From snatches of dialogue (about
adulterated cement) to plot-points
(about disappearing corpses), even
lifting bits of the background score
to try and underscore its
salutation, O Teri borrows
constantly from Jaane Bhi Do
Yaaro and drowns it all in
slapstick so noisy it all comes off
as more lame than loving, more
blasphemous than beholden, says
Raja Sen.
Satire isn’t what it used to be.
Neither, of course, is the nation. We
are a country who tunes in every
night to watch an apoplectic news
anchor shout till he’s blue in the
fact with righteous indignation, a
country whose national sport is
match fixing, a country whose
politicians are so farcical that they
spoof themselves better than any
stand-up comics can… A country, in
short, that needs a good walloping
more than it does a subtle wake-
up-call.
This looks like a job for black
comedy, and the makers of O Teri
came up with what may well be, on
paper, the most suitable of ideas:
what if Kundan Shah were to make
his Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro today? What
if two bumbling, well-meaning
protagonists were faced with the
Commonwealth Games Scam, Niira
Radia and the 2G brouhaha? What
if the system was skewered while a
homage was constantly paid to the
most memorable Hindi comedy of all
time?
Um, here’s the thing about movie
tributes: to pull them off, they need
to come from a place of great
competence. A book, for example,
was written about Jaane Bhi Do
Yaaro a few years ago, a book
assiduously compiling stories told
by the classic film’s cast and crew.
There was nothing wrong about this
telling, per se, save its depressing
dryness; it was like hearing your
Hindi schoolteacher dictate a
jeevani of your favourite limericist.
Factual correctness can’t make up
for a horrid lack of whimsy, and as
one of the many lifelong JBDY
maniacs, I felt cheated by a book
that showed none of the spirit, the
inventiveness, the vim that any
work about the 1983 masterpiece
deserved.
Which brings us to Umesh Bist’s O
Teri, a film that borrows constantly
from the great one -- from snatches
of dialogue (about adulterated
cement) to plot-points (about
disappearing corpses), even lifting
bits of the background score to try
and underscore its salutation -- but
drowns it all in slapstick so noisy it
all comes off as more lame than
loving, more blasphemous than
beholden.
The loudness of the film seems
intentional, especially considering
the frighteningly oversaturated
palette, one that makes a Ferrari
look way, way too red and Mandira
Bedi’s lips look like she were
auditioning for an Aqua video.
Every single character in the film
constantly speaks with some
manner of silly accent; it was as if
the actors were told to ham it up
during the shoot and then told,
again, during the dub, that the
face-stretching was all well and
good, but that they now needed to
bring out their best keshto-voices.
There are a few fine actors so
bulletproof they can wade through
this manner of tripe unscathed --
Manoj Pahwa, Razzaq Khan and
Vijay Raaz, the latter even
delivering a few actual laughs, and
Mohan Kapur appears particularly
well-cast as lobster-loving editor Vir
Sanghvi -- but the rest of them
flounder fatally in this sea of
overacting. Especially the leads.
Pulkit Samrat, a feller I’ve liked
from the get-go, is pretty damned
unwatchable here, and along with
him -- and sporting the name
“AIDS” in this film -- is the
debuting Bilal Amrohi, who is
essentially the Mtv Roadies version
of Suniel Shetty. (Make of that what
you will.)
In fact, that goes for the whole film.
In case you’ve always wondered how
JBDY would look if made with all
the subtlety of Phir Hera Pheri/
Grand Masti, then this is your lucky
day. (There’s even a peculiar song
about “butts.”) Which is a pity
because O Teri, despite being loud
enough to jolt any laash alive,
targets the right scumbags and has
more than a couple of fun ideas,
not least a soothsaying dog who --
like Paul the Octopus, or a
particularly cute magic 8-ball --
predicts the future. Now if only
they’d kept the pooch around
during the edit.
adulterated cement) to plot-points
(about disappearing corpses), even
lifting bits of the background score
to try and underscore its
salutation, O Teri borrows
constantly from Jaane Bhi Do
Yaaro and drowns it all in
slapstick so noisy it all comes off
as more lame than loving, more
blasphemous than beholden, says
Raja Sen.
Satire isn’t what it used to be.
Neither, of course, is the nation. We
are a country who tunes in every
night to watch an apoplectic news
anchor shout till he’s blue in the
fact with righteous indignation, a
country whose national sport is
match fixing, a country whose
politicians are so farcical that they
spoof themselves better than any
stand-up comics can… A country, in
short, that needs a good walloping
more than it does a subtle wake-
up-call.
This looks like a job for black
comedy, and the makers of O Teri
came up with what may well be, on
paper, the most suitable of ideas:
what if Kundan Shah were to make
his Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro today? What
if two bumbling, well-meaning
protagonists were faced with the
Commonwealth Games Scam, Niira
Radia and the 2G brouhaha? What
if the system was skewered while a
homage was constantly paid to the
most memorable Hindi comedy of all
time?
Um, here’s the thing about movie
tributes: to pull them off, they need
to come from a place of great
competence. A book, for example,
was written about Jaane Bhi Do
Yaaro a few years ago, a book
assiduously compiling stories told
by the classic film’s cast and crew.
There was nothing wrong about this
telling, per se, save its depressing
dryness; it was like hearing your
Hindi schoolteacher dictate a
jeevani of your favourite limericist.
Factual correctness can’t make up
for a horrid lack of whimsy, and as
one of the many lifelong JBDY
maniacs, I felt cheated by a book
that showed none of the spirit, the
inventiveness, the vim that any
work about the 1983 masterpiece
deserved.
Which brings us to Umesh Bist’s O
Teri, a film that borrows constantly
from the great one -- from snatches
of dialogue (about adulterated
cement) to plot-points (about
disappearing corpses), even lifting
bits of the background score to try
and underscore its salutation -- but
drowns it all in slapstick so noisy it
all comes off as more lame than
loving, more blasphemous than
beholden.
The loudness of the film seems
intentional, especially considering
the frighteningly oversaturated
palette, one that makes a Ferrari
look way, way too red and Mandira
Bedi’s lips look like she were
auditioning for an Aqua video.
Every single character in the film
constantly speaks with some
manner of silly accent; it was as if
the actors were told to ham it up
during the shoot and then told,
again, during the dub, that the
face-stretching was all well and
good, but that they now needed to
bring out their best keshto-voices.
There are a few fine actors so
bulletproof they can wade through
this manner of tripe unscathed --
Manoj Pahwa, Razzaq Khan and
Vijay Raaz, the latter even
delivering a few actual laughs, and
Mohan Kapur appears particularly
well-cast as lobster-loving editor Vir
Sanghvi -- but the rest of them
flounder fatally in this sea of
overacting. Especially the leads.
Pulkit Samrat, a feller I’ve liked
from the get-go, is pretty damned
unwatchable here, and along with
him -- and sporting the name
“AIDS” in this film -- is the
debuting Bilal Amrohi, who is
essentially the Mtv Roadies version
of Suniel Shetty. (Make of that what
you will.)
In fact, that goes for the whole film.
In case you’ve always wondered how
JBDY would look if made with all
the subtlety of Phir Hera Pheri/
Grand Masti, then this is your lucky
day. (There’s even a peculiar song
about “butts.”) Which is a pity
because O Teri, despite being loud
enough to jolt any laash alive,
targets the right scumbags and has
more than a couple of fun ideas,
not least a soothsaying dog who --
like Paul the Octopus, or a
particularly cute magic 8-ball --
predicts the future. Now if only
they’d kept the pooch around
during the edit.
Kambakkth Ishq explores the relationship between two individuals so chalk-and-cheesely different from each other that no matter how many times they are pushed together, there’s just fireworks … no fire. Viraj Shergill (Akshay Kumar) is a swashbuckling stuntman in Hollywood who lives by the mantra “women are only good for two things … making love & making love” Simrita Rai (Kareena Kapoor) is a firebrand who is more than able to stare down the most arrogant male with her caustic wit and sardonic tongue ... her firm belief “all men are dogs” Forces of nature make sure the two people who hate each the most are thrown together in the most absurd, hilarious situations until one dramatic twist of fate binds the two together in a manner that they could never ever have even dreamed of in their wildest fantasies. If there ever was a marriage between the east and the west, a romantic comedy and Action, Hollywood and Bollywood … this would be it.