We’re in a strange cultural moment. Almost everyone has a talk show or a podcast. If they’re not hosting one, they’re appearing on one, or discussing their appearance on another one. The ecosystem has become so incestuous that it is plain boring now. The arrival of Two Much with Kajol and Twinkle into this crowded landscape is Prime Video’s attempt at a glossy, girl-bossy, “unfiltered” chat show.
The reception has been unkind. So, obviously, I decided to tune in. And I am sorry to report that, unfortunately, most of the criticism geared towards the show is valid.
Every episode feels like the pilot episode. The rough edges keep getting wonkier. The hosts talk over the guests and each other. Their tones swing from loud to louder. They shift around on the set throughout episodes, trying to figure out the seating positions. Even the “Agree/Disagree” style game changes names every episode. The graphics look rushed. And the overall effect is one of something overproduced but massively underdeveloped.
Too Many Stumbles
Two Much should have ideally worked. This is a chat show anchored by two women, who were, once upon a time, known for having the rare ability to speak without flinching.
Both Kajol and Twinkle enter the show carrying decades of star power, 90s nostalgia, and insider status. But hosting is a craft. Comfort on-camera isn’t the same as controlling a room.
Kajol, in particular, looks palpably uncomfortable anytime the energy shifts toward playful roasting; she recoils rather than leaning in. Twinkle, long upheld as “Mrs Funnybones,” keeps slipping into a brand of privileged feminism that feels disconnected from the very pop culture landscape she’s trying to comment on.
The result is unintended viral moments from the show. Case in point being Kajol and Twinkle’s stand on physical cheating in committed relationships. Instead of arguing for open relationships or any of the more egalitarian concepts of modern dating, they came across as two despondent women stuck in unfaithful marriages they have had to reluctantly accept the status on set by their philandering star husbands.
…and Some More Fumbles
The conversations hinge entirely on the guest’s personality. If the guest is comfortable and charismatic, the episode is tolerable. If not, there’s uneasy awkwardness. The cringe just seeps in.
The questions Kajol and Twinkle ask may seem valid on paper, but they often seem more misplaced than intentional and sometimes they are just tone-deaf. Asking Farah Khan about her relevance seemed odd. Why ask Govinda or Salman Khan about their takes on feminist issues? Why set up conversations about sexism and ageism in Bollywood only to let the male guests dismiss it as “normal” without any pushback? When Kajol and Twinkle attempted to raise the double standards around casting older men with younger women, Aamir Khan and Salman immediately defended the status quo. No reflection. No self-awareness. And the hosts just move on.
Both hosts are deeply privileged nepo kids who have lived insulated lives and their humour and “hot takes” reflect that bubble.
Rendezvous with Koffee with Karan
For someone who grew up with Rendezvous with Simi Garewal, the contrast feels especially sharp. Garewal didn’t need gimmicks. She had range. From politicians and business tycoons to actors and scientists, Garewal hosted them all with panache. Garewal asked pointed questions with disarming calm, and she actually listened to the answers. The show had a host who understood pacing, curiosity, and did not confuse word vomit with insight.
Then came Koffee With Karan, which took a saucier approach and became iconic for it. Karan Johar didn’t aim for depth, he aimed for drama and he got it.
His interviews were messy, inappropriate, revealing, and deeply unserious. The show worked because the industry hadn’t yet become hyper-managed. Celebrities still said things they weren’t supposed to say. They still behaved like humans.
Curtains Down for the Desi Talk Show?
That era is gone. Two Much, What Women Want with Kareena Kapoor Khan, and anything undertaken by the likes of Ranveer Allahabadia are reminders of that.
Today’s celebrities come prepped with PR talking points. Every appearance is coordinated with managers, stylists, and publicists. Hosts too have adapted to this climate. Many now treat talk shows as extensions of their own brand: more spotlight, more main-character energy, less space for the guest.
The result is a genre where nothing feels genuine or even necessary. These shows look slick but say very little.
What’s lost in all this is the core of what made older chat shows interesting. They didn’t obsess over viral moments. They didn’t overcrowd the screen with graphics and games to compensate for weak conversations.
The truth is that the era of unfiltered celebrity interviews ended with Koffee With Karan. PR has swallowed spontaneity whole. Everyone is cautious. Everything is curated.
The media landscape has also shifted. Everyone is always accessible through social media. We already know too much about each other.
Two Much is obviously not the cause of this shift nor is it the final death knell. It is simply the latest casualty of it. A show trying to recreate the carefree candour of another time without realising that the conditions that made it possible don’t exist anymore. Not the banter, not the games. Everyone is busy performing relatability, so no one ends up being interesting.
Yes, one could argue the backlash is harsher with Two Much because they’re women with outspoken reputations. But the reality is that the show is not tanking because two opinionated women are running it. It’s tanking because, despite its glossy packaging, it simply isn’t a whole lot of fun.
(The author is an independent film, TV and pop culture journalist who has been feeding into the great sucking maw of the internet since 2010. This is an opinion piece. The views expressed above are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)