Sam aka Saumya (Dutta) is a female cop. The kind who is struggling with an us-guys-know-best workspace, an insecure spouse (also a cop), and a benignly patriarchal boss determined never to let her do what she clearly wants to do: be out there, smash the bad guys, and save the good guys.
Nethra (Rajguru) is your average young woman. The kind who, like a million others, is struggling to survive, but with a buoyancy of spirit that makes you want to root for her. None of the men in her life—jobless father, useless boyfriend, a frail grandpa and a little brother—spark any joy. And then she gets to know she has only three months and a bit to live.
No spoilers here: the title gives us the number of days Nethra has left on this earth, and takes us through eight episodes of What Nethra Did. Hold on, though, she’s not alone. A chance encounter with Sam, who sees in this desperate young woman a chance to pull herself up the ladder, changes everything. And it becomes What Sam And Nethra Do. The Sam-Nethra combination is your odd couple trope (two men, a man and a woman, two women) twinning in unexpected, interesting ways. We’ve seen this happen in the movies since forever. But in the nascent Indian web series space, it’s still unexplored. On this score, the makers of Hundred have hit a home run: there really is nothing in common between Sam and Nethra; they inhabit vastly different worlds; they speak different lingos, but together they make a winning team. On the can-you-believe-what-you’re-seeing score, though, Hundred is mostly a series of eye-rolls. With the support of what seems like a sole teammate who is on her side, Sam glides through such a range of bad guys—from Columbian envoys who turn out to be smugglers, to organ traders, to corrupt politicians, drug busts, to narcotic rings, to hawala cases and cricket setting and Dubai-based dons, and so on—that you wonder if she ever catches a break. But at every step, she is up against Anshuman-the-insufferable-boss and Pravin-the-unhelpful-husband and inimical colleagues. These portions are plain tedious and repetitive: you’ve told us once, we’ve got it. There are also parts which appear to be unintentionally funny. At one point, there’s mention of a ‘miaow miaow’ (slang for a popular drug) case, which is solved in a jiffy: are we meant to take Nethra’s cop station and her colleagues, especially her husband who keeps hankering after a case which will make him a media darling, seriously? Or is the whole thing a giant joke? Not really, right, because crooked doctors harvesting human bodies for healthy organs cannot be a matter of jest.