Friday, January 10, 2014


death of stars


Mini Review:

Give the men a decent haircut and a shave, and women some clothes. This film is strong contender for the Worst Film Of The Year award.

Main Review:

Imagine a porn version of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Main Hoon Na and SOTY.

Where male college students are desperate to kiss their co-eds who dress like penny whores and pop lollipops out of their mouths in extreme close ups.

There are other college students who are willing to trade in their iPods to see their best friend kiss the lollipop girl.

There is Bharat Mata whose saree comes off on stage and the dying soldiers ogle at her large bouncy boobs and say, ‘Take me to your bosom, ma!’ and then she breaks into, ‘My name is Sheila’ or some such item song.

The same Mother India jiggles her breasts behind two tender coconuts for at least two minutes. The two male leads are of course shown to drink from the said tender coconuts

There are female teachers in sarees who expose a breast each (thankfully encased in what passes off as bling blouses) and behave like they’ve just discovered sex (or are desperate because of a lack of it). Their object of desire is a male teacher who makes sounds as though he’s orgasming each time the female teacher rubs herself against him.

The hero is a young man with long unwashed hair and beard (to hide a weak jaw) and big girly mouth which is covered in pink lip gloss (either that or he’s drooling). Yes, he has bovine eyes with long lashes. He wears purple pajamas and is happy to dance the pajama song with the girls  (Porn Archie?). He wears multi-colored skinny jeans and transparent shirts (with metal studs) and basketball shoes with long tongues. Speaking of tongues, the kiss where the hero’s mouth acts like a suction pump is the worst ever kiss filmed.

And it is even more insulting because a woman directed this drivel.

The story? It is told by a mostly stunned college principal (Gulshan Grover) whose job involves walking away from above scenes and then announcing: these students will represent India against Australia because they know our culture. Half the film, if you have not drowned in your own vomit, shows a terrible sports and cultural competition (many BMX bike type scenes, motorbike contest where women ride pillion, and a rock climbing contest where you wish for a repeat of 127 hours for the hero just so you stay alive).
There is budget enough to shoot in picturesque locales of Sikkim and Australia. I wish the beautiful snow clad town wasn’t overrun with girls cavorting in miniature bikini tops.

We emerged from the press show wanting to hold someone and bawl like Deepti Naval does in the movie when she discovers that her son is dead. And yes, if you have a son, or a brother addicted to porn, here is a movie that will cure him of it.

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