Abhishek Bansal

There are films that raise the bar, and then there are films that bury it so deep in the ground that you wonder if it will ever be unearthed again. Jolly LLB (the first) and its sequel were rare gems — tautly written, performed with conviction, and built upon elaborate courtroom battles where even the smallest sprinkle of comedy only sharpened the gravitas of the proceedings. The closing arguments of those films left your skin tingling, the kind of cinematic experience where the hairs on the back of your neck stood tall in reverence. Jolly LLB 3, however, feels like the aftertaste of a watered-down drink at a cheap bar. The writing here resembles two friends sitting cross-legged on the floor, alcohol flowing, laughing at their own imagination: “Arre bhai, phir yeh hoga!” “Aur phir woh bhi add kar dete hain!” Until suddenly they’re convinced they’ve created a masterpiece — except what they’ve produced is a mess of half-baked twists, clichés, and pandering melodrama. It’s as if the writers mistook volume for vision and decided that if they stuffed in everything that might tug at the Indian audience’s heart, it would miraculously transform into gold. It didn’t. It reeks. But what’s worse is the sheer arrogance behind it all. The director and producers seemed convinced they could piggyback on the reputation of the first two films — that nostalgia alone would drag audiences into theatres, clapping and whistling like they would at a massy South Indian spectacle. They didn’t bother to read, much less refine, the incoherent drivel dumped on their desks. Instead, they plastered hollow callbacks to Jolly LLB 1 & 2 and hoped we’d be hypnotized by the echoes of better days. The attempts at comedy are nothing short of painful. Each gag lands with a thud that makes you want to look away in embarrassment. And the courtroom — the very temple of this franchise — is butchered beyond recognition. The film portrays the Honourable Court not with gravity, not even with lighthearted wit, but with such ignorance that it feels the makers have never stepped inside a courtroom, never read about one, perhaps never even watched another courtroom film in their lives. It is laughable, but in the most damning sense of the word. Gone are the sharp exchanges, the intellectual duels, the masterful counterarguments that made the earlier films sing. Instead, we are handed empty monologues, contrived twists that arrive without buildup or justification, like random ideas scribbled on a napkin just to push the story forward. And then, insult upon injury: a race sequence. Why? Why must a Jolly LLB film descend into Honda Civic race cars screeching as though this were Fast & Furious: Patiala Drift? The absurdity leaves you in disbelief. I haven’t even touched on the director’s utter disregard for the sanctity of life as framed by the Indian Constitution, the abrupt and hollow ending, the two-hour-long buildup that leads to nothing, or the parade of soulless characters abandoned midway. To call this film disappointing would be a kindness. It is, in every sense, a betrayal — of the franchise, of its audience, and of the very spirit that made Jolly LLB a triumph to begin with.