In Priyadarshan's latest film, Akshay Kumar, playing a miserable indentured chauffeur, whines about the state of his ragged uniform. He speaks of how the belt is held up by a pyjama drawstring, how the button is hanging on for dear life, and how there's really nothing holding it together.
He may well have been speaking of the film itself, a loud, overlong collection of slapstick subplots that would have nothing in common but for one man.
Priyadarshan, refusing as always to call himself a director -- 'filmed by,' proclaim his credits -- attempts to stitch together this ragtag quilt in his usual style, ending up with a stupidly elaborate monstrosity.
All manner of morons -- philanderers, dognappers, murderers, hookers, marriagable daughters and dumb-waiters -- congregate in a plush Singapore hotel, and chaos ensues. Big surprise.
There is much slamming of doors and misunderstandings
Yet the film has been a damp squib right from the get go. The flaccid first half never quite recovers, and while the second half musters up a few genuine moments of mirth -- mostly because Manoj Joshi's face turns positively scarlet in anger -- it's too cruelly long to really help things. Also one suspects those rare second-half laughs occur simply because one is mindnumbed into submission.
Akshay takes the safe route and spends most of the film locked in a cupboard; Paresh Rawal might have been funny had he delivered one single line without screaming; Katrina Kaif is reduced to crawling on the floor so Rajpal Yadav can trip over her; Shakti Kapoor plays *cough* a letch; Johnny Lever isn't altogether awful and Asrani gets a couple of laughs.
The only relatively pleasant surprises are Neha Dhupia looking startlingly yummy and the usually punctilious Vikram Gokhale being kicked, insulted and leapt upon -- the last bit by the aforementioned Ms Dhupia, just in case you were wondering.
Those are indeed the high points, so to speak. You've been warned.
Rediff Rating: 
