The Royals Review: Ishaan Khatter’s Bare Chest Works Overtime In A Show That Doesn’t

New Delhi:

Somewhere between a glitzy wedding invite and an overstuffed sherwani lies The Royals, a Netflix drama (directed by Priyanka Ghose and Nupur Asthana) that mistakes opulence for substance and half-buttoned shirts for depth. 

It arrives with the promise of masala-drenched grandeur, noble dysfunction and a fairy-tale romance between a commoner and a royal, but what unfolds instead is a tedious fashion show with a plotline stitched together by cliches, overused tropes and barely-there chemistry. 

Think of it as a Barbara Cartland novel rewritten by a social media intern who just discovered the word “situationship.”

Set in the fictional princely state of Morpur – clearly Rajasthan in spirit, if not in specificity – the series follows Aviraaj “Fizzy” Singh (Ishaan Khatter), a polo-playing, bare-chested royal heir with “daddy issues” and a chronic aversion to buttoned clothing. 

He returns home for the reading of his father’s will, only to find his ancestral home crumbling, his inheritance entangled in family drama, and his mother, Padmaja (Sakshi Tanwar), too busy juggling ex-lovers and royal duties to care. 

Also thrown into the mix is Sofia Kanmani Shekhar (Bhumi Pednekar), a self-made CEO of a start-up that offers luxury royal experiences to the middle-class masses – a business plan that seems to have been scribbled on a napkin after binge-watching Bridgerton.

Their meet-cute is awkward, their banter forced, and their romance, the supposed emotional anchor of the show, is the weakest link. 

Pednekar, capable of far more textured performances, is saddled with a character who swings from headstrong entrepreneur to helpless mess depending on what the script requires. 

Khatter, meanwhile, gives it his all-brooding over his family legacy one minute, playing shirtless beach polo the next – but the writing gives him precious little to work with. His most compelling scenes are with his horse, which, frankly, displays more emotional range than most of the ensemble.

The supporting characters are introduced with the enthusiasm of a soap opera and the depth of a dating app bio. Fizzy’s siblings – Diggy (Vihaan Samat), the closeted chef with aspirations of reality TV stardom and Jinnie (Kavya Trehan), the unsure bisexual flirt – are more interesting on paper than on screen. 

Sakshi Tanwar’s Rani Maa is saddled with uneven writing, swinging between steely matriarch and bewildered has-been. Zeenat Aman, in her much-hyped return as the doped-up grand matriarch Bhagyashree Devi, mostly lounges in ornate outfits and delivers a few acid-dipped lines. Her Instagram posts feel more alive than anything she does here.

The production design spares no expense. Palaces gleam, wardrobes overflow with brocade and no meal is eaten without an elaborate tablescape. But the show suffocates under the weight of its own excess. 

Everyone looks like they’ve walked out of a fashion editorial – even at breakfast – but the emotions remain locked behind layers of leheriya and lip gloss. It’s all style, very little soul.

The show’s attempts at modernity – queer characters, women-led businesses, influencer culture – feel more like box-checking than thoughtful inclusions. 

The script, written by Neha Veena Sharma, Vishnu Sinha and Iti Agarwal, has moments of sly satire, but they are few and far between. Too often, characters speak in buzzwords that belong in pitch meetings, not conversations. When someone shouts, “Do ‘Gram the hell out of us,” it feels less like dialogue and more like a promotional brief.

To be fair, The Royals isn’t trying to be a serious exploration of monarchy or class. It wants to be frothy, flirty, and bingeable. But froth only works when there’s something underneath it, and here, the plot is as threadbare as a palace curtain after monsoon season. 

The sibling dynamics have fleeting moments of warmth, particularly in the later episodes, but by then, it’s a little too late and a lot too dull.

In the end, The Royals is a textbook case of what happens when a show confuses aesthetics for storytelling. It has its moments – Vihaan Samat brings some tenderness, Dino Morea is clearly having a ball – but they are quickly drowned in a sea of bland montages, predictable twists and insipid romances. 

Like Fizzy himself, the show looks good in motion, but says very little when it finally stops posing.

Two stars – for the horse, the palace and one particularly sassy dinner table insult. Everything else? Lost in royal translation.