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KHANS SHIT-CRAMMED BELLY IS DIAMOND-LACED

  • Ankur Pathak

    Ankur Pathak (50 DM Points)

    Rated 
    4.0
    Desimartini | Updated - March 17, 2013 4:54 PM IST
    3.7DM (3092 ratings)
    Delhi BellyWatch trailerRelease date : July 01, 2011

    The countrys youth might be mostly redundant whilst in college, or if freshly passed-out, in the nostalgia of campus glitterati. However, potent use they are of is they make for excellent catalysts to film-makers who have repeatedly drawn inspiration casting their unpredictable, eccentric lifestyles for a cinematic hang-out.

    So if a Luv ka the End dwells on the angst of a teeny cutesy been two-timed heartlessly, a Shaitan debuts, rips apart the murky flesh of the reckless young-bees in totality.

    Aamir Khans Delhi Belly however is a study in contrast which mainly resides in the concept of mild escalation. A film with a seemingly grim plot given a laidback treatment to accommodate itself in the crime-comedy genre, Delhi Bellys flaunts a lot of cuss and guts, wits and bloated ceiling.

    Tashi (Imran Khan) a journalist who covers multiple beats (hes on a crime scene, he is on a music-video set) shares a smelly, discolored room with roommates Nitin (Kunal Roy Kapoor) whos his photographer, and Vir Dass Arup - a cartoonist. So to inspire a conflict in the otherwise mediocre life of these inconsequential, every-day bachelors, a stool sample is accidently (quite conveniently) miscarried to a local gunda (Vijay Raaz) whos expecting shimmering diamonds.

    Talk of the local goon, my most liked character, he is a person sketched with some inspired writing. For a criminal whos just been treated with yellow muck, hes refreshingly restrained and polite in his workings. He explodes like a fire-cracker when his aides devour in hotel-food instead of searching the room, a moment later hes composed as like any other professional in an off-beat field, calmly getting his stuff extracted from the accidental recipients.

    What follows is soaring catastrophe, unseen, uncalled for. The sudden surge of excitement in the trios life is as refreshing to the audience as is to them. Screen-writers insure they dont go on a reckless detour to add layers of complexity. Instead, a slice of humoristic topping is thrown-in here and there, your full attention warranted.

    Like Nitins hunt for a lavatory almost everywhere in the catastrophic expedition as hes got a terrible case of Delhi Belly.

    Like his blackmailing the landlord with pictures of him visiting a prostitute.

    Or like Arup getting dumped by girlfriend, who then avenges it by a brilliant musical (Ja Chudail)

    These are no doubt, untidy fillers neatly intertwined to strengthen a plot thats essentially shaky, but the refreshingly clear direction of Abhinay Deo (Of Game fame, eh, in-fame) is pleasing to witness.
    The conversation of the primary people is shamelessly uninhibited to the point of us getting awe-struck. In the full-Hindi version, you arent sparred.

    So if the size of the ass is compared to a mammoth animal, in the most unimaginable language you can think of, oral sex is conveyed through jaw-droopingly lucid language. Watch to figure what Im talking here.

    The three protagonists are an instance of clear stereotype. They stay dirty, nobody wakes up to fill water thus passing the buck (et), the fart is loud and clear and a conversation laced sans a cuss sounds strangely abnormal in their company.

    Yes, these are people instantly likeable. But these are also people with their graph stuck in middle. It is display of a lifestyle purely out of, again escalated imagination. It is lifestyle, three working youngsters sharing a pad desire, and feels right to live as. It is grossly aspirational. Not really, real.

    But no one complains.

    As long as Ram Sampats moronically kick-ass tunes classically harmonize the proceedings just at the right-instances, Delhi Belly rocks.

    Of Farts, Lost Diamonds and dry humping arousing real erection, Delhi Belly explodes refreshingly, lending Bollywood a breakthrough start to the second half of 2011.

    Its a film desperate to offend and shock you with the boldness it flaunts. That because, anything less from this shit-flavored comedy isnt acceptable.

    So the Belly clearly stinks and you dont want to spray it with lilies and lavenders.

    You let go.

    Because Akshat Vermas script of three years leaves little to cry for, but to barefacedly burn guffaws at.

    Because Imran Khan, Kunal Roy Kapoor, Vir Das and most of all Vijay Raaz just got a bustling firecracker shoved deeply uptight into their rears as their careers get a life-altering shift courtesy their consistently fantastic enactments.

    Because for once, our supposed hero is eclipsed correspondingly giving breathing space to each.

    Because the film ends with Kiran-Rao-ish climax that is cleverly flawed to include the imperfections and randomness of life.

    Because Shehnaz Treasury (the MTV VJ and of Ishq Vishq fame) is certainly of use, and Poorna Jagannathan is a potent discovery.

    Because Aamir Khan has crooked pale-yellowish-muck into money-spinning, sparkling diamonds.

    The men will relentlessly subscribe. For the fairer sex, what is it they say of diamonds?

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