There is something about Delhi Belly that says it should really be called IBS. Facebook is awash with friends who have become irritable after watching it, and when they call it a crappy movie, they are being literal– the crap IS in-your-face. The real hero seems to the ceramic bus, turning up like Superman whenever the guy with the loosies needs to be near one. A profusion of flatulence, noises related to being afflicted with the Delhi Belly, and a cameo appearance by the offending crap does drain one of all tolerance. And one has no stomach left to appreciate the good parts of what I first thought was a Curate’s Egg of a movie.
“It is crass, crude, coarse , ” my friend Chetan Krishnaswamy cavilled, rather alliteratively, adding that if new age cinema was all about the perversions of Delhi Belly, it was sad. And he forbore from clarifying on what he would wish upon anyone comparing this “offal” to that old classic, Jaane Bhi do Yaaron.
Another friend Brijesh Kalappa, declared, Delhi Belly- Ouch!! Painfully silly!
Thinking about a couple of scenes in the movie that had been truly funny, I ventured, rather gingerly, a ” may be its silly but it is not gross,” and regretted it immediately. Since watching the movie, I can’t deny the thought of a mensinkai bajji tossing on a bed of chopped onions on a newspaper, which has a review of this movie printed on it, leaves me queasy.
I am now obsessed with the growing list of things about Delhi Belly that gross me out.
On top , of course is the fact that Aamir Kahn seemed to have grossed his investment in the first week.
It grosses me out that anyone can go laughing all the way to the bank , by banking on crap and toots.
It grosses me out that once the real crap has been cleaned up ( hasn’t anyone heard of what happens in diapers ought to stay in diapers?), Delhi Belly is just an avial of genuine ROFL scenes from rom-coms and don-coms of Hollywood. The toilet scenes came from Along came Polly, Tashi’s parents are the Fockers , and the dog that humps Arup is Moses, also of the Fockers fame. The domineering girlfriend looks suspiciously like the girl in Transformers 3, but since both movies are running, it must be my IBS acting up.
Bollywood is not just a copy-cat. With Delhi Belly, it has become crappy-cat. Hollywood had to send us Analyze This so we could morph our own gangster into the bumbling, insecure, therapy-needing Paul Vitti, Godfather, whose day-job is being a comedian. I can’t think of any Bollywood gangster movie in which the godfather isn’t required to provide the laughs as well. Not that I’ve seen most of them. But everyone knows that you can get into the story of a Bollywood movie at any point, and still never miss, nay, escape the plot.
And that’s another reason why Delhi Belly grosses me out- we got it when the Russian doll ended up at doctor’s laboratory. We got it too, when the crap landed on Somayajulu’s table, and would have laughed louder and longer if the cannister wasn’t opened. I was a bit surprised that the cliche of the loquacious Madrasi was missing. And I don’t think the young fellas who cuss and swear through their first job/relationship like being busted in this manner.
Jeez, hope there isn’t going to be a sequel. IBS can be aggravating, I think. And if that’s the title, I’m suing.
This is for Chetan and Brijesh.