Mar 27, 2015 01:50 AM
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Words fail me here. Wit spreads wings and flies. Humor deserts. There are movies that make poets out of commonplace critics, artists of ordinary artisans.
Alas, this movie manages to stupefy a nimble muse that can find sensation even in a dead rat. It steals bread from the writer’s table and strikes the crackling hearth cold. This must be the briefest critique of a work that lasts well past a tubful of cheesy popcorn, two cans of coke, and three easings of the bladder.
The movie is allegedly a romcom of uneasy denomination; the title that heads you whistling under the breath to the Box-office expecting a whip-wielding BDSM girl in black tights and cat’s whiskers, spreading a pinky-handcuffed daddy across her pointy knees and chastening him, begins with a brief, titular, and vestal advisory to stay away from materialistic car salesgirls, however leggy, busty and pouty they might be.
Difficult, but can be managed if you have another one, not a car sales girl, just a girl, a morally, physically and financially better endowed one, stepping through the door the very next minute. It takes the hero and us the entire duration of the movie to figure out the title, as if everyone, including the author had conveniently forgotten it. It seems the movie had been written backwards to fit the title, and not the other way round where writers usually think of a story first, and when they have one polished and glowy, they go about the business of fishing out a name from the muddle in their heads.
Divyendu Sharma(who?), a gent who once bagged the award(from?), “Most Promising Newcomer- Male, ” for his role in “Pyar Ka Punchnama(what?), ” is the lead here, besotted with the extremely covetable Prachi Mishra, for hers are the lips that launch a thousand cars. Like all lovesick puppies that pine and draw hearts in the sand with beer-piss, he usually ends up paying with his car mortgage installments for the expensive bashes she invites him to. She is the title of the movie; let me bust this secret for you, in case you spend a curious life wondering about it. Jackie Shroff steals his car; she comes to repossess it heartlessly and without the remorse of having borrowed and not returned his money, leaving him with the profound epiphany that all is not well with the world.
On Jackie- the cool, cute, boss car thief with contacts and money- our hero swears cold revenge, leaving no room for the wrath of god, and on her, lifelong devotion. All the while he ignores the extremely classy and yum Ira Dubey, languishing as a media sidekick trying to help him in doing a sting on the wily Jackie, till she discards the glum garments on her back and shows off her sparkly wares. With a buttery cleavage and silk-smooth thighs- it is not long ere the dog waddles her way with the tail wagging and the drool dripping. How losers that sell mom’s jewelry to fund cars find girls that gorgeous beats the hell out of me. Had they thrown in that BDSM thing as the title promised, with these two ravishing, flaming-lipped, thunder-thighed, deep-chested beauties the movie held promise. Without it the streetcar fumbles and betrays.
That the police are iniquitous, the media is incestuous, and females are incubus, is overstating the obvious, like the poor cat in the adage. Here is a case of stale wine in a glitzy bottle, a titillating title with a tame tale… a big bang that ends in a whimper. The plot is weak; the first half is about the hero being suckered by a bewitching girl and a smooth car thief, and the second about a tame sting op reminiscent of the pre-election exhortation of Arvind Kejriwal calling upon the primitive faithful to strike the opposing politicians with audio-video recordings. He seems to have inspired an entire line of filmmaking, bringing to the fore corruption in our system, as if we needed any reminders!
The music is bland; “Birthday Bash” by Yo-Yo Honey Singh is average, and the rest is not worth beating the breast over. The movie feels cheap; cheapo cheap, not artsy cheap where the cheapness is a dear, contrived imprint, not a bargain-price compulsion borne of frugality.
Certainly, it’s neither a romance, nor a comedy. The two lead ladies are utterly wasted, and one wishes they would take heart and live to be tastefully unclothed and exhibited yet another day. The men- I wish them razors and soaps.
