tashan

Aaditya Chopra starts his film by casting Mr. Bulging Biceps and Mr. Handsome Hunk, the top billing male stars, followed by Ms. Newly Toned Thighs. Then he works on song, dance, and orgy numbers whereby Bulging Biceps, Handsome Hunk, and Newly Toned Thighs can gyrate, sensually thrust their booties back and forth, mock-rub their genital areas against imaginary polls, get intertwined, and display their precious assets against a backdrop of phirang Hot Pants and Wet Bikinis. You don’t actually notice male dancers in this melee.

After having introduced these masturbation aids for Internet-illiterate audiences, he turns to selecting jokes and gags with genital genesis, a sure-shot routine to extract laughter from horny audiences. Now the setting of the film has to be chosen. It has to be a wet setting, to add a slippery, shimmering, and poetic touch to Ms. Toned Thighs, ‘water on fire’ or ‘fire in/on water’ kind of stuff.

Are you still interested in the story of the film? You must be a film critic. ‘Saale baal ki khaal nikalate rehetein hain. Film chal rahi hai na? Log dekh rahein hain na? Maal aa raha hai na? Kahani ki batti bana ke apne …us mein daaloge kya? Sab khol ke dikha diya, phir bi poochate ho ki story kidhar hai. Phir poochoge story men naya kya hai? Phir kahoge yeh yahan se churaya aur woh wahan se. Maane yeh bhi koi baat hui?’

Of course there is a story in the film. There is a big time hinglish maroing goon whose ill-gotten Rs.25 crores are purloined by his secretary with the help of a call centre cool dude. The goon sends another guy to unearth the girl and recover the money. The girl happens to be the childhood flame of the perpetually unshaven recovery agent who knows all the known and unknown fighting styles in the world and is ajar, amar, ‘aatma’ personified. Nothing can hurt, wet, burn, dry, cut, kill, and move him or his manhood, except, of course, the childhood flame.

Now this childhood flame is coincidentally the daughter of another dead goon who was literally stabbed in the back and murdered by the reigning goon. Needless to say, but let me say, the recovery agent fights for his childhood flame and she gets her chance to take her revenge as well by flying up into the air and coming down, thrusting a meter-long double-edged sword through the big goon’s chest, pushing it to the hilt, making it come out from his back at the end of a twenty minute-long climax scene in which the big goon tries to douse the fiery flame by pouring tonnes of water on her with a six inch hose pipe. The big goon conks off in style while trying to escape on a well decorated cycle rickshaw. Incidentally, all these goons are bhaiyyas hailing from Kanpur and Banaras.

Bhojpuri filmmakers should slap a case on Yashraj films for blasphemy, for aaltu faltu nakal of their pure genre and for making an impure hash of it. They must do it now before all these upmarket film-fakers usurp and abuse their honest themes, style, and music to claim name, fame, and box office gold. And Kareena must understand that what turns Jr. Pataudi on, may not work with desi audiences. The stark and naked truth is that a hari bhari Sambhavana Seth is a classier, sexier, and juicier holistic cure for erectile dysfunction than sookhi sukhadi Ms. Newly Toned Thighs. This is strictly a male perspective, which is what matters to Indian filmdom. Check it out for yourself -

Likewise, Tamil filmmakers should also rake up the issue. They should send ‘Shame! Shame!’ messages to Dadasaheb Phalke awardee, uncrowned badshah of Switzerland, revered, and worshipped hamaare pyare Yash Chopra Ji for bringing disrepute to their genre of cinema with such uninspiring and horrendous imitation of their masterpieces.

Now, if Yashraj Films really claim to be fervently and desperately seeking great film ideas and reading scripts, and if they discover gems like Tashan after their arduous and uphill search, they are obviously lying. Ten films like Tashan can be written in a day by the most moronic of film hackers. It is a single paragraph script, backed by a big time studio, top line stars, and authored by a few ‘kuein ke medhaks’ and pigs, caught up in a rut, wading, and wallowing in their own (or stolen) ancient shit and piss, ensconced and encapsulated in its comforting, familiar, and heady stink. They also unleash this shit over the hapless cinema audiences by clever packaging, using their media and marketing power.

Yashraj Films is sliding, going the Ram Gopal Verma way, and it is evident in the promos of their forthcoming attractions. Yet again a big brand is so keen to commit hara-kiri. Why is it so difficult to open up your hearts, minds, and studio doors to new ideas and people? Why do you hate humanity so much? What kind of sickness is this? Is it the usual mindless arrogance and megalomania? Is there a cure for it? There is. Thoda saans lo khuli aur har tarah ki mahak se bharpoor khaalis hindustani hawa mein. Band kamare mein deemag band ho jaata hai, bus DVD player chalta hai...