The film doesn’t make any significant statements on the legal system or rehabilitation beyond tedious displays of violence or stray moments, like when the out-on-parole convicts realise they are unwelcome, unfit for the world that has moved on without them.

Poster Boys’s school play enthusiasm never aims above a low IQ comedy expecting us to guffaw at the sight of Bobby, his wife and kids wearing the same set of bright yellow, Hello Kitty-print pyjama suits.

With its fine zingers and feisty acknowledgement, Shubh Mangal Saavdhan does more for sex, both noun and verb, than any Hindi film can claim to in a long, long time.

Things get truly down and dirty towards the end. Which is to say the concluding 20 minutes of Baadshaho are so hazy and dusty, I found myself mentally vacuum cleaning the screen.

I wish to do the same to the memory of this movie.

It only works well when it allows Akshay Kumar’s influential charisma and Bhumi Pednekar’s fiery spirit to use their instinctive humour, warmth and spontaneity to build a relationship that’s based on something more sound and striking than the sight of Sudhir Pandey’s pee.

Jab Harry Met Sejal has the stars, the songs, the scenery and everything you’d imagine in a love story.
But in the absence of soul, none of it really matters…

Munna Michael’s hollowness is as striking as Tiger’s chiselled torso, one that he freely bares in everything from an unzipped hoodie to a doily masquerading as a shirt…

Like the rare dollop of jam, a nondescript man walking into the wild waves and a smiling lady from Dartmouth stood out and moved me with their profundity in ways I was expecting and still came out surprised.

Despite broaching on the politics and power play of homosexual relationships and noting the inconsistency of acceptance, Shab is coy about sexuality and sleepy in its reflections of loneliness to get anywhere.

Jagga Jasoos ‘revels in its lavish imagination, meddlesome inquiries and delicious Bongness, never once pausing to catch a breath or make sense