I found Mango Jutt entertaining, which is a good thing. Having watched every Pakistani film released in Karachi over the past 12 months, including some that tested my patience, I can confidently say this Punjabi action-comedy isn’t a disappointment. Compared with Neelofar, Item, Psycho, Love Di Saun, Bullah, Delhi Gate, Mera Lyari, and Sheroes, it feels like a breath of fresh air.
Releasing it alongside Street Fighter may not have been the wisest decision, as it drew fewer screenings than expected. Unfortunately, limited showings can shape perceptions before audiences even see a film. A film deserves to be judged on what is on screen, not merely on how many theaters choose to show it.
Yes, Mango Jutt is far from perfect, but it entertains. In an industry struggling to find a sustainable path forward, that is no small achievement. The film’s journey has also been complicated by controversy over its credits. Writer/Director Abu Aleeha was not credited, and others reportedly stepped in to complete and edit the project. Those circumstances raise questions about how the film ultimately reached the screen.
Nevertheless, the finished product offers a useful lesson for Pakistani cinema: commercial films can find an audience by embracing popular genres, leveraging familiar stars, and giving people a reason to go to the movies.
What is the story about?
Imagine Kindergarten Cop meeting Home Alone, with the familiar ingredients of a Punjabi action-comedy. Faysal Quraishi plays Murad Jutt, a Sindh police officer who travels to Lahore to visit his recently widowed sister, Ayesha Jehanzeb. He ends up looking after her three mischievous children while getting caught up in a dangerous situation involving his late brother-in-law’s business.
Murad also develops a liking for Jahan Ara, played by Hareem Farooq, his sister’s friend and the children’s teacher. Jahan Ara tries to escape a violent suitor, played by Shamoon Abbasi, adding another layer of conflict. Qaiser Piya, Honey Albela, and the supporting cast provide comic relief.
The premise has all the makings of a crowd-pleaser: a tough hero, unruly children, family complications, romance, and a villain who needs to be stopped. The problem is that the screenplay does not always make the most of these ingredients. Still, when the film focuses on its stars, comedy, and action, it finds the rhythm of an old-fashioned Punjabi entertainer.
What works
Faysal Quraishi is the film’s biggest asset, and why shouldn’t he be? He returns to familiar surroundings after more than 25 years. For an actor who began his career in the 90s, when Urdu cinema was gaining prominence over Punjabi and double-version flicks were common, returning to his ‘home’ turf was the right decision. He can fight, dance, act, and deliver comedy, and he does all four in Punjabi. His performance differs from what he does on TV, something many of his counterparts sadly don’t do. He knows how to carry a commercial film, and Mango Jutt gives him plenty of room to showcase his versatility.
Hareem Farooq makes an equally welcome impression. She looks beautiful, speaks fluent Punjabi, dances confidently, and fits seamlessly into the film’s tone. She also has the added responsibility of producing the project. Her involvement makes her contribution particularly noteworthy, as producing a commercial entertainer while acting in it is not easy, whether as a female producer or a female lead.
Shamoon Abbasi is the film’s most effective antagonist. His character evolves from a badmaash to a shady businessman, giving him more depth than some other roles receive. As an experienced campaigner, he knows how to make a villain menacing without relying entirely on exaggerated gestures. Pakistani cinema has a rich tradition of memorable antagonists, and the industry needs actors who can fill that space with conviction. Shamoon Abbasi is well suited to such roles.
Qaiser Piya and Honey Albela keep the comedy intact, making the audience laugh out loud without breaking character. Their timing and familiarity with Punjabi humor make even predictable moments enjoyable. They bring a lightness to the film that helps it recover whenever the central plot strains credibility.
The music is another plus. Ali Mustafa and Ali Allahditta do a great job on all four songs; Zeb Bangash’s modernized version of Madam Noor Jahan’s Main Hui Dawa Dole, reworked by Shiraz Uppal, takes the cake. Wahab Shah’s choreography thankfully transports the audience into 2026; otherwise, a poor job here would have done the film an injustice.
I must mention the amazing background theme, which works particularly well during Murad ‘Mango’ Jutt’s entrance, resurgence, and every time he makes a move in between. It lends these moments a larger-than-life quality that an action entertainer needs. And then there were the physics-defying fight sequences, which added to the film’s appeal as a mainstream Punjabi production.
That’s not all; a few serious themes also run beneath the comedy and action. The film takes a stand against forced marriages and the acid attacks that can follow when women resist them. It could have explored this message more deeply, but it adds a social dimension beyond its immediate entertainment value.
What doesn’t work
The split between the producer and writer/director stemmed from the opening sequence, and I tend to side with the latter. Until Faysal Qureshi’s character removes his mask to transform from an old man into a cop, his mouth doesn’t move when he speaks, which should have seemed suspicious to legendary actor Javed Jamal’s on-screen character, but it didn’t. The subsequent fight covers it, but the first impression isn’t ideal.
The screenplay is where Mango Jutt loses momentum. Murad is supposedly taking his first vacation in 16 years to visit his recently widowed sister, yet the holiday comes with an undercover assignment. The combination feels contrived, especially when the film expects the audience to accept the arrangement without asking too many questions.
His sister’s decisions are equally hard to understand. She travels abroad, leaves her children with an estranged brother, and asks a friend to look after them, even letting the friend spend the night at the house. With a manservant already in the picture, the arrangement feels needlessly elaborate. A little more thought could have made this setup far more convincing.
The idea that nobody has seen the mysterious man at the center of the plot might have worked in the 1980s, when information was less accessible. Today, the premise needs a more credible explanation. Instead, the film asks viewers to accept an implausibility that could easily be explained.
The children are another missed opportunity. Given the film’s apparent debt to Home Alone and Kindergarten Cop, their role should have been central to the comedy and story. They offer potential for mischief, conflict, and genuine emotional connection, but their arc remains underdeveloped. The film could have explored their relationship with Murad more, rather than leaving this promising storyline on the sidelines.
Indeed, the supporting characters have enough personality to carry more substantial roles. Qaiser Piya and Honey Albela are funny, but the film doesn’t fully use their talents. Ayesha Jehanzeb does well with what she is given, although a more established dramatic performer might have brought greater weight to the role. The limitation lies largely in the screenplay, which does not give her enough room to develop the character.
Some visual choices also feel overly familiar. The ‘lion’ sound in the background evokes the stylized heroism of Singham, rather than establishing its own identity. The humor occasionally crosses into body-shaming, particularly in jokes aimed at a heavily built character. Comedy can be irreverent without making someone’s physique the punchline. These moments feel dated and add little to the film.
Finally, the film uses simple Punjabi throughout. If an Urdu speaker like me can follow the Punjabi dialogue without difficulty, one wonders whether native Punjabi speakers will find it sufficiently natural. The language should be one of the film’s strengths, not a technical weakness.
The verdict
Despite its shortcomings, Mango Jutt offers something Pakistani cinema needs more of: an accessible commercial entertainer built around familiar stars, Punjabi humor, music, and action. It may not get everything right, but it was made with the right intentions, something you can’t say about many of the flicks it has succeeded.
The screenplay leaves too many ideas underdeveloped; much of what happens in the first half doesn’t carry over into the second. Yet Faysal Quraishi carries the action-comedy, Hareem Farooq brings glamour and energy, Shamoon Abbasi delivers a convincing villain performance, and Qaiser Piya and Honey Albela provide the laughs.
With the scale and sensibility of an international Punjabi entertainer, Mango Jutt offers a formula Pakistani filmmakers shouldn’t dismiss: recognizable stars, well-choreographed songs and fight scenes, comedy that resonates with audiences, and a story designed to entertain a broad demographic.
Cinema cannot survive on ambitious experiments alone. It also needs films that draw people into theaters and remind them why the big screen can be fun. Mango Jutt may not be flawless, but it understands that principle. It shouldn’t be compared with The Legend of Maula Jatt, but it could become a legend in its own right if it convinces newer filmmakers to invest their talents in low-budget comedies rather than chasing the dream of a big-budget flick that may never see the light of day.
