You've seen it all before. Now it's merely a matter of putting all the pieces together – you can even play a game of 'spot the reference'. Or revel in the nostalgia, because Shah Rukh himself has persistently psyched you to do so over the last two months. I was quite content watching the film's promos 200 times a day, reading reams about SRK's six-pack, viewing mindless discussions on the telly about which film would win the battle of the eyeballs – OSO or Saawariya. Unfortunately, while audiences may take their pick and SRK may eventually bulldoze the star kids with his muscle-power, one doesn't really spot a winner here.
OSO does begin on a promising note – with a beautifully cut sequence of Rishi Kapoor's original 'Om shanti om' number from Karz, interspersed with shots of SRK playing a part in the audience for the same shoot as an extra. As the reels crawl on though, the refrain, "picture abhi baaki hai mere dost," assumes ominous proportions, because quite like a 70-mm, 23-reel production of the '70s, there really is no end in sight. Farah Khan plods on with her retro obsession and a melange of acts culled from the inimitable kitsch of puffed bouffant, polka-dotted shirts, exaggerated mannerisms and full-blown melodrama fame. And this is the better half of the film– SRK and Shreyas Talpade are a riot, and the evocative throwback to the period is a delight.
But in between all the campy jokes and usual suspects, jibes at Bollywood's who's who (including SRK himself – "he looks a little short in real life, doesn't he?") and a totally irreverent homage to its outlandish ways, OSO is OTT from start to finish and designed to allow SRK a pot-shot at everyone from Manoj Kumar and Govinda to Sooraj Barjatya and Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Of course Farah loves the movies and so does Shah Rukh. Who doesn't? We already know their clout and camaraderie with all the industry bigwigs – yeah, even the Bachchan father-son duo make a guest appearance in this circus stuffed with guest appearances of all sizes and shapes, and from originals to duplicates aplenty. The film's title song is almost like a parliamentary 'show of strength' – a parade of the camp's friends and supporters.
All along you're constantly reminded that we're firmly in Manmohan Desai-Subhash Ghai territory – thematically, it's simply a rehash of Karz (albeit with a fair acknowledgement of the source), while the treatment is MKD all the way – and anyone who grew up in the '70s would make an instant identification. But even MKD's cinema worked only when it had its heart in place. And OSO clearly doesn't. In trying to create the mother of all spoofs, FK and co. seem to have discounted the basic mechanics of melodrama – creating characters that an audience would 'feel' for in the most incredible of situations, and especially in a tale the demands tremendous suspension of disbelief. Karz worked not just for its splendid music, but also the inherent honesty of its story-telling and the charm Rishi Kapoor infused to his part.
So yes, even though Deepika Padukone makes a confident debut and SRK makes light of the fact that he's over twice her age and is beginning to look haggard (six-pack or not) and Farah is a bright director (going by Main Hoon Na, at least), OSO isn't exactly a scrumptious offering from a dreamy-eyed film buff. It’s a cheeky film with a few funny moments, but nothing that can actually give you a sense of what makes Bollywood’s crazy dream-machine tick.
Deepa Gumaste
OSO does begin on a promising note – with a beautifully cut sequence of Rishi Kapoor's original 'Om shanti om' number from Karz, interspersed with shots of SRK playing a part in the audience for the same shoot as an extra. As the reels crawl on though, the refrain, "picture abhi baaki hai mere dost," assumes ominous proportions, because quite like a 70-mm, 23-reel production of the '70s, there really is no end in sight. Farah Khan plods on with her retro obsession and a melange of acts culled from the inimitable kitsch of puffed bouffant, polka-dotted shirts, exaggerated mannerisms and full-blown melodrama fame. And this is the better half of the film– SRK and Shreyas Talpade are a riot, and the evocative throwback to the period is a delight.
But in between all the campy jokes and usual suspects, jibes at Bollywood's who's who (including SRK himself – "he looks a little short in real life, doesn't he?") and a totally irreverent homage to its outlandish ways, OSO is OTT from start to finish and designed to allow SRK a pot-shot at everyone from Manoj Kumar and Govinda to Sooraj Barjatya and Sanjay Leela Bhansali. Of course Farah loves the movies and so does Shah Rukh. Who doesn't? We already know their clout and camaraderie with all the industry bigwigs – yeah, even the Bachchan father-son duo make a guest appearance in this circus stuffed with guest appearances of all sizes and shapes, and from originals to duplicates aplenty. The film's title song is almost like a parliamentary 'show of strength' – a parade of the camp's friends and supporters.
All along you're constantly reminded that we're firmly in Manmohan Desai-Subhash Ghai territory – thematically, it's simply a rehash of Karz (albeit with a fair acknowledgement of the source), while the treatment is MKD all the way – and anyone who grew up in the '70s would make an instant identification. But even MKD's cinema worked only when it had its heart in place. And OSO clearly doesn't. In trying to create the mother of all spoofs, FK and co. seem to have discounted the basic mechanics of melodrama – creating characters that an audience would 'feel' for in the most incredible of situations, and especially in a tale the demands tremendous suspension of disbelief. Karz worked not just for its splendid music, but also the inherent honesty of its story-telling and the charm Rishi Kapoor infused to his part.
So yes, even though Deepika Padukone makes a confident debut and SRK makes light of the fact that he's over twice her age and is beginning to look haggard (six-pack or not) and Farah is a bright director (going by Main Hoon Na, at least), OSO isn't exactly a scrumptious offering from a dreamy-eyed film buff. It’s a cheeky film with a few funny moments, but nothing that can actually give you a sense of what makes Bollywood’s crazy dream-machine tick.
Deepa Gumaste
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