Mild plot spoilers for Saiyaara are below

Before Saiyaara’s title card even comes up, screenwriters Sankalp Sadanah and Rohan Shankar whizz past a ton of major developments. For starters, journalist Vaania Batra (Aneet Padda) gets dumped the day of her wedding, causing her to have one of her fainting spells. Then, bad boy singer Krish Kapoor (Ahaan Panday) crashes her Buzzfeed-esque workspace to physically assault an editor. After pinning a man to a table and berating him, Kapoor exits while complimenting Batra’s writing. Cue the title card!

These opening minutes signify director Mohit Suri’s bombastic, melodrama-centric director Mohit Suri’s creative vision for Saiyaara. Love is not a subtle emotion, and neither is this feature. After this initial violent encounter, Batra and Kapoor run into each other again. This reunion occurs as the latter character’s band, Josh, is writing a tune for famous rapper Prince (Shaad Randhawa). It turns out Batra has oodles of great lyrics tucked away in her notebook. Underneath this shy lady exterior is the perfect songwriter for Josh’s creative exploits…and the woman of his dream.

Initially, Saiyaara firmly transpires through the eyes of its leading lady. After all, moviegoers first see Kapoor from Batra point-of-view. Moments where this singer whips off his coat or departs his motorcycle in slow-motion even reflect how this sheltered woman wants to savor every move made by this rule-breaker for as long as possible. This down-to-Earth perspective provides an endearing entry point for when the two begin bonding, such as a scene where Kapoor offers life advice while playing cricket.

This virtue co-exists in a feature visually thriving in musical number showmanship. A set piece set to “Humsfafar,” for example, is an utter showstopper. The song itself is a bravura mixture of gusto vocals with an eclectic array of instrumentation, including sitars and pulsating electric guitars. On-screen, though, Suri and cinematographer Vikas Suvaraman’s camerawork also rock the mic. The camera’s constantly turning, twisting, and (thanks to the “magic” of drone technology) soaring all around as Batra and Kapoor grow closer. There’s an exuberance to these images that makes you feel like you’re in the room hearing Josh perform a chart-topping hit.

All that energetic camerawork amplifies the toe-tapping ambiance of already catchy ditties. Later number “Tum Ho Toh,” meanwhile, keeps the grandiose sights going even while chronicling these two leads cozying up together in a remote beachside domicile. A memorably composed wide shot of the duo pressing their hips together while geysers of water billow to the heavens is especially tremendous. Imaginative and resplendent visual extensions of romantic passion are never in short supply in Saiyaara.

The latter element is easily the production’s greatest asset. Suri never settles for rudimentary staging and backdrops when there’s a more extravagant option on the table. Koopra and Batra don’t just share a tender moment beneath the stars standing on a sidewalk or lying in a field. They commander some random person’s car as the perch from which they can inch closer to the heavens. The inevitable nadir point in this duo’s relationship, meanwhile, involves physical violence ripped out of a John Wick movie rather than overhearing some grave confession out of context. Douglas Sirk and Vincente Minnelli would be proud of such maximalist melodramatic storytelling.

Unfortunately, Saiyaara’s creativity has limits. Just before the film’s intermission, a twist occurs revolving around Batra’s fainting spells: she has early-onset Alzheimer’s. It’s certainly a big narrative swing that’ll get a hearty “what the heck?” out of viewers everywhere. Unfortunately, it also swerves the script into very familiar territory. Previously, Saiyaara crackled with fun Tumblr fan-fiction energy. With this revelation, though, it heads down the well-trodden path of Me Before You and other “tragic” romance movies about disabled characters.

Batra suddenly exists as a prop motivating Kapoor’s actions. She’s an item to coddle or a MacGuffin to hunt, but she’s no longer a person. What a waste of Aneet Padda’s performance. Shifting all the focus onto the male lead also underscores how Kapoor’s relationship with his bandmates is several uninvolving. This big singer keeps breaking up with his artistic comrades and then immediately returning to their greenhouse hideout within minutes. How can any tension exist between them if they always resolve their problems so quickly? Maybe Josh represents Rascal Flatts breaking up and then immediately reuniting in the early 2020s?

Going all-in on Kapoor in the third act is extra strange screenwriting decision considering Saiyaara has been filtered through Batra’s eyes up to this point. Drastically recentering the story’s focal point isn’t a gambit that pays off at all. Flatly retreading the same ground as other films of this ilk inspires a steep drop in energy and visual imagination, save for that excellent “Tum Ho Toh” set piece. Away From Her from Temu by way of John Green is not a recipe for cinematic glory.

Sadanah and Shankar’s script already has issues even before Batra’s fateful doctor visit, though. Chiefly, Saiyaara has way too many subplots for its own good. Kapoor’s daddy issues or Batra’s home life are intermittently important in the story, yet they keep getting lost in the narrative shuffle. A 156-minute runtime still doesn’t provide proper breathing room for all these subplots.

Even with its grave storytelling shortcomings, Saiyaara delivers on toe-tapping tunes and some cute romantic moments. Still, why does a motion picture all about love eventually just shrugs its shoulders towards its leading lady? The go-for-broke audacity of those pre-title card scenes doesn’t extend to handling Batra’s storylines with grace. Director Mohit Suri’s nails some cinematic high notes here. Unfortunately, they make it more apparent than ever when Saiyaara is warbling.