They call Mumbai sapno ki nagri for nothing, and the central characters of this superficial yet hilarious show would tell you that—Amal (Aahana Kumra), Treasa (Soni Razdan), Monty (Rajat Kapoor) and Mehershad (Ayush Mehra). The story, much like its award-winning French version by the same name, deals with the madness that ensues in the daily lives of those holding the&nbsp;tote bags behind the camera: celebrity agents.

<img alt="Call My Agent: Bollywood is the Hindi adaptation of a French show by the same name" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="6c680642-84e3-4acc-9d2b-7d9cb86daf77" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20-%202021-10-29T210140.327.jpg" /> 
‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’, directed by Shaad Ali of ‘Saathiya’ and ‘Bunty Aur Babli’ fame, an eight-part series, cherry picks one borderline tantrum at a time—of course, circling a celebrity—on the surface, what it does on a subliminal level is, however,&nbsp;peel off various layers shielding the mysterious establishment that is Bollywood.&nbsp;

Also read:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/lifestyle/news-wion-exclusive-ub40-we-are-old-frts-now-our-kids-carry-the-flag-for-revolutionary-change-424650">WION exclusive: UB40: We are old f*rts now, our kids carry the flag for revolutionary change</a>

In Ali’s adaptation, there’s love, sex, sexuality and the insecurity of falling from the top that consumes showbiz, or so we are told. Interestingly, the subject&nbsp;of insecurity, served on the sharp platter of humour, humanizes this universal emotion instead of demonising those who experience it—almost saying, “Hey, it’s okay to be insecure. I feel you.” Despite its quick-witted content and too-cool-for-school vibe—believe it or not—‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’ has deeper life lessons to impart: in modern-day life, more so in Bollywood, who’s your own, and for what?

<img alt="The show is a no-brainer, just what it was supposed to be" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="b300665d-28b4-4d10-8cd4-f4f6cbdd4682" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20-%202021-10-29T210354.623.jpg" /> 
Aahana Kumra and Soni Razdan stand on two extreme ends of the fabric that constitutes the backbone of Bollywood—the former, fun and feisty, the latter, sweet and a smooth-talker. Rajat Kapoor is a no-bulls*it&nbsp;agent hobnobbing with the&nbsp;crème de&nbsp;la crème. Ayush Mehra, understandably, is placed somewhere&nbsp;in the middle. These four actors from diverse backgrounds felt like a conscious choice, perhaps to add a dash of individuality and ‘character’ to their otherwise ostensible lives (referring to the show, only).

Also read:&nbsp;<a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/bollywood/news-dybbuk-review-emraan-hashmi%E2%80%99s-charm-doesn%E2%80%99t-suffice-this-insipid-horror-flick-424992">'Dybbuk' review: Emraan Hashmi’s charm doesn’t suffice this insipid horror flick</a>

‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’ is a whole country away from its French counterpart, both in terms of storytelling and character arcs. But, in essence, the show goes on to reiterate&nbsp;what we have known all along—all that glitters is, indeed, not gold. Touché!

'Call My Agent: Bollywood' is now streaming on Netflix.&nbsp;

Watch the trailer here:&nbsp;

<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HJGtb9QYVRU" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe>

They call Mumbai sapno ki nagri for nothing, and the central characters of this superficial yet hilarious show would tell you that—Amal (Aahana Kumra), Treasa (Soni Razdan), Monty (Rajat Kapoor) and Mehershad (Ayush Mehra).

They call Mumbai sapno ki nagri for nothing, and the central characters of this superficial yet hilarious show would tell you that—Amal (Aahana Kumra), Treasa (Soni Razdan), Monty (Rajat Kapoor) and Mehershad (Ayush Mehra). The story, much like its award-winning French version by the same name, deals with the madness that ensues in the daily lives of those holding the tote bags behind the camera: celebrity agents. ‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’, directed by Shaad Ali of ‘Saathiya’ and ‘Bunty Aur Babli’ fame, an eight-part series, cherry picks one borderline tantrum at a time—of course, circling a celebrity—on the surface, what it does on a subliminal level is, however, peel off various layers shielding the mysterious establishment that is Bollywood. Also read: WION exclusive: UB40: We are old f*rts now, our kids carry the flag for revolutionary change In Ali’s adaptation, there’s love, sex, sexuality and the insecurity of falling from the top that consumes showbiz, or so we are told. Interestingly, the subject of insecurity, served on the sharp platter of humour, humanizes this universal emotion instead of demonising those who experience it—almost saying, “Hey, it’s okay to be insecure. I feel you.” Despite its quick-witted content and too-cool-for-school vibe—believe it or not—‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’ has deeper life lessons to impart: in modern-day life, more so in Bollywood, who’s your own, and for what? Aahana Kumra and Soni Razdan stand on two extreme ends of the fabric that constitutes the backbone of Bollywood—the former, fun and feisty, the latter, sweet and a smooth-talker. Rajat Kapoor is a no-bulls*it agent hobnobbing with the crème de la crème. Ayush Mehra, understandably, is placed somewhere in the middle. These four actors from diverse backgrounds felt like a conscious choice, perhaps to add a dash of individuality and ‘character’ to their otherwise ostensible lives (referring to the show, only). Also read: 'Dybbuk' review: Emraan Hashmi’s charm doesn’t suffice this insipid horror flick ‘Call My Agent: Bollywood’ is a whole country away from its French counterpart, both in terms of storytelling and character arcs. But, in essence, the show goes on to reiterate what we have known all along—all that glitters is, indeed, not gold. Touché! 'Call My Agent: Bollywood' is now streaming on Netflix. Watch the trailer here:

'Call My Agent: Bollywood' review: Fun, flirty and unapologetically frivolous

Do you know what it means to ‘Devi’d it up?’ Well, according to co-creators Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher’s army of writers, it is a broth of utter teenage-triggered mess and lack of mature decision-making skills on the part of, well, the protagonist— last year’s breakout star Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Devi.

“Hey, that’s how we hotheads do,” character of a narrator John McEnroe, former Tennis star notorious for his on-court theatrics, justifies. After his stint and subsequent success as the debut season’s hilarious narrator, it is only logical—and smart on the part of the makers—to have him reprise his role as Devi’s manly inner voice/silent (judgmental) spectator.&nbsp;

<img alt="Devi doing Devi things" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="2194bf59-e937-45fb-8d9a-4756ac34f29a" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2840%29_0.jpg" />

 
The <a href="https://www.wionews.com/entertainment/hollywood/news-devi%E2%80%99s-kinder-nalini%E2%80%99s-cooler-paxton%E2%80%99s-hotter%E2%80%A6-plot-twists-fans-want-in-%E2%80%98never-have-i-ever%E2%80%99-season-2-397690">last time we saw Devi and her arch rival Ben Gross</a>, a cocky Jewish genius who wouldn’t stop bragging about his connections: “We use Fiji Water only because my father reps Aniston”; they were in each other’s mouths in the front seat of his car.

Does it sound like one of those clichéd tropes wherein a kiss materialises into a full-blown romance? Not so soon. Not in emotionally volatile and quick-tempered Devi’s watch.

<img alt="ben's so blushy!" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="91a06535-e7ce-46be-9d4f-1659e3bc649c" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2830%29_0.jpg" />

 
After her always well turned-up therapist (Niecy Nash) suggests she should choose between her new boo Ben and the man-child whose abs she has been drooling over even before he knew how to work out, Paxton-Hall Yoshida, through introspection and truthfulness towards her feelings.

Devi takes that advise into a bottle and does a 180 degree flip—she must now date both the boys. Yes, the season starts with Devi dating both the guys—“Ben gets her smart side and Paxton gets her horny side”—before it all gets blown up in sky by a car. Quite literally!

Many rage-filled, jealousy-driven, stupidity-induced moons later, we get to this 10-part season’s finale—the classic 'Big School Dance' climax and the impending grand gesture of love, because ‘that’s how love goes’ in teen dramas… or not.&nbsp;

<img alt="Paxton does hotness so good" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="9e920a22-4cc5-4b55-aad5-4f260c86b20a" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2833%29_0.jpg" />

 
If we haven’t said this already, Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher deserve a standing ovation and their own custom-made&nbsp;tiaras for just daring to present an Indian-American teen&nbsp;in their ambitious project for a platform that is as huge as Netflix.

And to an audience that has very little prep in maneuvering a brown, angry, deeply flawed character navigating—but not restricted to—her sexuality while trying to fit in with the dominant populace and making half-hearted efforts to embrace her Indian roots.

What made her and this series such a wicked success,&nbsp;you may ask. The answer lies in the makers’ choice to take a detour from the usual little two-goody shoes character arch and talk raw, real teen angst through a marginalised group in an otherwise white society. &nbsp;

It comes as a relief, but not that big a surprise, that Kaling and Fisher inculcate important social dialogues—around stigma and stereotypes attached to the teen queer community—and their&nbsp;earnest efforts in developing undertones dedicated to exposing racial slurs and cultural appropriation of minority ethnic communities in America that is rampant even to this&nbsp;moment.

Paxton giving a presentation on his grandfather living in Japanese internment camps was one history lesson that lands well, although it could have been explored further.

<img alt="Eleanor, Devi and Fabiola are a bunch of teenage girls in 'NHIE' series" data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="3f7bbef5-5d98-46d6-89e3-9f75f95be6fa" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2837%29_1.jpg" />

But, regardless of the seriousness of the subtexts, ‘Never Have I Ever Season 2’ feels overbearing because of &nbsp;the sheer fact that it crams the narrative with social and cultural issues way too many. What is it that the show is trying to achieve—Is it the blatant sexism at work that Kamala faces? Indians uprooting themselves and heading back home for a sense of belonging?

Fabiola’s desperate move to be seen and heard as a teenage lesbian? Or is it the patriarchal mindset that the hot fiancé cannot seem to shun—“keep your head down and chin up.” Or, is it the casual racism? With its heart at the right place, ‘NHIE S2’ tries to be the agent of change—or, at least, start a dialogue—around what seems like a long chat around the aforementioned glaring issues but at the expense of what?

This&nbsp;series is about Devi and her personable yet outlandish friends Fab and El, her man crush, and that nemesis: but in their attempt to alert the viewers of all that’s needed to be embraced and all that’s bad, we lose sight of Devi’s story, and of her mother, who has just started to explore her sexuality 2.0. Or even Paxton’s sudden but welcome desire to be someone and reach somewhere in life. Too many subplots spoil some plots, and this season is a testament to&nbsp;that.&nbsp;

<img alt="The love triangle is hard to look away from " data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="5f104310-243b-4bc8-a3cc-3abdbf9b2abe" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2837%29_0.jpg" />

 
Maitreyi Ramakrishnan takes to Devi like fish to water; no problems there! Just like her freshly pierced nose, Maitreyi’s depiction of ‘the crazy Devi’ is all the 'more gutsier' and the actress has internalized her character’s eccentricities with the precision of a soldier at war. Still selfish, still overtly emotional and very much at loggerheads with those who love her—Maitreyi as Devi is an infectious ball of energy.

Darren Barnett has zero inhibitions about exhibiting his emotionally distant self again for the cameras, and, although the actor’s USP continues to be his hotness, there’s more for you to see in him this time around. The ever-competitive, deeply vain-conceited Ben couldn’t have been portrayed by anyone more aptly than the devilishly charming Jaren Lewison. Eleanor and Fabiola (Ramona Young and Lee Rodriguez) are just as crazy about romance and robots (respectively) and if you are watching both the seasons back to back, you cannot tell one from the other. And that is yet another shortcoming of this show: very little plot progression and character growth in the lives of all these fascinating parallel roles. But, given the format of this show, the diegesis was always supposed to tip-toe around Devi. And, using this logic, we do understand why the other stories live in the shadows.&nbsp;

 
The ever amazing Poorna Jagannathan’s Nalini has gone beyond being a yelly Indian mother who likes to grieve her husband’s death (played by Sendhil Ramamurthy) in private. In this season, Nalini crosses some personal and social boundaries when she gets into a relationship with next-door doctor-frenemy Dr. Jackson (Common). Common feels pretty common in the relationship, but Jagannathan totally turns her charm up on this one. Likewise, that new ‘Cara Delevingne eye-browed’ Aneesa Qureshi (Megan Suri) that Netflix’s been promoting so aggressively? She is the human metaphor for casual racism in everyday life –someone calls Devi, Aneesa, and vice versa—and the optimum level of ‘Indianness’ that can be expected out of a foreign export. Given all the hype, Suri had a high-stress job to do; delivers with ease.&nbsp;

<img alt="Poorna Jagannathan's character has grown by leaps and bounds " data-entity-type="file" data-entity-uuid="be28df65-27e0-4489-9e69-7a75b165d0cf" src="//cdn.wionews.com/sites/default/files/inline-images/pjimage%20%2839%29_0.jpg" />

 
If John McEnroe’s nonchalant yet hilarious narration of an ‘Indian kid’ cracked you up in season one, then you’re in for a treat. The man does a pretty darn excellent job in blowing his own trumpet and narrating Devi’s story—all scripted, of course. “If it wasn’t obvious before, these two girls are both virgins,” McEnroe quips while re-introducing Fab and El. As for the cheating and chasing? The legend’s comic timing is class apart when he says these in his deep-set voice: “I don’t condone cheating, but this nerd’s playing doubles like a pro,” and “Devi’s truly the Usain Bolt of c*ckblocking.”The series plays by its strengths—sexual innuendoes, witty one-liners and John McEnroe. Fair enough.&nbsp;

 
Yes, ‘Never Have I Ever Season 2’ has taken upon itself to combat socio-cultural issues and make the Indian primary character relatable to Netflix’s multi-region, predominantly white audience all at once. And that is, frankly, quite disappointing. With a public figure of Mindy Kaling's stature serving as&nbsp;its exec-producer —who’s one of the poster children for success abroad among the Indian Diaspora—and a series that is already faring well streaming-wise, this season could have chosen to take any path it wished to tread on, but it chose to cave instead. On that note, it’s such a pity!

'Never have I Ever' Season 2 is streaming on Netflix.

Do you know what it means to ‘Devi’d it up?’ Well, according to co-creators Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher’s army of writers, it is a broth of utter teenage-triggered mess and lack of mature decision-making skills on the part of, well, the protagonist— last year’s breakout star Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Devi.

Do you know what it means to ‘Devi’d it up?’ Well, according to co-creators Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher’s army of writers, it is a broth of utter teenage-triggered mess and lack of mature decision-making skills on the part of, well, the protagonist— last year’s breakout star Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Devi. “Hey, that’s how we hotheads do,” character of a narrator John McEnroe, former Tennis star notorious for his on-court theatrics, justifies. After his stint and subsequent success as the debut season’s hilarious narrator, it is only logical—and smart on the part of the makers—to have him reprise his role as Devi’s manly inner voice/silent (judgmental) spectator. The last time we saw Devi and her arch rival Ben Gross, a cocky Jewish genius who wouldn’t stop bragging about his connections: “We use Fiji Water only because my father reps Aniston”; they were in each other’s mouths in the front seat of his car. Does it sound like one of those clichéd tropes wherein a kiss materialises into a full-blown romance? Not so soon. Not in emotionally volatile and quick-tempered Devi’s watch. After her always well turned-up therapist (Niecy Nash) suggests she should choose between her new boo Ben and the man-child whose abs she has been drooling over even before he knew how to work out, Paxton-Hall Yoshida, through introspection and truthfulness towards her feelings. Devi takes that advise into a bottle and does a 180 degree flip—she must now date both the boys. Yes, the season starts with Devi dating both the guys—“Ben gets her smart side and Paxton gets her horny side”—before it all gets blown up in sky by a car. Quite literally! Many rage-filled, jealousy-driven, stupidity-induced moons later, we get to this 10-part season’s finale—the classic 'Big School Dance' climax and the impending grand gesture of love, because ‘that’s how love goes’ in teen dramas… or not. If we haven’t said this already, Mindy Kaling and Lang Fisher deserve a standing ovation and their own custom-made tiaras for just daring to present an Indian-American teen in their ambitious project for a platform that is as huge as Netflix. And to an audience that has very little prep in maneuvering a brown, angry, deeply flawed character navigating—but not restricted to—her sexuality while trying to fit in with the dominant populace and making half-hearted efforts to embrace her Indian roots. What made her and this series such a wicked success, you may ask. The answer lies in the makers’ choice to take a detour from the usual little two-goody shoes character arch and talk raw, real teen angst through a marginalised group in an otherwise white society. It comes as a relief, but not that big a surprise, that Kaling and Fisher inculcate important social dialogues—around stigma and stereotypes attached to the teen queer community—and their earnest efforts in developing undertones dedicated to exposing racial slurs and cultural appropriation of minority ethnic communities in America that is rampant even to this moment. Paxton giving a presentation on his grandfather living in Japanese internment camps was one history lesson that lands well, although it could have been explored further. But, regardless of the seriousness of the subtexts, ‘Never Have I Ever Season 2’ feels overbearing because of the sheer fact that it crams the narrative with social and cultural issues way too many. What is it that the show is trying to achieve—Is it the blatant sexism at work that Kamala faces? Indians uprooting themselves and heading back home for a sense of belonging? Fabiola’s desperate move to be seen and heard as a teenage lesbian? Or is it the patriarchal mindset that the hot fiancé cannot seem to shun—“keep your head down and chin up.” Or, is it the casual racism? With its heart at the right place, ‘NHIE S2’ tries to be the agent of change—or, at least, start a dialogue—around what seems like a long chat around the aforementioned glaring issues but at the expense of what? This series is about Devi and her personable yet outlandish friends Fab and El, her man crush, and that nemesis: but in their attempt to alert the viewers of all that’s needed to be embraced and all that’s bad, we lose sight of Devi’s story, and of her mother, who has just started to explore her sexuality 2.0. Or even Paxton’s sudden but welcome desire to be someone and reach somewhere in life. Too many subplots spoil some plots, and this season is a testament to that. Maitreyi Ramakrishnan takes to Devi like fish to water; no problems there! Just like her freshly pierced nose, Maitreyi’s depiction of ‘the crazy Devi’ is all the 'more gutsier' and the actress has internalized her character’s eccentricities with the precision of a soldier at war. Still selfish, still overtly emotional and very much at loggerheads with those who love her—Maitreyi as Devi is an infectious ball of energy. Darren Barnett has zero inhibitions about exhibiting his emotionally distant self again for the cameras, and, although the actor’s USP continues to be his hotness, there’s more for you to see in him this time around. The ever-competitive, deeply vain-conceited Ben couldn’t have been portrayed by anyone more aptly than the devilishly charming Jaren Lewison. Eleanor and Fabiola (Ramona Young and Lee Rodriguez) are just as crazy about romance and robots (respectively) and if you are watching both the seasons back to back, you cannot tell one from the other. And that is yet another shortcoming of this show: very little plot progression and character growth in the lives of all these fascinating parallel roles. But, given the format of this show, the diegesis was always supposed to tip-toe around Devi. And, using this logic, we do understand why the other stories live in the shadows. The ever amazing Poorna Jagannathan’s Nalini has gone beyond being a yelly Indian mother who likes to grieve her husband’s death (played by Sendhil Ramamurthy) in private. In this season, Nalini crosses some personal and social boundaries when she gets into a relationship with next-door doctor-frenemy Dr. Jackson (Common). Common feels pretty common in the relationship, but Jagannathan totally turns her charm up on this one. Likewise, that new ‘Cara Delevingne eye-browed’ Aneesa Qureshi (Megan Suri) that Netflix’s been promoting so aggressively? She is the human metaphor for casual racism in everyday life –someone calls Devi, Aneesa, and vice versa—and the optimum level of ‘Indianness’ that can be expected out of a foreign export. Given all the hype, Suri had a high-stress job to do; delivers with ease. If John McEnroe’s nonchalant yet hilarious narration of an ‘Indian kid’ cracked you up in season one, then you’re in for a treat. The man does a pretty darn excellent job in blowing his own trumpet and narrating Devi’s story—all scripted, of course. “If it wasn’t obvious before, these two girls are both virgins,” McEnroe quips while re-introducing Fab and El. As for the cheating and chasing? The legend’s comic timing is class apart when he says these in his deep-set voice: “I don’t condone cheating, but this nerd’s playing doubles like a pro,” and “Devi’s truly the Usain Bolt of c*ckblocking.”The series plays by its strengths—sexual innuendoes, witty one-liners and John McEnroe. Fair enough. Yes, ‘Never Have I Ever Season 2’ has taken upon itself to combat socio-cultural issues and make the Indian primary character relatable to Netflix’s multi-region, predominantly white audience all at once. And that is, frankly, quite disappointing. With a public figure of Mindy Kaling's stature serving as its exec-producer —who’s one of the poster children for success abroad among the Indian Diaspora—and a series that is already faring well streaming-wise, this season could have chosen to take any path it wished to tread on, but it chose to cave instead. On that note, it’s such a pity! 'Never have I Ever' Season 2 is streaming on Netflix.

Never Have I Ever Season 2 review: Bolder, wackier plot twists with a tone of urgency around race and identity

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'Call My Agent: Bollywood' review: Fun, flirty and unapologetically frivolous

Never Have I Ever Season 2 review: Bolder, wackier plot twists with a tone of urgency around race and identity