Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar’ on Netflix, Renowned Indian Filmmaker Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s First Crack At Television

Sanjay Leela Bhansali is India’s version of Baz Luhrmann, a filmmaker regarded for the opulence of his period dramas. From Devdas to Bajirao Mastani to Gangubai Kathiawadi, the Indian director is fond of not just pre-Independence India-set stories but also the lower-class courtesans that populate them. Bhansali’s Netflix India series Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar follows in this format.

HEERAMANDI: THE DIAMOND BAZAAR: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

Opening Shot: In a lush, open-air room a woman lays on a bed with a small baby nestled next to her. Another woman approaches and takes the child, handing him off to a man in exchange for a pouch of jewels.

The Gist: In pre-independence India, nawabs (noblemen of the time) openly spent time with courtesans who exerted a significant amount of control over their wealthy companions. At Heeramandi, a collective of courtesans, Mallikajaan (Manisha Koirala) rules over the group with a harshness that stems from the heartache of having her baby son stolen from her and sold away years prior.

The time has come for Mallikajaan’s daughter Alamzeb (Sharmin Segal) to make her debut and begin her grooming to eventually take over one day, but Alamzeb would rather become a poetess than dance for money. The beginnings of India’s revolution movement against the British is the backdrop for the series, Alamzeb secretly meets and begins a flirtation with a wealthy nawab who doesn’t yet know her identity and is an active rebel sympathizing with the revolution—an unpopular stance in the upper crest of society. As Alamzeb’s protests intensify, Mallikajaan’s rule is threatened by an outsider with deep ties to her past.

What Shows Will It Remind You Of? Dealing in the period constructs and elaborate sets, the series is reminiscent of just about every big Bhansali feature that’s come before it.

Our Take: If there’s one thing that Sanjay Leela Bhansali productions excel at, it’s their flair for period-set opulence and extravagant costuming. There’s no denying that every frame of Heeramandi is gorgeous to look at, and the few dance numbers in the first episode call back to set pieces from the likes of Bhansali’s earlier films like Devdas and Bajirao Mastani. The colors, jewelry, and cinematography are truly a feast for the eyes.

But unfortunately the Netflix series stumbles when it comes to telling a coherent story in its first outing. With a pilot that runs a full hour, Heeramandi fails to set up its central conflict (the threatening force against Mallikajaan, Sonakshi Sinha’s Fareedan — a highlight — doesn’t truly arrive until the show’s second hour). Without that electricity between Sinha and Koirala, the first episode doesn’t move past a familiar Indian cinema conflict: the clash between parental expectations and following your heart as Mallikajaan forbids Alamzeb from reading poetry, and pushes forward towards her tawaif debut.

Bhansali is a film director through and through, and it’s clear that Heeramandi is his first foray into television. The pacing across episodes is erratic and the conclusions to episodes come rather abruptly. Heeramandi leans into its Bollywood roots, doling out melodrama from every line reading and furtive glance. The melodrama extends to the central love story of the series between Alamzeb and her secret nawab Tajdar, but their chemistry doesn’t deepen beyond a clear attraction to one another and the naivety gets old quickly.

In its first hour, there are multiple sexualized moments that are delivered so over-the-top, that they lose all nuance meant to enrich character development, and instead make the characters feel like a joke (like Waheeda, Mallikajaan’s sister whose facial scar origins will be explained in future episodes, and is reduced to a caricature hellbent on embarrassing herself in front of a British officer when we first meet her). The nonsensical, grandiose performances are in soap opera territory and are more cringe than intriguing.

I do applaud the creative team for taking some liberties in its storytelling, like including an obviously queer character who gets an overtly queer implied-sex scene as he is used as a pawn in the larger game between the revolutionaries and the British. Koirala is reveling in playing an antagonist, even if her performance veers too far into Disney villain, and the themes that the series is aiming to explore — like class and caste as it related to the loyalties in India’s independence movement — are interesting at the surface.

But the script that’s presented is ultimately too hollow; there is a good story somewhere in the series that would have benefitted from an editor. And unfortunately, there’s just too much to watch to have time to wade through an unfocused eight-hour series.

Sex and Skin: Though the courtesans at the center of the story are understood to be as much sexual partners to their nawabs as they are intellectual companions, Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar doesn’t veer into explicit territory in its first episode.

Parting Shot: In the midst of the revolution’s protest turned violent by British-controlled police, Tajdar finds Alamzeb’s handkerchief on the ground. Unsure where his burgeoning love interest has escaped to, he holds the napkin to his face.

Sleeper Star: Aditi Rao Hydari as Bibbo toes the line between obedient courtesan to Wali Nawab and secret revolutionary, and her eyes convey the complications of the diverging identities.

Most Pilot-y Line:: “Here in Heeramandi, it’s not the British who rule, but Mallikajaan,” the leader of the group drawls after a tense meeting with a British officer. Mallikajaan’s strangehold on power is both her greatest gift and strongest curse.

Our Call: SKIP IT. Unfortunately the show’s story execution betrays its opulent production and costume design.

Radhika Menon (@menonrad) is a TV-obsessed writer based in Los Angeles. Her work has appeared on Vulture, Teen Vogue, ELLE.com, and more. At any given moment, she can ruminate at length over Friday Night Lights, the University of Michigan, and the perfect slice of pizza. You may call her Rad.