How disconnected with reality does one need to be to pen a screenplay, if there is one, that resembles a drunken twitter debate? I will spend sleepless nights thinking about the families of the unfortunate crewmembers. It is my job to tell you that the only inoffensive (and interesting) part is the preceding anti-smoking ad. It is also my job to ask the producers to withdraw this from cinemas in the name of public health and safety.

Brainless comedies can be fun to watch, what with the infinite characters, goofy plots and toilet humour. But the buck stops with lazy filmmaking—a crime that can ruin the best of punch lines.

You’d think it’s virtually impossible to combine a Gunday-style exaggerated Eastern buddy flick with a fictional sports biopic with a dated 90s gangland drama. But Anand Kumar’s Desi Kattey (presented by The Real Estate Guru), an outrageous exercise in anti-screenwriting, greedily does just that—albeit with an unintentionally comical outcome.

The most frightening aspect of a horror movie these days is its predictability. In this context alone, 3 AM is fearsome.

Even earthy Rajasthani folk voices or Wikipedia statistics before the end credits cannot redeem an effort that would look best as a newspaper headline.

In tennis terms, Daawat-e-Ishq, much like its maker, resembles that big-serving player who can boom in aces at will. But as soon as the ball is returned for a rally to be constructed, the player freezes. And the ideas dry up.

Khoobsurat is a film that could have been infinitely worse if not for its supporting cast, cosmetically enhanced mansions and music (Sneha Khanwalkar) that is perhaps too funky and authentic for the candy-flossed treatment.

This film is exactly the kind of brave clutter-breaking effort that most critics wish for while lamenting the rigidness of mainstream stars. That it left me grinning long after the credit-roll is a testament to its ability to amuse, without resorting to gimmicky slapstick or toilet humour.

Somehow, Bhatt brings in a 17th century Peepal-tree connection instead of an interesting origin story. Why he always needs to link paranormal existence to some harebrained mythological legend is beyond the realms of alien understanding.

While Bhaag Milkha Bhaag was a case of an overcooked narrative, Kumar’s Mary Kom suffers from the contrary: an inconsistent narrative that seems too hurried to strike the right balance between her personal life and career, and ends up biting off more than it can chew. It could have done with 20 extra minutes of Kom’s resilience, without liberally jumping time frames, to give shape to her stunted journey. I’d settle for an engaging documentary on the same, or better still, footage of her fights-and let the mere mental awareness of her struggles add to the gravity of battle.