I exit the theatre tiptoeing gingerly through treacley blood, past the fallen corpse of my expectations. That, ladies and gents, is Susanna’s seventh casualty. And it’s the only one that hurts.

A laughable mess, this Turning 30!!!. Maybe if it wasn’t in English, it could perhaps have salvaged some credibility. Then again, the only thing it shows us is that Gul can curse a helluva lot better than Rani Mukerji [ Images ] did last week.

To be fair, the film’s second half does rustle up a few scenes of momentum, but this is a nearly three-hour film and we all deserve better. As do the Deols.

It is, then, heartbreaking to watch such a defiantly ostentatious director borrow plot-points from foreign films, stultify his characters with ridiculous dialogue, and fall for painfully mainstream trappings, like a hackneyed, obligatory revenge/redemption subplot that makes a most unnecessary appearance towards the film’s end.

Dhobi Ghat is a middling debut, watchable due to its nuances but simply not interesting enough to recommend. Yet Rao seems assured of her craft, and worth looking out for in the future.

The film starts off aggressive, turns into a game of toppling pawns, and ends up a farce as Kunti meets Karan and the audience dissolves into giggles. Jha’s films, while often flawed nearing the end, usually provide some sort of grass root insight; this one pretty much dares you to take it seriously. Don’t even try.

This isn’t a bad film, though. By which I mean it conjures up a few moments, it will doubtless make some people cry, and every now and then we glimpse some heart. Yet it hurts to see that this is traditional Bollywood masala schlock, with scenes calculated to tickle and to evoke sympathy. It’s not awful at all, but since when did ‘not bad’ become good? Dr Feelgood doesn’t make the cut this time, and we need to measure him by the high bar his previous excellence has set — by which degree this is a whopper of a disappointment.

It is only at this, film three, that the director appears to have hit a snag. Love Aaj Kal is watchable, but feels heavily compromised. It’s a romantic drama that would have worked wonderfully if it hadn’t tried to be funny in the first half, and doesn’t work in the second because the laughs dry up. We have poignant moments interrupted by touches of lets-tickle-the-audience humour, as if India can’t take a drama straight up.

…the story of a poor man and God has been turned into the story of a poor man and a movie star. I’m not denying it accuracy, for in this world without towering figures in politics and sports, the stars are the ones who bestow the nation with wonderment — it’s just as valid as America now calling superheroes the new Greek Gods. And while the analogy may be correct — and no offense to Mr Khan — isn’t it at least a little disturbing?

The first half of the film seems somewhat alright, though I’d love an explanation on how a woman besotted with a certain man not just imagines him on screen in a romantic medley, but sees him dance with a string of Bollywood heroines instead of herself. The second half of the film sees a lot of the aforementioned Rab-invoking, with much talk of divinity and love. And as you yawn through the last half hour — wherein lies the Rab — you realise that the entire makeover device, which masquerades as the plot of the film, was completely unnecessary, and all the hero needed to do was take her to the temple a few more times. And a redundant plot is as unforgivable as it gets.