Desi 'Friends' becomes a pandemic 'hate watch'

'Hello friends', which aired in 1999, is a cringe-worthy watch, but that has made it go viral

The Internet has not given us much to smile about recently, with yet another report of Facebook promoting hate speech against minorities, continuing persecution of journalists and activists, and beloved artistes passing away amidst the pandemic.

However, there was one exception last week when Twitter unearthed a lost gem — a desi version of the hit American sitcom ‘Friends’, rather unnecessarily retitled ‘Hello Friends’.

This reviewer is not ashamed to admit he was slightly excited to go down memory lane. For back in the nineties, when he was a suburban middle-class adolescent, ‘Friends’ was a window into adulthood, of an exciting new life to come filled with cool, conventionally attractive friends holding down seemingly stress-free jobs, living in their own lavish apartments and getting into all kinds of quirky, romantic misadventures.

In other words, he was a young fool oblivious to the fake laughter track prompting him to laugh, the pioneering comedy of Ricky Gervais, Dave Chappelle and Larry David, and most significantly, the decidedly unromantic drudgery of living on your own in the big city.

‘Hello Friends’, touted as “inspired by” the original series, aired in 1999 and unsurprisingly sank without a trace. It is almost a shot-for-shot remake of the original, starring popular nineties’ MTV veejays.

A pre-pubescent Nikhil Chinappa is the Indian Ross — Vikram — whose wife, pregnant with his child, has just left him for another man.

Cyrus Broacha and Maria Goretti play goofier versions of Chandler and Phoebe named Cyrus and Penny, respectively. Simone Singh and Aparna Bannerjee pull off serviceable impressions of the fastidious Monica and the sheltered princess Rachel, as Sanjana and Nisha.

Central Perk, the coffee shop where the eponymous friends hang out, is renamed, perhaps unironically, to ‘Uncle Sam’s Café’ — with an actual character named Uncle Sam as its owner.

Uncle Sam looks like a younger Colonel Sanders and plays the Indian Gunther, presumably.

Monica’s apartment has been recreated to the tee, with the blue furniture and a massive skylight, although the sofas are a questionable green chintzy print. The setting is Bombay, which makes sense for Anil Dimbri’s Joey, the struggling actor named Rahul.

While most of the storylines are lifted straight from the original, the gags come with a desi zing: “Tendulkar chai!”. Cyrus feigns delight at Nisha’s tea. Sanjana’s first lover, Jojo, shows up in an oversized beige blazer and contrary to his claims of virginity, turns out to be a playboy — or rather a “public telephone”, according to her friend.

Some gags fall completely flat: Sanjana’s second date pretends to have a lisp in order to prank the gang and gain their approval.

Her colleague and agony aunt in the “garment factory” where she’s a designer is queer — but a distressing, preeny caricature. Sticklers might notice cringeworthy errors: When Penny’s bank accidentally transfers extra money into her account, they send a letter apologizing for the “debit”; while introducing her rich, bratty friends to her boss Uncle Sam, Sanjana refers to them as her “colleagues”.

The editing is hilariously shoddy: A scene of Vikram moping in bed, forlornly eyeing his wedding ring suddenly cuts to Cyrus and Rahul ploughing him with beers; at a cricket match Vikram takes a Shakespearan tumble after getting his nose smashed by an invisible ball — as Rahul and Cyrus are still looking up at the sky. Though the acting is over-the-top, it is of a piece with most Indian sitcoms. Aparna Banerjee impressively leans into her character of a privileged brat; Cyrus Broacha has some golden bits, like his impression of an underperforming Ajay Jadeja.

The rest of Nikhil Chinappa’s filmography, comprising shows like ‘Roadies’ and ‘Splitsvilla’, starts to make sense.

If you have ever wondered what an Indian ‘Friends’ would be like, it is still the tender story of some urban, 20-something elites, mostly unfunny, gloriously apocalyptic and brimming with nineties nostalgia. Millennials are calling it the “hate-watch” of the pandemic.