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Review: Karma

The opening credit suggests this film’s won honours at festivals called Corrinthian and Marbella. I wonder where those godforsaken places are, and what they do for adult-entertainment there, writes Mayank Shekhar.

movie reviews Updated: Jun 13, 2009 12:30 IST
Mayank Shekhar

Karma
Cast: Alma Saraci, Carlucci Weyant
Director: M R Shahjahan
Rating: * & 1/2

The only reason you may have heard of this film, if at all, is for an actor called Claudia Ciesla. 38DD, I’m told, is her last name. She first made acquaintance with thousands of Indians on Facebook, with a neat negligee on her profile pic. Within a month, we found her denying rumours of an affair with Salman Khan, and posing beside Abhishek Bachchan, whom she said she wasn’t particularly fond of — not a poor climb for a relatively unknown German semi-porn model.

We suspected the blitzkrieg was over her debut Indian film. It turns out she’s all over the tabloids, but you’d miss her in this film, where you decided to tie your shoelaces at the wrong moment. She plays a ghost, for a few seconds. The movie itself concerns a bored couple from New York. The boy is half-Indian (one stone-faced Carlucci Weyant), visiting his estranged father’s quaint tea-estate town of Victorian vintage, with a white thaanedaar. His wife’s an orphan (Alma Saraci), besotted by anything Indian. The princely Papa (Vijayendra Ghatge) is quick to offer her Indian culture with a growl, ‘Ayushmana Bhavah’, every time she dives to his feet.

It is but also part of the Indian awareness to be a reincarnation of someone. The woman’s past life visits her as a hippie-girl who’d been murdered in the same hill-town 30 years before. She experiences phantom visions of her previous birth, but remains dutifully in heat in the bedroom for her husband, while heaving in horror otherwise.

The opening credit suggests this film’s won honours at festivals called Corrinthian and Marbella. I wonder where those godforsaken places are, and what they do for adult-entertainment there. Ashok Amritraj and Jug Mundhra’s exotic desi B-graders of the early ’90s, I suspect, were Citizen Kanes compared to this.