Don't know why. Seriously
At some point, even Lata Mangeshkar's deified high pitch juts out of the background score, "Downt knouw why… Na Jaane Kyon." I'm not kidding.india Updated: May 16, 2012 14:59 IST
A suit and a hunk hook up over the Internet, meet at a "hi-fi restorent". "Ambeance is great," suit says. "But," hunk asks, "is the food funtaastic?" Nope. They head out right away to a roadside joint, chomp on street food as they discuss their lives. The hunk's a "hookar". The suit fulfills "dooties of an husband".
Both are gay, but as the "hookar" figures, the suit's slept with a guy only once in college. So he's "almost a vaargin." "Doood!" They scoot off to a "hotal" in Goa, make love, butt naked, moaning in place, lips locked. It's the scene the film was made for. Done. Passed.
It's hard to estimate India's homosexual population. Most breathe uneasy in their closets. Surely they deserve a movie for their own visual pleasures. This is it, I suppose.
If you're male and swing towards women, you endure Rakhee Sawant. Lesbians get Girlfriend (Amrita Arora, Eesha Koppikar). Gay crowds endure this. It's only fair. Bollywood's entire Rotary Club — Zeenat Aman, Kabir Bedi, Helen, Parikshit Sahni, name it — has graciously woken up from their slumber, gotten together to serve us homosexual entertainment to die for (or literally die against). Blasphemy is in the ears of the listener. At some point, even Lata Mangeshkar's deified high pitch juts out of the background score, "Downt knouw why… Na Jaane Kyon." I'm not kidding.
The movie's been canned entirely in English. Basic grammar — "I cheating you", "I explain you" — evidently isn't the screenwriter's strongest point. Strange story telling is. He should be suitably forgiven, thus. Just so his creativity doesn't go berserk still, the filmmakers have hired a "script doctor", a job profile rarely credited in Hindi films.
Their collective 100-hour long imagination leads us into a joint Christian family that bears financial pressures of living in Mumbai.
A great grand mom (dancin' Helen), grand mom (Zeenat Aman in her clipped boarding school accent), estranged grand dad (Kabir Bedi), a daddy, his brother, the mom (Rituparna Sengupta) and a li'l kid: all of them stick it out as the bumbling family throws house parties where young ones in short skirts dance away, aunties bitch aloud, camera constantly pans to cleavages, wine's on full flow… Bizarreness never stops.
Mom beds her brother-in-law. Grand mom sleeps with sleazy old men. Granddad is terminally ill. Daddy is homosexual. Survival's tough, as you can tell. Being gay, tougher still. Surviving this scatter-brainless movie, toughest of 'em all.
But spare a thought for the two male lovebirds when cops walk in on their "chumma chaati" (making out) in the car. They're only making love, not war. Why then, why, should they be treated this way? We agree. Why should we go through this dumb flick? Dunno why. Maybe we ask the filmmakers: "Dood, tael me why, why..."