Review of Drona
Cast: Abhishek Bachchan, Priyanka Chopra, White Horse, Eiffel Tower Man
Direction: Goldie Behl
Rating: *(mainly for the Disco statue)
Cluck, cluck, Drona sucks. It’s a colossal waste of precious crores which could have been allocated to the Bigg Boss inmates who’re happy with mere lakhs. In fact, here’s a pathetic hotch-‘n’-potch — a manic Indiana Jaanam, Harish Potter, Bored of the Rings and Starved Wars. The farce be with you.
Frankly, it’s the worst movie in decades, fighting for the Rotten Tomato Award with Ram Gopal Varma ka Ugh. Goldie Behl ka Drona demonstrates that just getting half-saleable actors and easily impressed production honchos (what were the Lullas of Eros Entertainment thinking of?) are sufficient reason to drive you cashews. The nut fest moves from modern-day Czechoslovakia and Prithviraj Chauhan-time Rajasthan to a bygone-era Morocco. Here a dwarf goes hee-haw-hee till you want the li’l fellow to shut-up-please. Quease.
Worse, you quiver because of at least five travesties. First: Jaya Bachchan shows up in a scary special appearance. A brand ambassador, it would seem, for Rajasthan Cottage Emporium’s Ila Arun-style ghagras, she gets hysterical about meeting an estranged son (like she always does) and makes a speech (careful, careful) about how the world must be saved. And presto, she turns into a statue in a disco pose. How Shiamak Davar! Instead of being immediately exhibited at the Louvre, this Putli bai stands for days in the deserts. No one comes to see her though.
Second, the special effects often look like electronic varicose veins. And hey, keep your smelling salts ready on sighting the baddy maddy (Kay Kay Menon, insufferable with a gelled Eiffel Tower on his scalp). Campy Eiffel parodies Mogambo Puri and even creates a candle wax version of himself just in case the electricity goes off. Honestly, this dude’s as funny as Johnny Lever-Jaspal Bhatti-Priyadarshan-Abha-Dhaba-Rabba-Guddi. Alas, unintentionally.
Third, our hero Drona Groana (Abhishek Bachchan, portly, hopelessly miscast) is a shockingly weak. He’s tormented and tormented till you want to torment him too. Infectious. To his rescue, finally arrives a la-di-dah bodyguard (Priyanka Chopra, carrying more knives than dear Jaya Bachchanji in Zanjeer). More weakling’s aids: blue rose petals, a tired white horse, a monk with a ticklish beard and a nun sweeter than a cherry bun. Fun? Forget it.
Four, it’s not quite what clear sort of powers are enabled by a mithai box-like bracelet. It should turn our Drona into Spiderman, Batman, Superman, Krrish, Shrek, Nemo, Mimoh, you get the drift. But it doesn’t. Awwww.
Five, the songs are hit-and-run cases. The dialogue is obsessive about the word “shristhti” perhaps in a homage to the co-producer? The photography is blotchy. And the ending hints at a sequel. Hide in your cupboards already!
Like it or not, Drona is artless, arrogant, brazenly derivative and terribly acted by one and all (except for that puckish dwarf maybe). Behl toys around with special effects which have been served by Hollywood’s sword-and-sorcery epics decades ago. Truly, throughout you suffer, feel like a blue petal and sob about the state of cinema today. RIP.