JBC is an over-the-top and loud slapstick comedy that you have to be in a large group and a really giggly mood to enjoy. It’s often – by design – occasionally so crass and silly that it knowingly goes for the “it’s so bad it’s good” brand of humour.

The dogged attempt by Indian filmmakers and studios to bravely continue and dabble with animation has to be saluted. At a time when their core audience – kids – is used to watching multiple 24/7 international animation channels and picture perfect Pixar movies, every few months there will be at least one ambitious Indian effort. The makers know there’s no competition at a technical level. They must then, make the most with their story. And writer/director Amaan Khan turns to the oldest book in this trick: Mahabharat.

To use a poker metaphor (like the writers have done in the film unabated), this is like being dealt 2-7 unsuited in a game of Texas Hold ’em.

What the Fish’s wacky brand of humor works half the time but confounds in equal measure. It touches no chords and remains consciously superficial but it does have an ensemble that has clicked in a story oddly fresh in these times.

As a businessman, Prabhu Dheva has mastered the formula. But how long will the audience want to watch the same content – the same old fight and dance – repackaged over and over with different actors? Ask yourself.

Alas, nothing portrayed in the film is too deep for anyone – not the characters in the film, not the audience. And here’s the plight of GTPM – without a doubt every single person associated with the film is smarter than the film itself. It’s a classic Bollywood vice: talking down to the audience, not giving them enough credit, assuming you’re the intelligent one.

…not to be taken seriously. But certainly for lessons in how to charm the ladies less than half your age, give it a shot.

The only reason you’d want to watch Rajjo is if you’re an obsessive Kangana Ranaut fan. She’s like an elf amidst a sea of unflattering faces, and – almost literally -lights up every dingy frame. Otherwise rent yourself a copy of Salman Khan’s Baaghi, a superior movie with a similar theme.

Satya 2 didn’t need to be called Satya 2. There’s no connection to the original Satya whatsoever. If anything, christening this film Satya 2 is a sign of Ram Gopal Verma’s despair; trying to cash in on the film that made him a true force, a distinctive voice in Bollywood that heralded change in the mainstream, indeed created a genre.

If only Khanna had not taken a populist script and tried to put his non-commercial spin on it, Ishk Actually might’ve still been saved. Now he should try taking out the songs, the score, the poetry-ridden dialogue, and re-edit it down to 75 minutes complicating the logic further and start sending it to film festivals for instant success.