Arnab Banerjee examines Homi Adajania’s Cocktail 2, exploring fidelity, trust, temptation, and modern relationships while assessing the performances of Shahid Kapoor, Kriti Sanon, and Rashmika Mandanna with balanced critical insight.
Director: Homi Adajania

Cast: Shahid Kapoor, Kriti Sanon, Rashmika Mandanna
Cinematography: Santhana Krishnan Ravichandran

Music: Pritam

Rating: ★★½☆☆

Whether fidelity constitutes a decisive factor in a relationship depends largely on the expectations, boundaries, and understandings negotiated by the partners themselves. While traditional marriage has historically placed a premium on sexual and emotional exclusivity, contemporary relationship dynamics reveal a far more nuanced spectrum of beliefs about what ultimately sustains a successful partnership.

From Self-Sacrifice to Self-Assertion
Cinema, however—particularly Hindi cinema—has often lagged behind these evolving realities. For decades, the screen was populated by self-abnegating heroines, memorably portrayed by actors such as Meena Kumari, Mala Sinha, and Nanda, women who seemed almost eager to embrace suffering as proof of devotion. Their emotional universe was encapsulated in the oft-quoted refrain: “Hai isi mein pyar ki aabroo, woh jafa kare, main wafa karoon”—loosely translated as, “The true honour of love lies in remaining faithful and devoted even when the beloved is cruel or unfaithful.”

Such narratives reflected, or at least reinforced, a cultural ideal that equated feminine virtue with endurance, forgiveness, and self-sacrifice. While this mindset may have resonated with a substantial section of Indian women, it was by no means universal. Yet Hindi cinema frequently presented its female protagonists as near-martyred figures, endlessly accommodating male transgressions and treating infidelity as an unfortunate but forgivable privilege of an entitled gender. These women did not merely forgive; they seemed to derive a tragic nobility from their own suffering.

A Relationship Put to the Test
Against this backdrop, Homi Adajania's Cocktail 2—a spiritual successor to his 2012 film Cocktail—attempts to engage with a more contemporary understanding of intimacy and commitment. The film centres on Kunal (Shahid Kapoor) and Diya (Rashmika Mandanna), a long-term live-in couple whose relationship has settled into the easy familiarity of prolonged companionship. Their comfort with one another is evident in their effortless intimacy, and neither appears particularly compelled to formalise the relationship merely to satisfy social convention.

Yet beneath this apparent equilibrium lie divergent expectations. Diya, though not driven by societal pressure, seems increasingly inclined toward permanence and emotional certainty. Kunal, on the other hand, is unequivocal about his position: he has no desire to marry simply because society expects it. Nevertheless, the fault lines in their relationship become visible when, during a drunken exchange, he jokingly boasts that if he were ever to cheat on Diya, she would never discover it. “I'm not a fool,” he says with disarming confidence. The remark briefly unsettles Diya, who senses that such jokes often conceal uncomfortable truths, but the moment is quickly dismissed and forgiven.

When Trust Becomes an Experiment
Then, somewhat abruptly, the narrative introduces its central conflict. Triggered by an offhand comment from Kunal, Diya decides to put his professed fidelity to the test. The decision appears less the result of accumulated suspicion than of a screenplay eager to manufacture tension, setting in motion the chain of events that follow.

During a vacation in Sicily, Diya enlists the help of her old friend Ally (Kriti Sanon) to put Kunal's loyalty to the test. The plan is simple, if ethically dubious: Ally will serve as the bait and see whether Kunal is willing to take it.
Ally is the antithesis of Diya's emotional earnestness—a fiercely independent singleton who wears her hedonism lightly, fortified by copious amounts of wine and an ever-present mischievous smile. She is also amusingly candid about the absurdity of the arrangement. "Itni bhi acchi dost nahin hai," she quips, implying that she and Diya were little more than hostel roommates rather than inseparable confidantes. Yet the tenuous nature of their friendship does nothing to diminish her enthusiasm for the experiment.

Whether motivated by curiosity, boredom, or the sheer thrill of mischief, Ally throws herself into the role with gusto. She begins flirting with Kunal, carefully blurring the line between playful banter and genuine temptation. What follows is less an examination of Kunal's character than a study of the precarious foundations on which modern relationships are often built. For if trust is secure, why test it at all? And if it is not, can a contrived seduction ever reveal anything more meaningful than the insecurities that prompted it?
The film's central premise thus hinges on a paradox. Diya seeks reassurance about Kunal's commitment by engineering precisely the circumstances most likely to undermine it. In doing so, she transforms fidelity from a lived value into a laboratory experiment, inviting the audience to consider whether loyalty can ever be meaningfully measured once suspicion has already entered the equation.

Temptation, Friendship and Moral Ambiguity
But Kunal proves far more formidable than either woman anticipates. What begins as a carefully orchestrated test of his fidelity soon acquires a life of its own. Rather than succumbing to Ally's charms in the straightforward manner Diya expects, Kunal's presence exerts an unexpected pull on the very person assigned to tempt him.

Gradually, the dynamic shifts. Ally, who enters the equation as the seducer, finds herself increasingly seduced—not necessarily by Kunal alone, but by the emotional possibilities he represents. Her flirtation, initially undertaken as a playful performance, begins to blur into genuine attraction. The detached observer becomes emotionally invested; the co-conspirator starts developing interests of her own.
In the process, Ally undergoes the film's most intriguing transformation. The woman who had agreed to help a friend safeguard her relationship now finds herself occupying a far more ambiguous moral territory. The line between loyal confidante and potential home-wrecker grows perilously thin. What was intended as an experiment in fidelity evolves into a test of friendship, exposing not merely Kunal's vulnerabilities but Ally's as well.

The irony is difficult to miss. Diya sets out to discover whether Kunal can resist temptation, only to discover that temptation itself is not a fixed quantity. It changes shape, migrates between people, and often ensnares those who imagine themselves immune to its effects. In that sense, the film's most compelling question is not whether Kunal will betray Diya, but whether Ally can remain faithful to the role she originally agreed to play.

A Flawed Exploration of Modern Love
If serious, long-term relationships can be reduced to little more than elaborate games of temptation and loyalty tests, then Adajania's understanding of contemporary love, romance, and commitment is likely to resonate more with audiences enamoured of the idea of love than with those who have grappled with its complexities. For viewers who regard commitment as something built through trust rather than repeatedly tested through contrived situations, the film's central premise may feel somewhat frivolous.

Yet what may strike more mature audiences as reassuring is that beneath the bohemian lifestyle on display—defined by endless partying, casual intimacy, exotic holidays, and a conspicuous disregard for convention—the principal characters are not entirely devoid of conscience. At crucial moments, they exhibit an emotional intelligence and self-awareness that often surpass their years. Their choices may be impulsive, but they are not altogether irresponsible.

Ally embodies this contradiction. A free spirit who recoils from routine and treats commitment as the gateway to boredom, she nevertheless harbours a yearning for emotional permanence. Beneath her carefully cultivated image of the unattached hedonist lies a woman capable of deeper attachments than she is willing to acknowledge. This paradox is not inherently implausible; such individuals undoubtedly exist in contemporary society. The problem lies less in the characterisation than in the execution. The transition from carefree iconoclast to emotionally invested romantic unfolds with such haste that it often feels imposed by the screenplay rather than earned by the narrative.

Kriti Sanon Leads the Performances
Among the cast, Kriti Sanon emerges as the film's most compelling presence. While her glamorous, seductive avatar is certain to attract attention, it is not merely her style, poise, or striking screen presence that leaves an impression. In quieter moments too, she demonstrates considerable maturity as a performer, lending emotional texture to a character that might otherwise have remained a collection of familiar traits. She makes excellent use of her screen time and frequently elevates scenes that might have fallen flat in less capable hands.

Rashmika Mandanna is suitably charming and photogenic, but the screenplay affords her little opportunity to transcend the limitations of a familiar archetype—the dependable, morally upright woman in a romantic triangle whose primary function is to react to the actions of others. Consequently, despite her sincerity, the character remains somewhat underwritten.

Shahid Kapoor approaches Kunal with conviction and evident commitment. Tasked with portraying a man navigating the competing affections of two women while remaining ostensibly faithful to his live-in partner, he traverses a broad emotional spectrum with considerable skill. He succeeds in maintaining a delicate balance between vulnerability, temptation, affection, and confusion. As Kunal's father, played by Tiku Talsania, cheerfully reminds him, "Do ladkiyan tujh par mar rahi hain"—two women are vying for his attention. Yet there are moments when Kapoor appears overly conscious of the character's moral positioning, as though he is performing the idea of Kunal rather than inhabiting him completely. In such scenes, the effort behind the performance becomes visible, and what should feel spontaneous occasionally comes across as studied and deliberate.