Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos Review | Vir Das Serves Up A Multi-Lingual, Full-Bodied Laughter Riot

Bollywood has manufactured enough hypermasculine and violence-riddled spy films in recent years. Front and centre is always a man—angsty, rugged and muscular. Take Dhurandhar (2025) for example, or even Pathaan (2023) or War (2019). Never have these spies been painted as the softer masculine—even in love. But Vir Das’s Happy wants to make a man out of the menace, in ballerina shoes and a chef apron. Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos (2026) aims to entertain, celebrate and satirise our culture of consumption. This film also happens to be Das’ directorial debut alongside Kavi Shastri that features actors including Mona Singh, Imran Khan and Aamir Khan himself. 

Das’ Happy is not your typical spy. That’s right, he failed the “MI7 exams” five times (*whispers* it’s actually seven). An adopted son to two British special agents, Happy is nudged by destiny to follow his fathers’ footsteps and revisit India as a special agent on a mission to rescue a British scientist who created a groundbreaking fairness cream. With a knife and fork tattooed on his arms and raised by two nurturing spy dads, Happy cannot even assemble a gun. He doesn’t even know which god to pray to, due to his newfound identity crisis. His return to Goa—the place of his birth—in search of purpose unfolds as an absurdly comic, yet inventive journey toward belonging. 

In many ways, the film’s humour would appeal to an internet-savvy audience that relishes stand-up comedy and socio-political satire. Das, being a comic himself, has inserted brilliant gags with impeccable timing. It’s not just the setup of those gags but the little unexpected jokes that get you (“Tom” nahin samjhoge). The film tries to poke fun at many ideas at once—whether it is colonial hangover, toxic masculinity, overtly sentimental (or perhaps irrational) Bollywood logic and even the big M (politician who cannot be named). The film satirises Bollywood, but it does so in a manner of reverence too—to the Khans, to the memorable dance numbers and Delhi Belly itself. 

Set in the serene (and fictional) town Panjor, in Goa, Happy Patel breathes life into the Indian-Portuguese culture and community. No “Maria Pitache” cliches or caricatures, but simply a multicultural amalgamation of people coexisting together. Enter Happy, who sets foot in his fathers’ old home and attempts to make it his own. There’s a lot of good intent behind placing these plot elements hinting at the larger picture—immigration, chronic outsider syndrome, religious freedom, colourism and oppression and Happy is the perfect man to accomplish that.

Roxy (Srushti Tawade) even calls him a coconut—a brown and white concoction of cultures. Happy’s superpower though is making good food and turning terrible food into something delicious. While most spies and heroes conceal weapons in their jackets, Happy carries spices and other condiments. So much for a British-raised Indian man smuggling flavour back home in his pockets.

But that’s not all. A (Bollywood) hero’s got to have accomplices, a romantic interest and an antagonist. Geet (Sharib Hashmi) is his right-hand man, who is his emotional anchor from the start and is quite fond of him (maybe a little too much). Tawade and Hashmi form an electric pair, the glue that helps Happy bind with the rest of the Panjor community. Mithila Palkar plays Rupa, a local dancer who is too rigid and frankly terrible at her craft, getting booed almost every time she performs. While she does catch Happy’s attention at one of these boo-fests, the film takes clear pleasure in denying the audience an easy enjoyment of a female dancer who is usually positioned in a spy film as a titillating spectacle or a distraction. Rupa is raunchy, self-respecting and unpredictable, but never objectified. The real surprise, in fact, is Happy sitting her down and dancing for her in the song “Aaj Banda Tere Liye Nachega.”

Mona Singh is clearly on a winning streak. After playing Neeta in Ba***ds Of Bollywood (2025), she carries the same ethos of absurd melodrama and wit into Happy Patel. Rocking a stylish bob, she plays Mama, an underworld matriarch, businesswoman and a passionate chef. This film also marks Imran Khan’s return to the big screen after almost a decade. Watching him, along with Aamir’s brief appearance, adds to the film’s memorability, inevitably evoking Delhi Belly and in a gentler way, even Jaane Tu… Ya Jaane Na (2008).

Speaking of Delhi Belly, this film’s music is absolutely just as unhinged and witty—moving effortlessly from “Alpha Male” to “Chaanta Tera” to “Aaj Banda Tere Liye Naachega”. When I say the film is multilingual, this extends to its soundtrack too—which draws from Goan music, Marathi rap, Hindustani and even a playful nod to Bollywood love songs. A personal favourite is also “The Legend Of Jimmy Mario”—the foot-tapping theme song for Aamir’s “murderer” Jimmy. There is also a short and surprisingly infectious song, “Cous Cous,” which reminds one of Flipperachi’s viral Dhurandhar track—bringing with it a high-energy, Middle Eastern–musical vibe.

The one thing Happy Patel does well is maintain the dignity of a spy comedy while having none at all, constantly poking fun at itself. There is a persistent focus on mispronounced words, forms of affection between men, women in crime and questions of identity. This unfolds against the contemporary climate in India and beyond, where colourism, homosexuality, class oppression and violence continue to dominate public life. The film also leans into its affection for food as an emotional language, and as a reflection on what truly matters in a recipe beyond the tangible.

While the plot feels slightly haywire and the characters seem lifted from a melodramatic farce, Das manages to shape it into something far more meaningful and entertaining. More than anything else, it’s an unapologetic film that commits to its silliness. Das has never been more watchable—the British-Indian accent, improbable as it is, fits here perfectly. Palkar and Singh too, stand out for their memorable performances. 

Overall, Happy Patel manages to thread together a poignant commentary on multilingual culture, reality TV and more. It succeeds by doing so through some of the most brainrot-inflected comedy. In the process, it captures Gen Z morality and a self-aware, deadpan humour that is also cinephilic and capable of recognising the few good impulses within itself.

In a sea of testosterone-fuelled, hyper-nationalistic spy films, this one feels like a breath of fresh air. It stands out not only in how it portrays its atypical protagonist but also in how it dignifies its ensemble, highlighting their quirks, all while maintaining dark witticism, without ever feeling insensitive. If a spy film features men who can accomplish a win without ever lifting a weapon—I will happily watch a “Happy” on the big screen over and over again.