Grand Masti review: Calling it garbage is being polite
Grand Masti is one of the most ridiculously offensive movies I have ever had to sit through.
I can't believe Punjab and Haryana are the only ones who wanted to ban Indra Kumar's Grand Masti. It’s taken him almost a decade to get around to this sequel of 2004’s Masti, and yet, calling it garbage is the nicest way I can sum up the excruciating result.
Grand Masti is one of the most ridiculously offensive movies I have ever had to sit through. Not because this is an ‘adult comedy’ and I’m a prude. Or because I’m chanelling my inner feminist. And no, People In The Comments Section of All My Reviews, Karan Johar has definitely not paid me to trash this film (does this actually happen? How do I sign up?).
I say this because I am a fully awake, conscious and functional human being with a brain (however little I clearly choose to use it when I make decisions like watching movies like this one) and the atrocity of Grand Masti made me wish I had spent the morning being the weakest participant in Takeshi's Castle instead.
Grand Masti begins with remarkably long opening credits. No graphics, no dialogues, no panoramic views of beautiful places, no item number…nothing at all to distract you from the adrenaline rush of seeing credit after credit after credit on an otherwise blank screen.
When we finally get to the first scene, we meet three college friends, and our 'heroes' for the next couple of hours: Amar (Riteish Deshmukh), Meet (Vivek Oberoi) and Prem (Aftab Shivdasani). They’re graduating from college, but before they go, they feel obliged to school their juniors on the things they REALLY learnt as students there.
Like the alphabet. A is for Ass, kids, not Apple (cut to a montage of women’s bums in hot pants); B is for Breasts, not Ball, fool (cue tight shots of heaving cleavages), C is for C****, D is for Dil Se (?), and in the end all anyone wants is an F, right? Right. F-off.
Barely five minutes in, and it already makes sense that these three guys spent their years in a university where the alphabet is core curriculum. But let’s cut to six years later. Amar, Prem and Meet are married, unhappy, and all like, whoa, life is sux.
Amar is now a father who resents his newborn son Pappu because he’s coming in the way of Amar’s sex life with his wife. Meet is married to a woman who is his boss in the office where they both work—so, you know, that’s just terrible. And Prem is married to the ideal Indian wife whose only life goal is to take care of her husband’s extended family, so he’s not getting any either.
But never fear, college reunion time is here! The three boys’ wives can’t make it because they’re as lame as they look, so the sex-starved boys rejoice! The universe has just given them the perfect opportunity to cheat on their wives with a hottie that's naughty. “SLUTS, here we come!” they exclaim, and the camera zooms into Shree Lalchand University of Technology and Science.
If you start asking silly questions like hey, how come these three are the only ones who have shown up for the reunion, then I’m sorry but you’re not in this to win this. Sit back, relax and try not to have a hemorrhage as the utter nonsense that is this movie unfolds, punctuated with boobs and by the second half, *gasp* boners!
There’s a scene in which this bikini-clad girl (because this is how you really dress in college, you jhola-toting losers) asks these three idiots what time it is. Distracted, Amar replies, "Bra panties." Because it’s 12.35 pm, you guys! Oh. And have you met the three boys’ friend Hardik yet? This is very funny because, you know, HA-HA, hard-dick, geddit? (*wink, nudge*) How about Prem’s sister-in-law’s cat, Pussy? This is a massive comedy coup because, you see, now you can say howlarious stuff like, “Meri Pussy ne tumhara kya bigaada hai?” and her husband can nod in agreement and reply, "Haan, she always lets you play with her Pussy." Haha Haveyougotashotgunhandy?
I’m ordinarily quite forgiving of all three lead men, especially Riteish Deshmukh. I keep seeing some deeply embedded potential that I’m sure will shine through one day. But this is more than a colossal failure. The three actors try so hard to be comedic, that they look like they're having a seizure. Their respective wives don’t even make the slightest attempt to act, which makes them unbearable to watch. And finally we have Rose, Mary and Marlow (take a moment to say that out loud), the three ‘sthanning’ hotties the guys hope to hook up with, all of whom are always in dresses about three sizes too tight for their ‘milk factories’, and none of whom seem to be fluent in either Hindi or English. I’ve blocked out the music from my memory, and the dialogues made me cringe so much I swear I looked like a whole other person by the end of it.
All said and done, however, more disturbing than the actual movie itself was the audience reaction. An early morning show on the day of the film’s release rarely enjoys even a five-row occupancy—but this one was almost a full house. Mostly filled with men, and all hooting, clapping and whistling at every cheap joke, every hint of a boob or a bum, and every dialogue that I found to be crass and/or offensive (including, "Balatkaar se yaad aaya, meri biwi kidhar hai?"). I don’t know if that’s a reflection of the city I’m in (Delhi), or of the attitude of Indian men towards women in general—either way, yikes.
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