Who, Max? Wherefore art thou, Romeo? JD, JD, is that JD? Hello, hello.
Do you know who I am? I don’t know who I am. Do you know who you are?
Sultan, Om, Kaizad. Max, oh Max.
I’ve found a hat.
I’ve found a gas mask.
I will kill you. I could have killed you. We will be killed. He will kill us. Should I kill you?
Gas. Pentane. Temporary amnesia.
Chinese, Japani, Korean? **&%$#*@#$%. Oh, Indian.
Car 1. Car 2. Car 3. Car 4. Boom, boom, boom. Car 5. Car 6. Car 7.
Fire, water, guns. Boom.
Acid factory. Grills. Doors. Locks.
Who are you? Who am I? I will kill you. You will kill me?
Man in Black 1. Man in Black 2. Man in Black 3. Man in Black 4. Boom, boom, boom.
Find Max. How will I know her? She’s wearing black.
Mud tracks. Bikes. Helmet out. Long hair flying. Leer. Leer. No kiss.
Gun 1. Gun 2. Gun 3. Boom, boom.
Bad friend. Good friend. Good cop. Bad guy. Bad girl. Leer, kiss.
Boat. Bike. Car. Bigger car. Bigger, bigger car. Boom.
Max. Romeo. Om. Sultan. Kaizad. JD. Sarthak. Mrs. Sarthak.
What’s in a name?
JD. Kaizad. Sarthak. Sultan. Romeo. Om.
The Pentane gas escaped from the screen into the theatre. All of 7 viewers and 13 food vendors reeled with temporary amnesia.
What are we doing here? Why are we here? Have we died and come to hell?
Am I going to be trapped in eternity with 13 popcorn, samosa and soft drink sellers who will come to me every 3 seconds asking me to stuff my mouth with junk food? What horrible sins have I committed in my past life to be subjected to this?
I am alone. The other 6 viewers are in couples. I feel so sad. So bad. So black. So blue.
OK, OK. Let me come to my senses. Make some sense of this. To make sense is to combat hell.
What have we here? South Africa. 25 cars we can blow up. A yellow Lamborghini. An acid factory. Lots of semi-naked women writhing in ecstasy. Good girl 1 trying hard to be bad in black leather, high heels and fierce scowl. 3 blocks of wood in black. 3 actors in black. 1 actor forgotten in black. Good girl 2 struggling to be good in black. Gas. Guns. Bikes. Boats. Cars. Boom. Boom. Boom. Leer, kiss.
Where is the script, mother-father? Where is the script?
Who am I? Do you know who I am? Why am I here? We could be killed.
And a more coherent review which featured in Tehelka – The script-less sorrow.
The director Suparn Verma has 1 yellow Lamborghini, a boat, a few bikes, cross-country tracks, several cars that he can blow up, a limousine and an acid factory, in South Africa. A few semi-naked women writhing in ecstasy are thrown in for good measure. He also has 7 men in black and 2 women in black, some of them can act, and some of them can’t despite the support of expensive hats, sunglasses, and leather jackets. What Suparn Verma does not have is a script.
The story that unravels in the background is lame. It’s difficult to understand why the entire South African police force is after Kaizad (Irrfan Khan) who spends most of his time cruising in his boat, or leering at Max (Dia Mirza), his girlfriend and giving her limp kisses on her lips in an attempt to look cool. Particularly since his crimes seem to revolve around stealing cars and kidnapping selfish businessmen.
The story that unfolds in the foreground, i.e. 6 people suffering from temporary amnesia because of exposure to pentane gas, fizzles out like a soda water bottle opened carelessly. The tension is lost in a loop of repetitive dialogue – Who am I? Who are you? I will kill you. I will kill you. The only exchange that brings a laugh is Sultan (Manoj Bajpai) asking Om (Danny Denzongpa) – Chinese, Japani, Korean, Nepali? Om abuses him in Hindi, Sultan says – Oh, Indian.
Everything is black and blue. Including my mood. Do I care for this film? I can’t because I don’t know whom I should care for. The cop, the bad guys, the victim, the traitor, the bad girl, the wife, all of them look the same, dress the same, talk the same, walk the same. Within 15 minutes of the film, I no longer know who’s Romeo (Fardeen Khan), who’s Sultan, who’s Kaizad, who’s Max, who’s JD (Dino Morea) and who’s Sarthak (Aftab Shivdasani). And guess what, I don’t even care.
The characters are trapped in an acid factory. They slap, punch, fight, fire guns when they are not throwing seemingly smart lines at each other. I feel trapped in the theatre with 6 other viewers and 13 food vendors, who ask me to stuff my mouth with junk food every 3 seconds. And I have no one to throw smart lines at or slap, punch, fight, fire guns at. Soon, I feel as if the pentane gas from the acid factory has seeped into the theater and I’m no longer sure who I am, and whether I have already died and gone to hell.