Jil Jung Juck review: A stretched second half spoils the show
Siddharth, Avinash Raghudevan and Sananth Reddy produce enough laughs through some great one-liners in the first half of the film but it all soon begins to feel laboured and repetitive.
Jil Jung Juck
Direction: Deeraj Vaidy
Cast: Siddharth, Avinash Raghudevan, Sananth Reddy, Nasser, Radha Ravi.
Often Indian cinema lifts ideas, scenes and sometimes entire plots from foreign fare. Deeraj Vaidy’s Jil Jung Juck (named after three characters in the film) has a striking resemblance to Hong Kong director Wong Kar-wai’s colour palate, especially his In The Mood For Love, and Quentin Tarantino’s black humour. Only that Vaidy does not turn these dark episodes in his work scary enough to send shivers down one’s spine. Or sadistic like Tarantino. Well, Vaidy perhaps wanted to keep Jil Jung Juck comic.
Which the movie is, certainly during the first half when Jil (played by Siddharth), Jung (Avinash Raghudevan) and Juck (Sananth Reddy) produce enough laughs through some great one-liners (though I found Siddharth’s deliveries garbled). And even when the really wicked men in the film like Radharavi’s Rolex Rawther come on, the comic thread does not snap.
Set in 2020, Jil, Jung and Juck are asked to deliver a shocking pink colour car -- which is, believe it or not, packed with cocaine -- to a Chinese (wonder why this nationality was chosen) customer in Hyderabad. The three men begin their journey that turns into a fantasy with the car being taken away -- en route -- by a movie unit (after the three men go on binge drinking in a bar) and blown to smithereens. This sets off a chain of incidents in which the J and J and J plan and plot to get a new car, have it painted pink and pack it with cocaine.
After the first 60-odd minutes, the antics of Jil, Jung and Juck begin to feel laboured, and the laughs are forced. It is not easy to spin a comedy of 132 minutes, and none of the actors seem capable of pulling off the laugh riot, which is a fantasy of sorts. Maybe, a 90-minute roll could have kept us tickled. And Indian cinema, certainly Tamil cinema, is really not adept at producing a comedy, a black comedy at that, without resorting to kiddish pranks on screen.
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This becomes a serious flaw post intermission, when Vaidy, who also wrote the script, runs out of ideas and begins to stretch scenes till they appear irritatingly repetitive. And the performances are passe as well, and do not add up either.