It may sound like a bad joke, so apologies beforehand, but just how many times should a visually impaired girl visit an eye doctor, especially when she lost her eyesight when she was young and has no other eye-related issues? Answer: until she befriends the alleged ‘pervert’ poet.

​If it were a joke, no one laughed in the sparsely attended show at Nueplex Askari (24 others with me in a hall of 224). Also, the ‘pervert’ isn’t really one, and the blind girl isn’t really stricken. Like the many questions Neelofar flings our way — and their answers — none satisfy the intellect. Every narrative feels trivial and devoid of gravitas.

Written and directed by feature debutante Ammar Rasool, the film is a product that leans heavily on personal preferences and not the audience’s. It poses as a love letter to Urdu, heritage, nostalgia and soft romance. One might have been fooled, too, if it weren’t for the muddled story.

Actually, I’d be happy if there had been a story. Or a conflict. Or even a credible romance. Or just simple logic.

​Is it any wonder then that those who bought their tickets are relating to the film’s viral clip in which Mahira Khan is seen slapping herself silly out of grief?

In Neelofar, the love for Lahore’s heritage, the Urdu language and character depth is full of faux superficiality. The film never commits, emotionally or in terms of its narration

Mansoor Ali Khan (Fawad Khan, charismatic, mostly okay-ish) is a respected, well-off writer of one popular book — Udhaar Maangay Alfaaz — which supposedly put Urdu literature on the world map. According to a rival, evil poet Tanveer (Rashid Farooqi), the book is about the (not really) indecent ways Mansoor describes his love for his dead wife.

​Mansoor is labelled a devilish Casanova, but we never see that side of him. So, what makes him bad? Apparently… nothing. Between his bemused smirks, we note that he is an old soul advocating for modern Urdu’s integration into literature. He dislikes PR junkets, the press, social media celebs, and the spotlight. A man who once chased fame now hides behind a newsboy cap (his words, not mine) — though with his handsome, boyish looks, the cap adds more flourish to his appearance rather than disguising it.

Pushed by his publicist-cum-handler Sarah (Madiha Imam, quite good in a flat role), who has romantic feelings for him (we’re never shown how), he visits the eye doctor and bumps into Neelofar (Mahira Khan, intermittently good), a visually impaired young woman full of zest, life and schoolgirl frankness, who is waiting for an eye donor.

​Neelofar chirpily brands Mansoor a pervert, creep and jerk and, despite this, they become fast friends — she is a sweetheart who is easily enamoured by strangers. Mansoor, stuck in a creative rut, is quietly allured by Neelofar, who leads him into low-key adventures. She dances with abandon near the railyard tracks, then yanks him aboard a moving train, mischievously searching for no one in particular; apparently, it’s the most ‘alive’ thing to do (also, she has a thing for trains).

​Neelofar introduces him to the world of sound: he closes his eyes, his human sonar kicks in, and the world turns black with semi-squiggly white outlines. To preserve the feeling when she regains sight, she records the world’s ambience on an old cassette recorder! Analogue, of course, is tactile and better (Neelofar’s perspective, not mine), though one wonders: if she regains her sight, couldn’t she just close her eyes and feel the world the way she taught Mansoor?

​But what am I saying? Vintage is cool — as are the alleyways of old Lahore, glimpsed whenever the film ventures outdoors. Like Lahore’s depiction, the professed love for heritage, language and character depth — especially Neelofar’s — is full of faux superficiality. Characters speak in a throwaway manner because it’s easier than crafting meaningful action or conflict. The film even ruins clichés.

​Imagine this: discussing movie romances, Mansoor claims he hates the hero-rushing-to-the-airport trope. Once he says it, we know he’ll be sprinting through airport security before the climax. Except he does and doesn’t.

Driven to the airport by Fahkru (Behroz Sabzwari — excellent in a small role), he simply sits on a bench outside the gates. An airport staff member informs him that Neelofar’s flight has already taken off, and the girl we followed was a literal nobody, a red herring. In filmmaking terms, that’s a very bad payoff. Why do something half-heartedly and not fully commit?

What about poetry and language? Characters only recite Jaun Elia or Munir Niazi (filmmakers, please let ‘Hamesha dair kar daita hoon’ [I’m always late] rest — it’s been done to death in Parey Hut Love, Love Guru and now Neelofar.) Mansoor’s own verses are few and forgettable. Rather than write strong, distinctive dialogues, the lines feel wan, perfunctory and unexciting for a film about writers.

And that is Neelofar’s biggest deficit. It never commits, emotionally or in terms of its narration. Immersion doesn’t require pompous displays, but conviction and connection, not the semblance of it. That connection, that belief, that magic of romance is missing.

The only feelings we see are Mansoor’s, even though the film is titled Neelofar. The story moves through him, and one assumes his beliefs mirror a good deal of Fawad Khan’s own perspectives (he is the executive producer). He is tired of the press and the obligatory public appearances and has a preference to work with India — Mansoor’s dead wife was Indian and he lived in Dubai, which sparks public outcry. Notice the parallel?

Rather than face the accusations, Mansoor becomes dejected, and Neelofar leaves because he didn’t reveal his ‘real identity’. Is that really a major conflict — she not knowing that he is a known figure in the literary world and that their relationship is shown in a negative light — especially when Neelofar has known all along that he is a good man? How is that even logical?

Mansoor’s knight in shining armour is Shehryar, a young poet he once stood up for (Gohar Rasheed, another excellent performer), who defends him on a news show. It doesn’t end well. Rasheed walks off mid-telecast, defeated. The dramatic high point remains unresolved, lingering mid-air without conclusion. Nonetheless, the film veers towards a happy ending.

By this point, one wonders: what good is a happy ending, or a soft, somewhat appealing (but mostly invisible) soundtrack, or beautiful, wide anamorphic frames with waterfall bokeh, or two of the biggest stars — Mahira Khan and Fawad Khan — if there’s no story, no space for supporting characters (Atiqa Odho, Faysal Qureshi, Seemi Raheel, Samiya Mumtaz, Adeel Hashmi, Sarwat Gilani, and even Farooqi and Rasheed appear in cameos), nothing beyond play-acting and, most importantly, no real story to entice?

I think this is the last time the audience — whatever is left of us to be cajoled — will be hoodwinked by the promise of star power.

A Distribution Club release, Neelofar is rated U, suitable for all ages, and runs for the longest two hours of your life.

Published in Dawn, ICON, December 7th, 2025