Starring: Vivek Oberoi, Aftab Shivdasani, Riteish Deshmukh, plus 6 starlets who are game.
Directed by Indra Kumar
Rating: *1/2
Is that Farhan Akhtar's Lucky 3 from Dil Chahta Hai standing under Indra Kumar's lucky tree from Dil?
We can re-christen Grand Masti as Dildo Chahta Hai. And if that sounds
crude then wait till you see and hear what Indra Kumar's new cocksure
comedy has in store for you. There is no pulling back from the black
hole of luridness this time. The horny trio of boys from Indra Kumar's
Masti are all groin up now.
They still continue to be obsessed with one part of their anatomy and two parts of the other gender's.
I remember many of Indra Kumar's film featured a particular tree which
the director considers lucky. There is a tree here in Grand Masti too,
where a rigid college principal hangs any student who looks with
lascivious intent at the girls on the campus.
A spot of Agneepath in a film where life, strictly below the waist is not just hard. It's hard-to-get.
The three leering...sorry leading men who, ummmm, come together
represent the spirit of defiant devil-may-care
let's-just-stand-erect-and-stare skirt-chasing that seems at odds with
the current save-women-from-rape mood of the country. If you feel movies
that objectify women must be discouraged then you are advised to stay
as far away from this horny farce as possible.
Lekin horny ko kaun taal sakta hai?
There are the comedies. Then there are the SEX comedies. Filled with
innuendos, suggestive leery double-meaning dialogues that make us
chuckle and giggle even if we are not the sort who like to exchange
dirty jokes in the sms, Grand Masti has itself a ball at the expense of
basic good taste.
The gags in Grand Masti unabashedly celebrate the puerile spirit of sms
forwards. You know those jokes about women's breasts and men in a
perpetual state of arousal that are exchanged among 12-year old boys who
have just discovered the birds and the bees?
If you packaged those pssst-pssst jokes from your puberty in plenty of
loud aggressive dialogues loaded with double meanings and oodles of
close-ups of breasts of all shapes and sizes you'd get into the spirit
of Grand Masti.
To their credit the three, er, boys Aftab Shivdasani, Vivek Oberoi and
Ritesh Deshmukh, now in their mid-30s, get into the spirit of the
sex-comedy full-on. Oh, they love talking dirty!
The one thing
that works fully in this film's favour is it unabashed homage to
horniness. Our three heroes are perpetually aroused. To prove it they
emanate moans groans and sighs constantly.
They smack their lips and roll their eyes as though to remind us that
some things in life, like skirt-chasing in films about men on the prowl,
never change, even if you have a wife at home that you can't change.
Director Indra Kumar has never been a slave to subtlety. Here he pulls
out all stops. He also pulls out other ummentionable objects that are
defiantly pointed into our faces. Phallic objects abound. They come in
all shapes and sizes.Take it or leave it.For the climactic eruption the
director has all the male protagonists hanging by a ledge where the
women must strip to create a rescue rope.
One really can't complain about the film's remarkably steep level of
innuendos. Not a single member of the audience for Grand Masti expects
anything but coarse humour borrowed from low-brow Gujarati plays.
Writer
Milap Milan Jhaveri's wickedly wanton word-play leaves no space for
subtlety in the script. There is repeated humour about a woman with
over-sized breasts repeatedly offering the guys a `free darsha of her
`dono doodh ki factory.
Stand-up comedian Suresh Menon shows up as a mock-villain wearing a
golden underwear whose roominess keep inflating and deflating according
to the mood.Early on in this pubescent homage to hard-ons Menon gets the
privilege of walking up to a woman and sheathing her umbrella with a
condom.
The obscenity flows out unstopped, unchecked, uncaring of rudimentary
rules of decency. Having declared this to be irreverent territory
director Indra Kumar doesn't really care how lowbrow the humour gets.
And the jokes happily really plumb to unimaginable depths. In one
sequence the writing crackles and hisses with pleasure as Shivadsani
gets his private parts bitten by a cat called, hold your breath, Pussy.
What can be said about the writing when the three ladies whom the
married heroes make out with are named Rose, Mary and Marlow, only so
that their names can together sound like `roz-meri-mar-lo, meaning,
very crudely, bang me every day.
Ha ha ha, to that.
If mammary...sorry, memory serves me correctly the same Rose-Mary,joke
was used in that other recent tribute to lewdness Kya Super-Cool Hain
Hum.
I guess the smut society is smitten by the same sms jokes.
More than the boys I salute the three pairs of ladies playing the trio
of gharwallis and baaharwallis for surrendering to the sexually
suggestive spirit of the proceedings. A woman really needs to have
nerves of steel to refer to her breasts as, `doodh ki factory.`
The writing and direction in a film such as this is either a sign of
absolute innocence about political correctness or indicative of an
obstinate disregard for all good taste.
Take your prick...I mean, pick.
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