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Upperstall Review

Synopsis


Double Dhamaal

 

Hindi, Comedy, 2011, Color





Roy (Riteish Deshmukh), Adi (Arshad Warsi), Manav (Javed Jaffrey) and Boman (Ashish Choudhury) are back again! They are still as stupid and useless as before. Hard work is a strict no and the only work they have ever done in their lives is to lie down on their backside and dream about a good life where they have everything without doing anything! And then suddenly they see their old arch enemy - the corrupt Inspector, Kabir Nayak (Sanjay Dutt). But he's no longer a cop and instead of chasing crooks, he's chasing money - driving a Merc and owning a posh office and a lavish villa. The four mad caps are green with envy and decide that come what may, by hook or by crook they will share Kabir's good fortune. And so they blackmail Kabir into making them his business partners. What they don't know is that soon their dreams are going to turn into nightmares because Kabir has his own hidden agenda, only shared by his sultry wife, Kamini (Mallika Sherawat). and lovely sister, Kiya (Kangna Ranaut). And so starts a game of one-up-man ship, with both sides having tricks up their sleeves and where sundry characters like Batabhai (Satish Kaushik) and the King of Casino, Johnny Bonzola, turn up to make their foursome's life miserable. And of course, there's a helluva lot of money at stake...



Respected DadaSaheb Phalke Sir,

When you took that first step towards immortality in 1913, I am sure you must have wondered how Indian cinema will pan out, say, 100 years from then. I wondered the same too, soon after I was born - when Ram and Shyam were using a birthmark as the ultimate sign of brotherhood. Literally. Evolution, after all, is the way of life.

What you must not have expected, even in your wildest of Black & White dreams, is the idea of 4 mimicry artists loudly disrespecting everything that Indian Cinema has ever stood for, in the form of a ‘masala leave-brains-at-home-entertainer’. That’s what they call it, Sir. We have stars nowadays - the actors, Sir, are called ‘stars’ now. They are rich, talented artists. They say they do this to earn money and also because these films earn money. Well, why is prostitution illegal then? The same logic applies. Women earn money and entertain don't they? Inconsistent laws, if you ask me.

But these stars are not wrong. We Indians don’t laugh at the insanity of the situation at hand, or on screen. We never did. Instead, what tickles us is the sheer helplessness of being exposed to over-the-top stooges parading as circus animals on screen. It is funny, I admit it. Ridiculously funny that after 98 years of movies, we have totally forsaken the art and embraced the commerce of it.

So then, are we back to square one? Not at all, because square one was pure. It was an effort, a foray into a new world. Square one did not involve item numbers in which ladies shake their bosoms continuously (sex sells. Sorry, Sir) and grown men trying their utmost best to convince us that this is what we want. Well, some of us do. Some of us don’t mind having our intelligence being insulted and our brains taken for a juvenile ride that would put Ron Jeremy’s girlfriends to shame. But yes, we laugh. And we encourage lunacy. We like being labeled as the third-world slaves who endure a violent week at work only to look forward to escape into a world pierced with cries (read dialogue) of Kangna Ranaut and Farhan-Sajid jokes. In a recent interview, they claim to be proud upholders of comedy in this tragic country. People’s champions, basically.

This is not a review, sir. It is a sincere heartfelt apology. We know what you had expected of us, and we know it pains for you to watch countries like Iran, Israel and China churn out pathbreaking cinema where all genres are equally respected. But, then, some reviewers here blatantly discourage such efforts by labeling anyone who dares to rise above visuals of Ashish Choudhury’s cleavage as a ‘pseudo intellectual’. Well, we try.

We know it pains you to watch an evolved audience laugh at potty humour and desperate spoofs. There is nobody but everybody to blame. We are truly sorry. And I am personally sorry for laughing a bit as I watched this latest mental experiment. But I hope you know, sir, that I laughed because I was helpless. Just like the man who mounts the harlot, the ‘client’ we call him, and performs passionately in a desperate mist of tragicomedy. He knows it is forbidden, and he is already regretting it but why abandon the act midway? The environment demands it. It is, after all, a whorehouse.

Yours tragically,
Helpless Onlooker/Participant

- Reel Reptile




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