Agent Vinod wants to be funny, and while there is the occasional burst of wit, it’s exhaustingly rare. Sriram Raghavan is, first and foremost, a film fanboy, and sure this film has references sprinkled through it – the greatest salutes being to the 1978 Don, with a mention of that immortal character’s dislike of a person’s shoes, and with inconveniently dead Iftekhaars who are the only ones aware of a protagonist’s true allegiance – it doesn’t make the cut.

A very predictable con-versus-con film can be made enjoyable, but it needs to be breezy and engaging. We need to want to take sides and we need to care about the twists, and by the time Ladies Vs Ricky Bahl winds down in extremely simplistic fashion, we just don’t care anymore. If this were a better-made film, we might have been justifiably outraged by the lame sexism meted out at the climax, but for now yawning seems reaction enough.

The film too is defiant, but in more juvenile fashion. Director Milan Luthria’s approach to this heroic harlot is a masala one, and in its urge to please crowds, forsakes much potential nuance that could have made this a great film instead of merely a film with a great lead character.

Walk away from this disaster and try harder next time. (Is it okay if we don’t hold our breath just yet?)

Finally, giving you opinion about a film called Mausam turn us critics into weathermen, so here goes: Bright and cheerful day, hit by a predictable, gloomy downpour and turned into a damp, middling mess. Perfect one-day cricket conditions, as the English would say.

This is a film made in bad taste, and — with apologies to Mr Capote — in old blood.

All I can personally say about this trend of remaking one-note Southern hits as a viewer is that it’s an exhausting one. It is in the tiny victories that we must seek refuge after a film like this: I’m just glad the hero, so eager to peel off his uniform, left his pants on.

So fixated is the film on trying to appear ‘cool’, even ‘minty-fresh,’ that the emotional connects all seem like afterthoughts. Especially the flashback each boy has, and their subsequent, convenient epiphany. It’s all so surfacial and unnecessary, even when well-performed, like the moment between Naseeruddin Shah and Farhan, when the latter is finally allowed to drop the forced grin and cry like he does best.

Murder 2 is flat, boring and not worth talking about. Even Emraan, sporting less stubble than usual, seems babyfaced as he goes through the motions. It might be inspired by some obscure film, but I don’t even care enough to look for its name. By now, I’ve come to accept that the Bhatts have a bigger DVD collection than me. I do wish they’d stop flaunting it, though.

What Delhi Belly has, unlike many of its young slick contemporaries, is a plot. A nice, tight, pacy little plot which has lots of satisfying little set-ups and pay-offs, and where everything comes together very well indeed.