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Home / Movie Reviews / Review: The Train

Review: The Train

Raksha Mistry's The Train is an oh-no, with Emraan Hashmi often looking as if his lips needed premature retirement. Khalid Mohamed tells more.

movie-reviews Updated: Jun 08, 2007 19:47 IST
Khalid Mohamed
Khalid Mohamed

The Train
Emraan Hashmi, Geeta Basra, Sayali Bhagat
Direction: Raksha Mistry-Hasnain S Hyderabadwala
Rating: *1/2

North or south, after that utterly forgotten Pramod Moutho, he possesses Indian cinema’s busiest mouth. It puckers-palpitates-`n’-pouts for a smooch.In dire circumstances, this famous mouth even sticks itself right into a woman’s. And she has no choice but to close her eyes, groan deeply and bear it. So do you.

In fact, The Train co-directed by Raksha Mistry and Hasnain S Hyderbadwala (they needed two non-vegetarian brains to make this Kheema Sutra!), has very little to do with the rail transport system, a murder-shudder mystery or Hollywood’s Derailed. Naaah, banish the thought.

Hail, it’s a tribute instead to the very overstressed lips of a certain Mr Emraan Hashmi, who will some day surely go on stage to receive the Lifetime Chumma Chaati Achievement Award for the highest number of liplocks and nuzzles after a glass or two of whisky guzzle. Truly, Mr Hashmi is a puzzle.

How does he do it? Evidently, a stubble is a must to invite female trouble. Hubble bubble. Hence Mr Hashmi with the no-Gillette look drinks rum when his wife (Sayali Bhagat) pounces on him on the sofa. So good. He kisses her, she kisses him (you count at least four tongue twisters) but aaah, their ailing child demands attention. Interruption. Mr and Mrs send their smudgy lips to the laundry.

<b1>Next: Hashmi meets this enticing pair of legs (Geeta Basra), her face covered by a newspaper. What a caper. Soon, they’re going for each other’s lips as if they were eating the last of this season’s mango slices. Haapus anyone?

But adultery never pays.So, Hashmi and Legs dance, sing, drink coffee, eat a toffee and hit the bed in a sleazy hotel. They kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss all over again but aah, a Bangkok Badmash, worse than Prem Chopra-Ranjeet, barges in for a rape scene, goes ha-ha-ha..whereupon Hashmi faints like a dainty little lady. If this is herogiri, then I’m Spiderman.

No hugs.. or err.. kisses.. for guessing the outcome. The son of Chopra-Ranjeet (who’s this ham please?) takes off on a blackmailing spree. Gee, no more jumma chummas.

Throughout, the joint direction looks as if it were trying to get into the groove of a Mukesh Bhatt-production. The dialogue is pure pap, going on about how wounds heal but leave behind scars. Waah, what a discovery. The cinematography is frequently scary, at one point even zooming out from Hashmi’s furry armpits. Ewww.

More stale than steamy, this B-gradish effort is redeemed to a degree by Mithoon’s peppy music score. Otherwise it’s an oh-no, with Emraan Hashmi often looking as if his lips needed premature retirement, former Miss India Sayali Bhagat smiles and smiles till your jaw aches.. and Geeta Basra looks like a walking-talking cosmetic factory. More Nirasha than Bipasha Basu, she.

Bottom-line: Think a 1001 times before going towards The Train.. look before you lip.

ht epaper

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