A Nice Indian Boy

A Movie Review

By HoJo Roo Jun 17, 2026

Karan Soni and Johnthan Groff in A Nice Indian Boy.

Summer is finally here!

Alright, friends, grab a cold one and pull up a chair. It’s time to dust off the old critical faculties. Since I traded teaching American Sign Language to deaf kids out here in the rural sticks to locking myself in the A/C,  my "To Be Watched" , longer than a CVS receipt, is starting to be whittled down. I stumbled across A Nice Indian Boy in one of those PRIDE MONTH recommendations on Hulu, and knew I wanted to see it.  It immediately jumped to the top of the queue. 

Why? 

Because I have a massive, lifelong weakness for ethnic cinema and cross-cultural rom-coms. Blame my upbringing. Watching Crossing Delancey was a sacred ritual with my Jewish father and my fascinated Irish mother. 

Heck, my own wedding to my husband was such a chaotic, multi-day spectacle it mirrored My Big Fat Greek Wedding in every way except the bride had a beard and a 48-inch chest. These kinds of movies have a formula, sure, and they often dance on the knife's edge of inappropriate cultural stereotypes. But when they hit that sweet spot of culture-specific comedy? 

Man, it’s cinematic comfort food.

So let’s look at A Nice Indian Boy, directed by Roshan Sethi.

Karan Soni deals with family. Been there, bro, been there. 

The Pitch: Bollywood Meets Boy-Meets-Boy

Here’s the spoiler-free rundown. 

We follow Naveen (Karan Soni), a tightly wound, chronically polite Indian-American doctor whose traditional parents are desperate for him to settle down. Enter Jay (Jonathan Groff), a charming, free-spirited photographer who is a total curveball: he’s a white guy, but he was adopted and raised by traditional Indian parents. He loves the culture, prays to Ganesha, and wants the whole nine yards. When Naveen brings Jay home, his parents are forced to reconcile their theoretical acceptance of their gay son with the reality of helping him plan the most lavish, high-drama, traditional Indian wedding the neighborhood has ever seen.

See? Been there. 

However, for these two? Yeah, chemistry.  

The Critique: Shines Bright, Stumbles Often 

Look, let’s be real, friends.

. As much as I wanted to fall head over heels for this, it’s a mediocre piece of celluloid.

The film relies heavily on predictable cultural tropes, dragging out the well-worn Bollywood cliches and the exact generational pains we've seen a thousand times before. 

Okay, maybe I have seen a thousand times. I can’t speak for you.

It’s trying to say something profound about how cultures evolve, how traditions stretch, and how love bridges the gap. Great themes. Crucial conversations. But the screenplay handles them with the subtlety of a pile-driver. It gets incredibly heavy-handed when it should be nimble.

But then there's Jonathan Groff.

The Groff Factor: Listen, Groff is the reason this movie made it onto my TBW list in the first place. The man radiates pure star-shine. The script tries to paint his character, Jay, as a bit of a reformed "bad boy," but let's be honest—Jonathan Groff has the inherent energy of a golden retriever who just learned a magic trick. He doesn't quite sell the edge, but his sheer charisma elevates every frame he's in. And there is chemistry, a testimony to the leads.

Frankly, it's just nice to see a queer romance that isn't centered entirely around white people and their specific brand of neuroses. 

Sorry, but it’s true.

But the narrative pacing is a bit of a mess. Right in the middle of the presentation, the film takes a deeply bizarre tangent where our two protagonists arbitrarily elect to stop dating. It feels entirely forced, awkward, and structurally clunky—a manufactured speed bump just to kill time before the third act.

Strangely enough, though? 

The moment the movie stops trying to be an indie drama and leans back into those shamelessly broad, stereotypical family dynamics, I found myself locked back in.

The Verdict: A Mirror to the Shared Struggle 

So, no, I didn't love it as a masterclass in filmmaking. It’s flawed. I just couldn’t see the love so many of my cohorts saw in it.

But as a human being? 

I liked it.

I liked it because the emotional core is deeply relatable to anyone who grew up ethnic, distinct, or "other." There is a specific, universal ache in being raised on a diet of rigid cultural rituals—where you are explicitly taught that the ultimate goal is to get married, have kids, and honor the family—only to realize you aren't completely allowed to participate in those milestones. Not until your family drags themselves across the line to meet you halfway.

Watching Naveen navigate that cultural negotiation brought me right back to my own nuptials, standing there hoping my family would truly see me. A Nice Indian Boy might not win points for novelty, but it understands that particular heartache perfectly. It’s worth a watch, if only to see Groff flash those pearly whites and to remind ourselves that the fight to be included at our own family tables is a story worth telling.

So, where does that leave us? Honestly, I’m stuck in the middle of the road, and I’m actually kind of kicking myself for it, you know? I truly, deeply wanted to be swept away by this one.

#ANiceIndianBoy #MovieReview #Cinephile #QueerCinema #JonathanGroff #KaranSoni #RomCom #EthnicCinema #LGBTQFilms #BollywoodVibes #WeddingMovies #FilmCritique #GayBear #Intersectionality #IndieFilm 

Movie Review: The Sheep Detectives

 As an itinerant teacher of the Deaf/occasionally fanatic English teacher, currently basking in the glorious, alarm-clock-free sanctuary of June, my brain is usually split 50/50 between drafting my Great American Novel (which currently sits at a very robust chapter three, thank you, and does have a ton of horrific violence) and wondering if it's too early for a nap.

For the record? I thought I'd have more by now, but alas, I've been too bloodly busy.

Yesterday, my friend Ed, who teaches with me on rare occasion down the hall and shares my crippling addiction to buying books, convinced me to escape the humidity and hit the air-conditioned bliss of the local flicka.

The main event?

A little indie flick called "The Sheep Detectives." And let me tell you, friends, I went in knowing it was decent and walked out ready to write about more murders.

For the record, that's a good thing.

At its core, "The Sheep Detectives" hits every single classic trope of a British cozy mystery. You’ve got the sleepy, suspiciously high-crime village (in this case, a rolling green pasture in Yorkshire called Dunbrook), a bumbling local authority figure who wouldn't know a clue if it bit him on the tail, and an amateur sleuth with a sharp mind and a tragic lack of boundaries.

 The protagonists, the amateur sleuths, are literally sheep.

The whole thing kicks off because George Hardy (played by a wonderfully rugged, flannel-clad Hugh Jackman...can this man do anything wrong? Even when his movies are for crap, I HAVE TO WATCH), a lonely shepherd who spends his evenings reading murder mystery novels to his flock, is found permanently "put out to pasture" (had to do a farm joke, sorry). 

The human locals assume it's just a tragic farm accident, but the sheep, who have essentially earned a collective master's degree in criminology from George's nightly storytimes, know a homicide when they smell one. Leading the charge is Lily (voiced by Julia Louis-Dreyfus), a brilliantly pragmatic ewe who channels pure, high-anxiety detective energy. She rallies the herd, including Cloud (voiced by Regina Hall), a sheep so wonderfully sassy and fabulous she practically steals every scene she's in, alongside Mopple (voiced by Chris O'Dowd), a gluttonous ram who is mostly in it for the clover bribes. 

Together, this fluffy squad has to outsmart the completely clueless local cop, Officer Tim (played by Nicholas Braun, doing his best pompous-yet-inept routine), and a sharp city lawyer (played with deliciously over-the-top energy by Emma Thompson...this woman is on screen for only 9 minutes---and I still love her. And she makes great family flicks, like this and Nanny McPhee.). 

Kinda ridiculous, but everyone was commmitted...and it worked. 

Kinda what I also needed for a summer vacation movie. 

It sounds ridiculous, but that sheep-centric framing made the entire narrative feel brilliantly novel.

And it was based on a novel, too.  A bestseller called "Three Bags Full" and was published in 2025. Guess it has a cult following? 

One thing I appreciated? Probably because I spend nine months of the year managing hormonal, loud teenagers, was the restraint of the storytelling. Because this movie is aiming for a broad, family-friendly audience, the violence is strictly off-screen.

I mean, we're talking homicide, here, folx. 

It felt like a beautiful throwback to the old classic black-and-white movie days. You know the vibe—Hitchcockian restraint where a shadow on a wall or a sudden, dramatic bleat in the dark tells you everything you need to know. It makes the entire film so much more approachable. It proves you don't need explicit gore to build tension; a little atmosphere and some good pacing do the heavy lifting.

Now one thing I did notice? Yeah, great movie.

Shitty CGI.

It was rough. The wool textures occasionally looked like they were rendered on a PlayStation 2, and there were moments where a sheep's mouth didn't quite match the dialogue, making it look like a dubbed kung-fu movie from the late night television slots.

Grant you, how do you make a cutie lamb more expressive? They kinda have these long faces, but for some reason, I was sensitive to that one thing. As an aspiring writer, I always argue that story is king. It’s exactly like the 1981 classic "Clash of the Titans." The special effects in that movie, bless Ray Harryhausen’s stop-motion heart, were already looking a little dated and goofy even for the early 80s.

But does anyone care? 

No! Because the writing was theatrical and the acting was fully committed.

The Sheep Detectives does the exact same thing. 

It completely rises above its budgetary constraints because the script is genuinely witty and the voice acting is superb. You stop caring that the sheep looks like a walking cotton ball when the dialogue is snapping back and forth and Emma Thompson is chewing the hay bales and the scenery.

SIDENOTE:  The most shocking part of the afternoon, though? The audience.

Maybe I’m just jaded. When I go to Disney World every few hours, I swear to you, people have no concept of being in an audience. Chatting away about a yeast infection in the stretching room of the Haunted Mansion, yammering away on Facetime during the fireworks; placeholding for a group of 40 can cut in line. 

I thought public manners were dead and buried.

Yet, inside this dark theater yesterday, it was a total twilight zone. 

The crowd was completely silent during the tense moments, erupted into collective belly laughs at the exact right comedic beats, and, I kid you not, there was a genuine wave of simple clapping applause when the credits rolled. To experience that kind of shared, respectful joy with a room full of strangers?

Magic.

If you want a cozy, clever, slightly furry escape from the summer heat, go see it. It gets a solid four out of five cardigans from this tired teacher. 

I really didn't want to fill this with cheap sheep jokes. Sorry. 

#TheSheepDetectives

#ThreeBagsFull

#HughJackman

#SummerMatinee

Movie Review: HOPPERS

My husOtter Supreme hates it when there’s an Emperor’s New Groove clip on YouTube or there’s some analytical bit somewhere on social media. He knows that I’ll start forwarding it to my bestie out in Colorado and the random quips will start coming from left and right.

“No touchie.”

“Or…to save on postage.”

Such and such. But it was a sign of good writing. A wild and wacky animated trip that brought joy to my world and others, I’m sure. 

And it didn’t follow formula, for a Disney movie, at least.

WHich meant, when I watched it for the first time, there were moments where I was engaged at the novelty of it all.

My husband hates when I start quoting The Emperor's New Groove. He knows it means I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole of movie clips again. But those quirks are usually a sign of good writing—the kind of wild, non-formulaic animation that really sticks with you. Which brings me to Pixar’s latest, Hoppers, which is PIXAR’s latest, released last March and now streaming on Disney Plus. 

It fits that definition. A wild, non-formulaic animation.

That really sticks with you.

PIXAR makes amazing pictures, we know this. Their worst movie (methinks it is The Good Dinosaur, lemme know your thoughts) is still well constructed, well written, and beautifully shot. There’s a reason they go nomination after nomination and I find myself drawn to them, for even if the movie is predictable, it’s still visually engaging.

Was this worst? 

PIXAR likes to take animation and viewers into colorful spaces, which is their overall trademark. Beautiful fish palettes (Finding Nemo and Finding Dory); talking emotions (Inside Out/Inside Out 2); loving elements (Elemental) all take centerstage, a challenge accepted by the animators to bring humanity to things that are not necessarily human. It’s an amazing feat and quite entertaining. 

A personal favorite, as it deals with ethnic themes I totally can relate to. 

PIXAR’s trademark involves whisking us away to vibrant, color-drenched spaces—those gorgeous fish palettes in Finding Nemo or the neon emotions of Inside Out. So, admittedly, the brown-on-brown aesthetic of Hoppers felt a bit off-the-wall at first glance. Yet, that earthy pond vibe was actually novel, forcing me to dig deeper into the story itself.

And, well, novel. It doesn’t follow the formula. 

While last night’s viewing of Hoppers doesn’t have the color palette of so many of their other films, I feel this goes a few steps beyond mid. Yeah, the colors tended to be a bit of the brown-on-brown, with brown branches and brown pond. But this means the viewer would have to get involved in more of the story. 

Dang, what a story. Completely unhinged. 

Yet, I was intrigued. 

Hoppers manages to be as off-the-wall as it is while still feeling like a classic, heartfelt journey. The story follows a young protagonist who, in a desperate attempt to truly understand the world around them, ends up using some advanced, slightly questionable technology to "hop" their consciousness into the minds of animals. Her educator has invented a robot that a brain can be linked to, the ‘hopping’ of the title, and one can control the animal. 

Shades of “Avatar” are mentioned in a delicious joke, as a matter of fact.

She uses the tech to coerce the animals of the forest to rise up against the local politician who is going to build through the forest.  The whole tale is surprisingly dark, which, as we know, I love, so maybe there’s a reason I enjoyed it a bit more than others. I mean, they talk about animals eating each other with the blase of ordering a latte. 

Hilarious.

“YOU AREN’T BOTHERED HE WAS GOING TO EAT YOU?”

“Pond rules. Everyone’s gotta eat.”

Other highlights are terrific vocal turns by John Hamm as the mustache twirling villain, Jerry; Meryl Streep finally doing some animation as the vicious and haughty insect leader of the Council of Animals; and an INCREDIBLE supporting turn by Bobby Moynihan as King George of the beavers. His story arc is so well portrayed that I wanted to keep seeing him on screen, just a good person doing good things. 

But all this is manic. There’s little emotional beats like PIXAR has rolled out before, like at the end of their Toy Story tales, Inside Out, or Up. 

Do I recommend it? 

Yeah, actually I do.

It’s not top tier PIXAR, but like Emperor’s New Groove, it’s fun, wacky, and really engaging. It’s a story first focus, and I dig that, and always will. It prioritizes a fun story over the heavy handedness that seems to go with anti technology and pro climate proselytizing that comes out at times. Just a bit of old school storytelling hidden in a wild premise. 

• #Pixar
• #Hoppers
• #MovieReview
• #DisneyPlus
• #Animation

A Review: "Welcome to Derry" Misses the Mark

There’s a scene, in the last episode, which I just finished of this horror prequel series, where the camera affords itself an establishing shot from inside of the gymnasium of Derry’s unfortunate high school.

It states, “Home of the Trappers.”

I remember it clearly, since I was a Trailblazer, whatever that was, way back in those awful high school years.

The camera then pans down to a wide variety of early 60s youth marching into the space. With the supporting characters providing commentary, in walks one of the students dressed as a terrapin. Big shell on their back, huge mascot head.

There. 

Right there. 

No, it did not pull me out of the moment-but it was confusing, as like, the establishing shot said, clearly….TRAPPERS.

That’s a tortoise, a turtle. 

A shell game.

But this mild confusion really populated this entire show and illustrated, in a few brief moments, why this program was probably not the best that HBO has to offer in the horror television program theater. Which is weird, because one of the things I watched immediately upon getting HBOMax just last year was the incredible “The Outsider.” Oddly, I had not read that book, but the show was immense and really worked as a whole with the time to have many characters working towards a very specific end. 

Serving as a dark, stylized prequel to Andy Muschietti’s “It” films, “Welcome to Derry” plunges viewers into 1962 to map the psychological rot of America’s most cursed small town.

The series follows a group of local kids and families, including a young Dick Hallorann, as they navigate the town’s systemic violence, trauma, and prejudice, all while Bill Skarsgård’s Pennywise begins to stir from his 27-year slumber.

It is less of a traditional slasher and more of a grand, tragic piece of cosmic horror, showing that while the monster under the town is terrifying, the rot inside the townspeople themselves is what truly feeds the beast.

Sounds tasty, doesn’t it?

I love me some Stephen King. Like Harry Potter for a certain generation, from about 6th grade onwards, Mr. King’s novels kept me reading and reading some more. I had even tackled IT, but it was a bit of a slog at over 900 pages, making the media based them longer titles. I liked the movies in recent memory, and I liked the miniseries.

And I was stoked at the first fifteen minutes even here, with its horrific encounter with the famed Pennywise. 

And then? It stopped. The whole premise was just stopped. The convoluted plot had the monster making longer and longer and longer plots to creep out the kiddoes before devouring them–at least Freddy Krueger had a nightmare to work with. 

This? 

If the clown beast was that hungry, why are they playing with their food so much?

It became nonsense, making the more poignant moments seem like lip service for heady topics like racism. At one point, they were blaming the occasional disappearance on minorities that came and went. 

Okay, that’s something…but then nothing more happened. 

And as a prequel? It does have an opportunity to retcon items, for sure. But, in this version of the story, THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY is kidnapped and turned into thralls.

THis was never reported. Everyone seems out of whack when it comes to Pennywise in the actual novel, movie. I don’t know about you, but if an entire high school is kidnapped, yes, there would be headlines. 

And that storyline, btw? 

Dropped. 

Even literally. 

Even with the welcome presence of Bill Skarsgård, he just bites and yells, giving some energy to the scenery, but unless he’s on the screen, there’s not much to watch, unfortunately. The CGI is also pathetic, with a snow storm that kicks up out of nowhere, just to give characters reasons to not see each other in the grand finale. 

Folks. Skip this one. Go watch “Stranger Things.”  or “The Outsider.” Or the movie, “IT.”

Peace and love,

The BardBear, Brehon

When Media is Important

 Summer has officially begun. The academic shackles are off, and the post-school decompression process is already in full swing. I’m back home, soaking in the summer vibes. A little creative writing to start (we begin small, friends), a deep dive into my reading—fiction and non—because absorbing the work of others is critical.

A quick word on stress. 

The old days involved a second gig—interpreting, bless its well-meaning heart. Highly rewarding work, they said. Nominal pay, I remember. My esophagus still burns thinking about the responsibility of helping people make important decisions. 

So, no. 

WHile important, it was a bit much.

The last few years, I’ve had the supreme luxury, thanks to my long-suffering (and beloved) HusOtter Supreme, to choose self-focus.

When you shed that external layer of obligation, the internal infrastructure demands attention. Meditation stretches from a panicked sixty seconds to something resembling actual contemplation. The gym becomes a sanctuary, not a rushed stop on a sprint. The stories that used to rattle around my noggin as quick short-story sprints are now finally getting the elbow room they need to become proper, full-bore novels. 

Also, I’ve stopped eating like a competitive garbage disposal. Consistency, my friends, is key, in writing and in one's pants size.

And the research begins. 

Streaming was a gift sent from the narrative gods to those of us who appreciate a good, thick plot. I’m an old comic-book kid—I thrive on serialized narrative, symbolism, and the simple, profound joy of watching writers, designers, and actors doing what they do best. I believe, fundamentally, in the power of story, regardless of its quality.

You sit back, you process. 

What worked, what didn't? 

It’s a necessary mental software update. The goal is to think in beginnings, middles, and ends. A quaint notion, perhaps, in an age where the collective attention span—and I'm talking about folks of all ages, not just the TikTok generation—is being surgically reduced. We are, as a rule, moving toward glorious, chaotic entropy. 

It’s just physics, really. 

Stories, the good ones, are the only things that impose order on the chaos.

That might sound like I'm only talking about fiction, but honestly, even nonfiction is just narrative presented in a slightly more buttoned-up suit (a topic for another post, alas!). I once heard a perfect summation: fiction is invented problem-solving; nonfiction is real problem-solving. Both, however, serve as that critical 'flight simulator' for our emotions. I have no current plans for a space station launch, but understanding human response in an "excessively hostile environment" remains universally relevant.

So, here we are, back at the keyboard. 

This blog is my new laboratory for narrative, both invented and observed. Narrative is not just a tool; it is the very architecture of human consciousness. It’s how we build identity, transmit culture, and hold the existential dark at bay. It is profoundly important—but precisely because it is so powerful, we must choose with care which stories we believe, and which ones we commit to telling.Support systems are already mobilizing. The HusOtter Supreme has commenced the ritual of tactical coffee refills, ensuring caffeine levels remain optimized. Meanwhile, Dottie—the fluffier half of our corgi contingent—has assumed her role as a living, breathing foot-warmer. It’s the domestic architecture of a writer finding their rhythm again.