As I left the cinema, my senses reeling from an inces- sant assault by what can only be described as an overblown attempt to try to Tarantino-ise Bollywood, I bumped into a regular cinemagoer who put it all into perspective. “Thank goodness for bad films,” she said. “At least it makes us appreciate the good ones.”
“Bad” is what this wannabe cult classic wants to be — “bad” in a rap, hip-hop sense — and while there are moments when it’s on the button by being surreal, bold and even quite brilliant, overall the package is let down by gross over-indulgence by first-time director Vijay Krishna Acharya.
Cutting-edge cinema is a simple medium. By all means, push the envelope as far as you possibly can, but don’t throw the whole post office at the audience, as Acharya has done, to the extent that one has to duck to avoid the postman’s flying bicycle!
He loses grip of the reins, as everything is overplayed in every scene.
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