Delhi Belly
The film is true to its title, and dives deep into scatological mush, exploring the alimentary canal as never before done in the history of Indian cinema. It uses the basest of leitmotifs and terms ranging from the harmless FUCK to offensive Hindi references to shit-holes with unabashed and overwhelming abandon to make some people laugh with childlike delight and others cringe with extreme disgust and disdain.
It also has the lead actor performing a cunnilingus act on a petite actress, the object of his tonguing attention and he himself hidden under a quilt, and the actress faking the pleasurable sensations badly. The film is a bright blazing testimony to the libidinal and orgasmic liberation of the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC) in India and its ‘coming of age’ moment. We wish it got as liberal with political themes. We also wonder how the new CBFC Chairperson will rein in Bhojpuri film producers now after having set the Delhi Belly precedent.
The nine songs in the film are its most remarkable and unique elements, integrated deftly and holistically with the story and plot. They include the well-publicised item number performed by Aamir Khan. It does not compromise the film’s integrity and comes as an apt finale to a well-scripted, well-shot, well-directed, and outstandingly edited tale of three buddies going through a harrowing phase in their lives thanks to an innocent mix-up between a Russian babushka doll containing diamonds and a Dabar dibba filled with diarrheal shit.
It is a cocktail of the ‘Hangover’ and ‘Snatch’ genres. However, the Delhi Belly script predates the advent of the super-successful Hangover franchise. The film’s comic situations and humour are even better than Hangover 2.
So, what’s the story? It is a bagful of quirky co-incidences, with implausible loose-ended and often inexplicable plots and sub-plots with some truly inspired gags. The ‘diamonds-shit’ mix-up lands Imran Khan, and his roommates -- young cartoonist Vir Das, and an incorrigible foody, Delhi Belly afflicted big ass photographer Kunaal - into deep shit. The diamonds belong to Vijay Raaz, the reedy gangster with long flowing hair. Instead of valuable diamonds, he is delivered the worthless watery shit, a sample of Kunal’s Delhi Belly. The gangster and his muscly, funny, and dangerous-looking goons are out to get back their diamonds now.
And the chase begins, the shit happens, and when it ends it is the same ‘dhaak ke teen paat.’ The gangster and his goons die in a predictable and familiar shoot-out reminiscent of Ek Chalis Ki Last Local and Kaminey; Imraan and his friends get away with the booty as usual, while the babushka doll sits pretty on a drawing room shelf with diamonds worth a few crores in its deep belly. Imraan dumps his rich but stupid ‘cunnilingus’ addict fiancée Shenaz and opts for a brainy and bold Times of India journalist Poorna and performs a vigorous smooching and lip-chewing act on her. This is followed by a disco-fighter song with Aamir Khan and an energetic ‘come hither look’ dancer Anusha Dandekar. The visceral ‘Ja Chudail’ song is also choreographed beautifully and performed to perfection by Vir Das.
It is a path enthusiastically trodden by new-age Indian filmmakers with impressionable ‘blotting paper’ brains, prone to instantly absorb influences of cult movies by ‘gods’ among Hollywood auteurs like Guy Ritchie and Tarantino. In the past, we have seen films like ‘Ek Chalis ki Last Local’ by Sanjay Khanduri, and ‘Kaminey’ by Vishal Bhardwaj. Khanduri’s film was the most outstanding of all but for a fatal flaw. Its basic premise and plot were directly inspired by Hollywood films of similar genres, particularly a 1991 film by Geoff Burrowes titled ‘Run’. The story of Delhi Belly does not seem to suffer from such serious debility according to my limited knowledge. It comes across as a genuine article with Bollywood tadka of peppy songs and dance numbers.
What are the chances of Delhi Belly being accepted worldwide by an audience beyond the South Asian diaspora? Very little, almost nil. It is an old hat for western cult cinema audiences. There is nothing revolutionary happening here from their perspective. They have been watching better and bolder films of this genre for years now, in their own language and idiom. In terms of its plot and premise, it offers nothing new to young Indians either. Though the sexually explicit swear words and situations have pushed the envelope even further with the liberal use of stuff like ‘chut’, ‘madharchod’, ‘ bhosadi ke’, and ‘behanchod’ and the ‘cunnilingus’ sequence, it is too deliberate, noticeable, heavily underlined, contrived, and at times awkward an attempt and thus has limited impact beyond a point. Indiscriminate and continuous use of mirth inducing props like ‘fart’, ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘blow job’, etc. can be counterproductive.
Moreover, it is an alien genre, and it will take at least a decade before our genealogical structure is totally Americanised. An Al Pacino and Robert De Niro and Tarantino will always ‘fuck’ better than the brown-hued anglicised copycat owls and assholes who try to imitate their legacy and style.
Sometimes what is generally considered your strength may turn out to be your nemesis. For example, you have this excellent love story that also has a great love-making scene in a bedroom set-up. The probability is that the producer will use the naked entangled bodies of the lovers for his film’s poster, to appeal to the basest instincts of humanity to pull in the crowds. There might also be a case where he insists on the inclusion of the bedroom sequence in the film. That two-minute sequence may overshadow the main narrative and kill the film.
Delhi Belly suffers from this problem as well. Its language, the Bose D. K. song, and sequences like the ‘cunnilingus’ act, and its unrelenting toilet humour seem to have overshadowed its comedic narrative. For example, what great objective does the ‘cunnilingus’ scene serve in the film? Does it help in establishing Imraan’s character in a significant way? It is obvious that the scene is there to raise some laughter. But the fact is that people laugh more when the ceiling of the room caves in. That is a brilliant piece of gag writing, sans fucking and shitting and farting, just an event, a hilarious situation, very much in tune with the film’s narrative, and you have the audience rolling in their seats, dying of laughter. Neither the proponents nor the opponents of the film are talking about it. They are attacking or defending its Bose D.K song and language.
Vir Das and ever-dependable Vijay Raaz stand out with their brilliant character portrayals. However, the ensemble performance by the actors in Ek Chalis Ki Last Local remains the best among all Indian films of this genre. It had also recreated the lurking sense of terror and horror of the ruthless, shadowy, and lethal Mumbai nightlife and its underworld very effectively.
Is Delhi Belly a path-breaking film? No way. It sticks to the path like a leech. It has an overdose of all too familiar and easily accessible ploys and plots to induce ha ha heees and teehees. And it is not a 'sex comedy' as some reviewers have described it. There is very little sex and more of shit, grime, and dirt in it. If you want to watch a genuine sex comedy, watch Diana, Dodi, & Charles, a film in making for the last 18 years, for the want of an actress to play Diana who can speak the F word twenty times at one go without moral, social, and linguistic qualms.
RKS
