Tweaking Their Title Song:
'Love Ke Funday (Likhne Walon Ko)
If you had no hope for this generation of high-heel wearing clone women (not unlike stepford wives) and muscle-bound brainless young sex-starved men, then you would be right. If this is where the movies are taking us, then it might be like… Er… Like to Nowhere, ya!
What a waste this supposed lessons on love turned out to be! Waste of time, waste of footage, and a certain career suicide of four men and four women. Wait… Was it four men and seven women? Or was it five men and five women? It did not matter because all the young men were shown to be so crass and so sex starved you did not want to look at them on screen for too long or you might catch something slimy.
The women were like clones. Dressed up in really short, ghastly and garish clothes that were either so ill-fitting or tight fitting, their assets were spilling over and under and in all possible directions. They teeter-tottered in impossibly high heels (even inside their homes) and really bad make up.
The ‘funday’ or love lessons these couples learn are: you don’t have to be married to love each other, that you could fall in love with your best friend and if the audience hasn’t drowned in their own vomit at the really ghastly Hindi, English and Hinglish accents they would have learnt more.
That women talk only of love and sex whenever they are with another girl. In the office, in ‘discs’ (Gah! Their word for a ‘disco’ or ‘discotheque’) and even on the street with strangers.
That young women are just as desperate for sex as young men. Don’t ask.
That young men spout ‘Love sau ladkiyon ke saath, ishq ek se bhi nahi!’ on the phone with another girl when they are making out with one girl, and the girls are okay with it. Not one woman slaps him. No evidence of self respect or finer feelings there.
That young men also ‘hook up’ their friends with girls, and the boys are okay with descriptions like ‘Mercedes hai, maruti nahi’. The girls like being called ‘Mercedes’.
Okay, just one more. That pubs have pole dancers who move from pole to pole as the camera pans from one table to another. Pubs with pole dancers? What?!
The whole film is shot like a montage (of nightmares!) or episodes. The young men and the girls are such awful clones you get confused who’s who and who’s with who. And in the end everything they do negates every premise they start with. The lad who insists that he does not believe in marriage ends up on his knees proposing to the girl friend. And yes, there’s a girl who is ready to divorce the lad because he smokes (her dad died of lung cancer), who accepts him when he chooses her over cigarettes. Wow. You emerge from the theater shaking the memory of such scenes, and then you see a stamp on the poster: Love is the extreme sympathy that leads to bed.
(this review appears on nowrunning dot com)