While B.R. Chopra’s legacy is built on several cinematic masterpieces, his successors are retreating to the safest, most derivative formula in their arsenal to maintain institutional visibility in an evolving industry. In the 1978 original and the 2019 reboot, the math was simple: one husband, one wife, and one other woman. In this spiritual sequel, the makers decide that the standard triangle is too boring. They throw Ayushmann Khurrana (Prajapati Pandey) into a blender with Wamiqa Gabbi (the wife), and then double the trouble by introducing two Wohs — Sara Ali Khan and Rakul Preet Singh. It is less of a romance and more of a sloppy game of musical chairs where Ayushmann is desperately running out of places to sit. At its best, the farce works as low-stakes popcorn entertainment but completely detaches itself from the grounded, socially progressive legacy of the parent banner.

In line with the current cinematic obsession with regional textures, director Mudassar Aziz follows forest officer Prajapati Pandey (Ayushmann) and transplants the franchise’s signature infidelity plot into Prayagraj. His personal life collapses when he decides to help his college friend Chanchal (Sara) elope. It spirals into a web of misunderstandings with his sharp-journalist wife, Aparna (Wamiqa), and colleague, Nilofer (Rakul).

The script’s obstacle is its own ambition. Juggling three female leads forces the narrative to rely entirely on repetitive, increasingly far-fetched lies. The entire setup feels heavily prefabricated. Instead of organic situational humour, the narrative offers cardboard characters indulging in gimmicky gags that outlive their welcome. In fact, before you settle, the screenplay dissolves into a shouting match with a strident background score, frantically trying to signal the audience when to laugh. Like the jokes, the music is also borrowed from old playlists. The characters constantly talk over each other to keep the plot from falling apart, but it only adds to the irritation as the clock ticks by. There are hardly any surprises or subtext to the confusion. By keeping the protagonist innocent and merely a victim of circumstances, the film dilutes its own conflict, resulting in a safe, ultimately forgettable comedy.

In a bid to rescue a stalling narrative, Mudassar weaves in promising cameos by Tigmanshu Dhulia, Vijay Raaz, Ayesha Raza, and throws in an actual wolf, but apart from generating sporadic chuckles and throwaway insights into casteist politicians and anti-Romeo squads in Uttar Pradesh, the chaotic skit simply refuses to take off.

Playing a man whose personal life is actively imploding, Ayushmann is back in his comfort zone. He anchors the film by doing what he does best — masquerading as an innocent victim of a web of lies he spun himself — but eventually he overplays his hand, pushing the performance into exhausting exaggeration. With little room for subtext, the actor is overworked in a purely transactional screenplay that pushes the characters from one loud situation to the next without ever building a foundation. Left stranded in a creative vacuum, Sara Ali Khan, Rakul Preet Singh, and Wamiqa Gabbi are entirely on their own. Their natural screen energy is left completely unmoderated.

Regional flavour notwithstanding, the makers don’t want the leading ladies to shed their uber-glamorous, high-fashion personas. So they fall back on lazy tropes such as dream sequences and spiked drinks to inject sizzle into a lame narrative and sell the trailer to unsuspecting audiences.

There is a scene where one of the girls asks Prajapati, “Are you high on opium?” This is exactly my question to the conjurers of this tripe.

Pati Patni Aur Woh Do is currently running in theatres.