Most mistake their clothes for attitude. I just worry for the heavy icons we offer them, and lessons we dole out. Step into this employment exchange entertainment.

You can tell, this is a B movie that was suddenly allowed better budgets later in its making. The picture is supposedly based on the mysterious murder of Indian Express journalist Shivani Bhatnagar in ’99.

You couldn’t care less for the characters, let alone the frikin’ killer. Anupam Kher’s the film’s leading man. Talented Pawan Malhotra plays the second lead. Which is good to know, so far as risking with top billings are concerned. Bombay films may still seem far from producing draws like a matured Meryl Streep. We could soon have Philip Seymour Hoffmans of our own. How about a “did he, did he not” like Doubt (2008) to match expectations from a script as well? Ah, never mind that.

They reveal a rapidly expanding new India, with a newer, more confident voice. An outsider’s persistence and talent are finally turning out to be fine levelers. Doors of their workplace don’t appear locked from the inside anymore. Small town is subsequently big. In Bollywood. As in cricket. Wedding’s the other middle Indian obsession. That’s what this film’s about. You should definitely take these guys up on the invitation.

I know, the next time you miss your husband: you’d unlock the gun. Reload the bullets. Aim again! Sorry for that poor Internet joke. But yeah, you needn’t miss this partly captivating movie either.

This picture of hers does have a back-story. Whether it matters at all, is the point. Or, maybe not. The Brit-Indian cricketing hero never faces the Indian team in the world cup either. A real conflict in a story can be avoided too. It’s all good, this Patiala peg. Just chug de phatte! We’re all about Bollywood and cricket ‘n’ all, innit?

You’d imagine someone read this script and thought the supposed page-turner would make for another low-budget comic hit. They didn’t bother to apply any cinema at all.

It’s fairly simple. The film appears jumbled in parts, merely because no character holds a moral centre. No character, in particular, holds the plot together either. The picture goes all over the place to arrive at an end, even beyond the intended end. You leave for home with an exhilarating ride, still reeling in your head — though not quite the heart. The actors (each one of them inspiringly cast, stunningly moulded) help you get there. The movie seems infinitely better than the sum of its script. That’s usually true for fun thrillers. This is definitely one of them.

Huff. This could’ve been a pure romp, sex comedy. It’s mysteriously rated A by the censor board. The stuff seems neither deliciously bad for its inspired lunacy, nor delightfully good for its sensible humour. The indifference truly annoys you by the end of it. Well, that sucks.

Dullness creeps in. Drunken scenes get repeated. Men get moronically pasted on a wall with ‘Dharamcol’, an adhesive that can join the earth to the sky. Jokes lose impact. Songs screw up the flow.