HTpl
The most vexing thing that happened to me this winter was HTpl. With so much appreciation n regards for Farhan A.(later dis yr did this occured to me that it was
sum Reema Kagti under Farhan's Production House.), to hav actually descended
upon a movie which starred sum of the best artists of the contemporary times other than the rest Crisp Fillers {or rather Stars, not to offend the emotions of may be a few of u, though I 've my balls on the other side of the court(hey, plz, it's jst a phrase. I m minus any secret illnesses). Stars and Stardom: The rate at which cretin pimps, (performances for whom are no more than hw well their bitches help dere customers dispose off their virility) are being approached by these ever-hot-wallet-buffoons turned producers, and rising to stardom(much hyped n peeped by the idle media), all this seems to be generating a die-hard accost to the planetary space in the heat to outnumber its occupants. Now, this, is a peculiar situation, becoz with more no. of stars on earth (in Bollywood n Tollywood itself), than outside, the Sun may get confounded n move out of the constellation, with or without replacements, in which case, pee-pill may hav to sell their refrigerators (including the dowried ones) at hair-falling rates.
The author will not, in any case be answerable for any other mishap, if condensed..}
Coming back to the topic, so with so much in mind, n an honest intention to
promote the movie with all gust n enthusiasm, I was there in PVR Spice, for the first
Nation-wide release of the movie, 1st day, 1st show, to be precise.
Gasping and breathing out all possible, feasible moments of excitement, joy, n loads
of admirations that were to follow, I sat dere besides my inamorato, mesmerized by
the aura, which I could actually touch n taste, of the next two n a half-three hrs to come.
woooooofff...there I was, perennially leaking goodies for the director, the performers, (jst look at this...) the hall, the gendry around (though the lights were already turned off, n I c'ld see none), the day that had been, n the rest that was going to be.
I didn't wanted to listen to anything (any damn imp. thing, "there is a test tommorow", "what abt the assignment?", "where will we have food after this?", nothing, no crap...) except for discussions in the affirmative abt the whole crew, the sets, the movie...
And then, the moment arrived. The tatterdemanil touts sublimed and the
authorization page of the Indian Censor Board revealed a "U" after the name of the motion picture, which too found me in relief, for I content to know that those jiffy moments (peculiar to a U/A) of uncomfortable silences would not surface. I
rearranged myself on my seat, n asked my accomplice to do the same, as if those
were instants before Derrk O' Brian would penalize us wid his rapid-fire.
I 'ld realize this later that this was the highest I could reach n dat from here everything else was on the down-tread.
The Movie-
Scene 1-
Diya Mirza, in her radiating, 80S51 microprogrammed pink(too pink for a pink) saari, is crying her gut out, n it seems dat the reason is none other than the grief of departing her maiden-house in order to settle with her baniya(sahukaar) types, "Yahaan Peshaab karna mana hai" husband, Ranvir Shorey.
Though not so hilarious, but this was OK, n not a bad start for a to be followed awesome "paisa-wasool picture" .
Scene 2-
Kay-Kay Menon faces the camera, n I start regaining my avid interest, but then, wat is he doing. Though equally mediocre to the one above, but where is the script that was supposed to bind my attention to the minutest of details. It must be there.
May be, I, spellbound by the palpable idea of the movie, am not paying the necessary heed.
Yes, thats the flaw, n its wid my fidget psyche.
Ok, sorry movie..
From now, I 'll pay you all the regards that you deserve...
Scene 3-
Enter Minissha Lamba n Abhay Deol, in a more siblings (if its so, that too adulterated) outlook, than a couple.
One sec, what is this??
Where is the performance I am dying to admire, and the concept which 'ld either make me shiver of nostalgia, or make me crack up hee-haw. Is it with the biker, whose identity has yet not been conceded (the fact which is forcing small proportions of adrenalin play arnd my viens, n making me itch to the call), or with the most talented versatile performing pair of Shabana Azmi and Boman Irani. May be their entry (entry as in overtaking other pithy stories) would incite the humour cells to tickle. May be, lets see...
Scene 4-
Shanbana Azmi (the fact that she is one of the big time performers of the Indian Film Industry, daughter of Kaifi Azmi, the wife of Javed Akhtar, n nw the mother of Farhan Akhtar, certainly has something to do with the dominating, creamy-at-will personality that has infact surmounted her ingenious, innovative, exploring self) and Boman Irani, both inherently talented actors, could, to my gravest disappoinment not add sugar or even a tea-bag to the boil of expectations n tenterhooks occupying my mind.
Where is this thing(Hats Off T!!) going?
What is this movie abt?
Is this what I am here for?
This!!
But, this is chaff, all crap..
To this blatant misuse of democratic freedom to access the
media, without wasting anymore of my creative ideology n innovative imaginations on what
was being screened, I submitted.
And then, there was anarchy.
Ranvir Shorey out, showpiece mannequin Arjun Rampal in.
Closeted Homosexuals, gay men, lesbian women, orgies, UFOs, dianosours, Shaktiman (rolled out as the only super-hero, with a permanent sink to test his libido-Shaktiwoman)
What the fuck??
Is this a movie?
And should the government permit release of such movies in countries like India, Pakistan, etc (where nothins stable, n every position, every government, every status, everything stands on the tip of a belfry), without an M(moron) certificate issued to the same in public interest.
Well, I gave up, but to be honest, I could'nt bear it, n was on Disprin for the next one week.
It was then that I realized-
"All that glitters is not gold,
and all that stinks is not shit."
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