Shorts were jyada short, love was jyada fake, sets had jyada things, walls had jyada posters, costumes were more than jyada, Mithunda had jyada wigs, poor Ayushman had jyada curls, film had bahut jyada songs, all actors were jyada melodramatic... Audience was laughing (with helplessness) bahut jyada too...
When your audience wants your hero to die, it is hardly a good sign. Especially because you are banking on his dimples to help you carry a five minute story better told here for 157 minutes through a maze of bottles and bonsai plants, wigs and plates and posters and birds and cages and candlesticks and Goldberg machines and books and over-upholstered chairs, and things...
You begin laughing when a young lady sitting next to you chokes over her popcorn upon sighting Ayushman Khurana in shorts shorter than politeness dictates. Poor girl, you think, she is scarred for life. For her sake, I will share this, so she does not ever think men should not wear short shorts.
And you wish the coffee in your hands contained something stronger than caffeine when you see Ayushman being made to pull faces, imitating Ranbir Kapoor's Barfi act. Not even his dimples can save him. And that hat! That hat! You begin to hate that thing. But more than that you wonder why he's carrying that trumpet around... What a useless thing.
It's not just things, the whole movie is cluttered. The actors are overdressed. They overact. Each time someone speaks, they are trying so hard to prove that they are Marathi, they spout awful mixed up dialog that is fake. Now Mithun Chakraborty is brilliant as a crotchety old man in Guru, and he is totally over the top funny in Oh My God but here, in the wig that changes color and a moustache that competes with a walrus, you want to say, 'Bahut jyada ho gaya, dada!'
And the unintentional laughter continues when the old man tells his apprentice, 'There are many ways in which I need you...'
The hero, Ayushman Khurana, usually cute is so annoying, each time someone tells him 'Ja, ud ja!' you begin to laugh because you are so fed up, you also want him to fly away and never come back too. Plus, his every time his unfortunate name is mentioned (the Marathi hero's name is 'shivi' which means 'curse') you want to. Really.
'Tu Mera Shivi Hai!' takes on funnier and funnier connotations.
In the meanwhile, it is just Intermission and you are completely lost in Sanjay Leela Bhansali's warehouse. And Ayushman Khurana begins to look like Weird Al
And the heroine, poor girl! Not only is she made to gyrate to pointless songs, she is kuch jyada hee fake as a nautch girl. Imagine the scene:
Romantic cotton fibre flowating around in the air, and him proposing in third person, 'Marry him.', 'Marry him!', 'Marry him!'
You try not to imagine Bollywood diva Rekha writing this dialog, but then you begin to laugh jyada loudly when the heroine says, 'But I have lost all my adaayein, my nakhres...'
The audience joins you when you chuck the popcorn at the screen. Another song! Are there more songs in this movie than Inder Sabha? That had 71 songs. I looked around for Kumar Gandharv's ghost in the dark when they ruin a deeply spiritual 'Ud Jaayega Hans Akela' by converting it to Pantomime or something out of dance dramas you were made to perform in school.
I have never laughed (and groaned) so much at a screening. You know the film was made with good intentions, but those curls, those clothes, those shorts? Jyada ho gaya...
Come to think of it, the name of the movie is rather apt in a Shakespearean way, 'Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing'. Or as they say in Bambai, 'Isme hawa bahut jyada hai, boss!'