Saawariya – Oh! But why?

There are ways and ways of describing just how bad a film is. But this one truly beats me. Suffice to employ the same hubris with which Sanjay Leela Bhansali likens himself to Bimal Roy ("If today Bimal Roy made Sujata or Do Bigha Zameen he'd be slammed by critics. They'd destroy him"), and proclaim, "If someone gave me one-third of Saawariya's budget and the same story, I'd have made a better film."

Honestly, I'd heard so many unflattering adjectives ascribed to it, besides which, my own vision was already coloured Black from my last Bhansali outing. So I went in assuming that whatever was out there would surely be better than the worst I've imagined! It wasn't. It was actually much, much worse. And then one had heard Bhansali's bleeding heart crying out for justice on national television asking critics to take off their tinted glasses and weigh his film on merit. He doesn't realise it's better this way – if they attacked him, it would still be a softer blow considering his 'haloed' reputation as a genius filmmaker.

If they decided to review Saawariya on merit…well, what's there to discuss? The kitschy blue sets in nowhereland (or is it in Baz Lurhmann territory? But even Moulin Rouge –colossal drag as it was -- had a sense of temporal and spatial unity) the character-less people living on this bizarre set (and we're not referring to the prostitutes!), the acting, the dialogues, the music, the direction (or lack thereof??)? And oh, let's not forget the star kids. I kept watching Ranbir making an ass of himself and wondering how he failed to inherit the spontaneity his father had as a 16-year-old in Mera Naam Joker. Sonam Kapoor is even worse of, because while Ranbir gets adequate screen time for us to at least gauge his potential, she has precious little to do. Except make you feel ticklish with her sudden bursts into unexpected, eerie laughter.

A senior executive at Sony mentioned a few weeks before the release of Saawariya that Bhansali had kept his film tightly under wraps and didn't show it to anyone at Sony all the way till the release. Now I'm wondering if the director ever saw the entire film himself or did he just doze off like he used to at the FTII while learning film direction (he mentioned in an interview that he'd never watched the classics of world cinema because he had an eye problem that made him doze off midway through screenings!) – and therefore lost his way so very badly.

Deepa Gumaste

OM SHANTI OM: GIMME A KARZ ANY DAY

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