Many years ago, Vyjayantimala came to epitomise a certain expectation. If a film starred her, it always meant there was a classical Indian dance to look forward to. Now in this new-age of crass conviction, there's Emran Hashmi, who also brings an expectation. Every time he's part of a cast, audiences know he'll indulge in deep-throat kissing with his leading lady.
The 'adult' situation finds the debutante heroine pulling out all the stops for a longish love-making sequence, which is meant to add value to this creaky love triangle with shades of Hrishikesh Mukherjee's "Jurmana" about the Good Boy (Sonu Sood), Bad Boy (Hashmi) and the pretty girl who comes between them.
The sandwich ain't as sumptuous as debutant director Aaditya Datt would like the menu to suggest.
The narrative has more bark than bite. And even the bark has its patches where the director seems clueless as to how to take his characters beyond their styling, dressing and cool-dude speech patterns that make them look like overgrown collegians.
The narrative goes astray on too many occasions to enumerate. Sadly, there are only three characters in the film, not counting the walk-on parts by characters (example Navin Nishchol as the heroine's visiting father) who seem to have been invited just to flesh out the skeletal triangle.
Himesh Reshammiya's songs are
welcome breaks, though they add nothing to the sinking progression of
the wobbly narration.
About 80 percent into the narration, the director -- seriously debilitated by the absence of conviction and inner logic -- gets mired in a series of absurdities. Suddenly, as it were, the Good Boy turns out to be the Bad Boy, leaving the girl between them as confused as we are.
"Why me?" she sobs to the Good Boy (before he turns bad).
Why us, we ask ourselves more than once as the narration cuts across all our conviction to serve up a picture that's as patchy as finger-painting done by a five-year old unruly kid in kindergarten.
The three performers vie with another in rolling their eyes and doing smirky somersaults with their facial muscles. Debutante Tanushree Dutta could possibly fare better if given better material. Here she struts around in a college campus in brief dresses bending down to retrieve fallen books for a generous view of her cleavage. That's as revealing as her performing abilities get.
Tanushree's two male stars vie with one another to prove who can give a hamburger more food for thought.
Emran Hashmi once again proves himself an adept kisser. But does that qualify him to pose as a hero?