.
As
evident
in
Karan
Johar’s
Rocky
Aur
Rani
Kii
Prem
Kahani,
Moitra-the
wordsmith
precedes
all
else.
The
writer
has
a
gift
for
puns,
pop
culture
lingo
and
trends
that
change
faster
than
the
speed
of
light.
Occasionally,
the
breakneck
speed
of
her
verbal
volleys
can
be
crazy
to
keep
up
with
but
it’s
a
flavour
of
its
own
and
Call
Me
Bae
is
all
the
better
for
it.
One
gets
a
sense
of
the
makers
desi
filmi
keeda
in
Bae’s
claims
at
knowing
various
skills
picked
from
different
parts
of
the
world
quite
like
Rajesh
Khanna’s
all-rounder
Bawarchi
and
his
celebrity
encounters
or
the
manner
SS
orders
around
his
minion,
a
la
Bindu’s
‘secretary
follow
me’
in
Biwi
Ho
Toh
Aisi.
Good
on
Vir
Das
for
playing
a
caricature
like
the
creep
he
is.
Of
the
guys,
Gurfateh
Pirzada’s
charisma
surplus,
Vihaan
Samat’s
success
in
humanising
a
snob
and
Varun
Sood’s
gentle
giant
do
well
within
their
limited
characterisations.
Call
Me
Bae
makes
no
bones
about
its
‘behencode‘
supremacy.
The
girls
are
at
the
forefront
of
the
show
and
have
a
ball
around
Bae.
Muskaan’s
gift
of
gab,
gal
pal
energy
is
on
point
as
is
Niharika’s
softie
trapped
in
a
sceptic’s
body.
Lisa
Mishra’s
TV
producer
indulging
in
SS’s
narcissistic
behaviour
has
a
stoic
air
but
is
weakly
etched
out.
Meanwhile,
Mini
Mathur
as
Bae’s
Regina
Rich-ish
mum
makes
a
meal
out
of
her
one
maa-beti
scene
at
the
beach.
The
Bella
of
the
ball,
of
course,
is
Ananya
Pandey.
A
delightful
ditz
in
designer
dreams
calling
the
‘ullu‘
her
spirit
animal
and
goofing
up
on
the
teleprompter
by
spelling
XI
Jinping
as
Eleven
Jinping,
making
cute
faces
at
a
roomie
expecting
her
to
clean
the
mess,
putting
a
cad
in
his
place
by
reverse
shaming,
rolling
eyes
at
every
‘wokeness
ki
dukaan‘,
Ananya
is
quite
a
riot
as
Bae.
The
Poo
fangirl
on
screen
and
off
it
moves
on
from
the
OMG
gasping
airhead
by
revealing
surprising
fragility
across
Bae’s
journey
from
pretty
puppet
to
person
with
a
purpose.
There’s
a
geniality
in
Ananya’s
demeanour,
which
bodes
well
for
the
humanity
in
Bae.
Her
sweet,
spontaneous
chit
chats
with
the
‘bhaiyas’
of
both
Mumbai
and
Delhi
and
sloshed
soliloquies
draw
attention
to
a
blossoming
comedian’s
charm.
Add
to
that
Anahita
Shroff
Adajania’s
super
chic
styling,
groovy
music
elevating
the
drama,
girls
bonding
believably
under
unbelievable
circumstances,
Call
Me
Bae
is
a
spirited
new
addition
in
guilty
pleasures
for
the
fashion-loving,
rom-com
starved
soul.
Call
Me
Bae
streams
on
Amazon
Prime
Video.
Call
Me
Bae
Review
Rediff
Rating:
