Here’s what they get, entirely out of context: Long pauses. Pretentious bollocks for dialogue between three decent Bollywood tracks. The massive mansion. Horses in slo-mo. Vast ocean under a semi-lit sky. Ranbir on a bike, or in a yacht, staring into the sea. Close up of the flying bird. Jacqueline in yoga pose, now doing the ballet. And the camera purposefully lingering on Arjun Rampal, forever and ever, while everybody is all so grim and serious… Oh man, this is fart-house cinema at its farcical best.

You only wish some of this grandeur could have been transported to give the fine Marathi biopic Harishchandracha Factory some of the scale it deserved to compete at the Oscars in 2010. I suspect that local, indie success was an inspiration for green-lighting this one (I’m just trying to figure out what could have led anyone to pump in crores into this unbearable bore). Who knows, they’ll probably send this one to the Oscars too. But what’s the point. Ancient Indians had won several Academy Awards during the Vedic Age anyway!

Plot isn’t so much the point. Most horror movies are about someone who feels the spirit and everyone else who’s unable to believe this. What’s important is Bipasha’s bed begins to fly and the portion where she duels with a dog is quite effective. I hear laughs around me, signifying both nervousness and humour. The hall is half full. Nobody’s alone. This review doesn’t predict box-office figures—it was never meant to. But I suspect the producers won’t be horrified by the results.

You know the film is called Action Jackson, and it will essentially be a series of stylized stunt and sexy song sequences. And it totally is. Yet, no one, really, no one, can adequately warn you against what to expect here.

…the disturbingly repetitive plot of this supposedly realistic film that’s got some top actors to show up at what must be less than their current market rates. I suspect this alignment of stars has something to do with the film’s producer, Karan Johar, who could do this society great service by writing a book on ‘how to win friends and influence people’.

I feel for the ‘Save the Tiger’ campaign. But if a film about a tiger, such as this, was in front of you, I would suggest that you save yourself first.

You can as easily sense why the intentions of this award-wining screenplay are lost in the lameness on the screen. Meanwhile the villain, Kher the corporate shark, chomps on khakras and orders his white woman assistant around. This is hardly funny. The film isn’t realistic either. You just wish to know what is it that the filmmakers don’t understand better: how big businesses operate or how to make an entertaining enough film. At least if they could’ve taken care of the latter, you could attempt a free viewing on cable.

If the reasons above to sit through over 150 minutes of this movie are good enough for you, feel free to bang your head against the seat in the front.

What you’re left with then are a series of scenes stretching the film to almost 3 hours (without even a fulsome soundtrack) that tries to fit the original Hamlet—singing gravediggers, play within the play etc—into a movie with a hole. Eventually you start feeling vaguely distant and cold. I don’t know about you, but I’m sorry—I was kinda bored.

Films like these are supposed to be hard-hitting. Once they begin to hit you on your head, it usually becomes quite hard to recover for a while. But this one takes things a little further. I speak from experience. I’m still feeling dizzy.