Chand Mera Dil review: An eclipsed chaand dying a loud, overacted death

In an emotional scene, a twist the audience waits an eternity for, a dismayed Rani Mukerji, draped in a gorgeous blue georgette suit, asks a brilliant Divya Dutta, "Ye kis sadi ke log hai, Shabbo [To which generation do these people belong to]?" Veer-Zaara may or may not have changed your life, but chances are you remember the ache of that scene. The years of longing - love that transcends time, borders, generations. Read Full Story In 2026, love returns to the big screen, and once again you find yourself asking, "Ye kis sadi ke log hai, Shabbo?" - only this time, it's not because you are moved by the chemistry, but because you spend the entire film wondering why these people make the choices they do. That was Veer-Zaara. This is Chand Mera Dil. One had pain and longing on screen; the other triggered the same emotions in front of the screen. Watching it at a packed press screening actually improved the experience because at least you could watch an entire theatre suffer together - which, technically, is cinema as a community viewing experience. And no, we are not quickly getting to the big Ananya question. We know you already know the answer. We'll reserve that for later because there's a bigger question here first: Who approved this script? Who genuinely believed a story about two freshly-adult people sleepwalking into a miserable marriage would entice audiences today? And let's circle back to the original question: which generation exactly is this film for? If this is aimed at Gen Z, then Dharma's struggle to understand young people continues uninterrupted. And if it's for millennials, then one has to ask, who was ghost-making Dharma's early 2000s films, the ones millennials actually grew up loving? Aarav (Laskhya) and Chandni (Ananya) meet in college, fall in love, and decide to stand by each other forever. Promises are made against their families' wishes because, much like the audience, the parents are also wondering: what exactly is the need to make that choice here? The cute early romance quickly mutates into sadness, boredom, and emotionally exhausted people staring at each other in aesthetically lit rooms. The film debates toxicity, emotional space, respect, boundaries, and how far is too far in relationships - all with the energy of an Instagram therapy reel stretched into two-and-a-half hours. The makers shared a cryptic trailer a week before release, carefully hiding the central conflict while teasing a tragic love story about two people who love each other but simply cannot be together. Cute strategy. Except after watching the film, it becomes painfully clear that the secrecy may have had less to do with preserving intrigue and more to do with the makers themselves not being entirely sure what they had made. Us? We are done falling for that gimmick. Because there is nothing here worth protecting with mystery. What the film wants you to treat as a compelling emotional conflict ultimately becomes the exact reason the film collapses: the story itself. And yes, before the internet rushes in, the weakest thing about the film is not even a certain “star” who has now done exactly 13 films, with perhaps one or two that could generously be called decent. Hear this out. Aarav and Chandni get married because she becomes pregnant and chooses not to abort the child. Initially, Aarav feels trapped. Fair enough. His life plans are imploding overnight; that deserves conflict and confusion. But in its desperate attempt to sound "progressive" and perform female autonomy, the film accidentally writes Chandni as someone who barely seems to care about the other person in the relationship. They marry. Then begins the montage of suffering: studying, working, parenting, financially collapsing, emotionally crumbling - all at once. Dreams disintegrate. One weak moment later, the marriage implodes. Chandni vows never to return, while Aarav wanders around with his permanently devastated face across Hyderabad and eventually the US, where he settles down looking like a man auditioning for Sad Boy Pinterest Edits Volume 3. Now that the conflict is out in the open, let's discuss how spectacularly dumb it is. Chand Mera Dil often feels less like a theatrical romance and more like an Ekta Kapoor television serial with a better costume budget. Actually, scratch that - it genuinely plays like a modern-day Kasautii Zindagii Kay (this is the right spelling, btw). All that's missing is dramatic thunder sounds and someone re-entering after plastic surgery. Because at some point, you will spot an Anurag, a Prerna, a Sneha and a Mr Bajaj lurking inside this film. And now we arrive at your favourite discussion: how many chances can one actor get after repeatedly proving they cannot act? At one point, Ananya says, "Nahi, it’s too soon..." and your inner voice completes the sentence with: "...to act." Because how do you pronounce "dhuan" as “duan”? How do you fail to evoke any emotion, or worse, evoke the exact opposite? The audience laugh