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Jhoom is just a concert
Sukanya Verma |
June 15, 2007 17:48 IST
Ever spoken in exaggeration about the one you love? Ever tried to make them a tad fancier than reality?
It's human nature to fancy everything larger-than-life, even if it's restricted to your imagination. Jhoom Barabar Jhoom has this element.
But what could have been a delightful parody on Prince Charmings and dream girls surprisingly settles to be a flaunting and flashy musical.
Shaad Ali's glossy romantic comedy is like one big song and dance of a movie where the story, a daft one at that, is purely incidental. And so while the title ditty plays intermittently -- from start to finish, episodes transpire, acting like fillers, instead of the other way round.
Don't Miss: Jhoom Barabar Jhoom: The Alternate Review
Even so, it's not really Broadway material. Sure, flamboyance is the flavour of its grand atmosphere but not the acting, which is thankfully spontaneous. The plot has enough farce going for it to tolerate any more drama.
It all begins at London's [Images] Waterloo Station. Amitabh Bachchan [Images], in a rainbow-hued patchwork jacket, bling, kohl, hat and guitar, gyrates with a bunch of videshi extras, breathing cupid in the air while musing about the pros and cons of love. The look, even if tacky, doesn't seem so bad when you watch the man enjoying his trademark groove. But that's all he does here: Jhoom.
In between, we are intoduced to Rikki Thakral (Abhishek Bachchan [Images]), a happy-go-lucky, cleavage-peeking, Bhatinda-speaking scamster and Alvira Khan (Preity Zinta [Images]), a wannabe Elizabeth Hurley [Images] of Lahorean origin who won't deter from showing an occasional finger.
They have only two things in common -- a delayed train and a food court table. Both are here to pick up their respective someones; only we don't know who they are (Not till the interval, anyway).
The ice between the two is broken so unconvincingly, prompting you to borrow Rikki's catchphrase, 'Oh blimey!'. Before you can shoot a h-e-l-l-o, the duo starts yapping like old classmates scrapping on Orkut.
Soon enough, the topic veers to their respective fiance's and how they hooked up.
Rikki bumped into the wow-some hottie with an accent, Anaida Raza (Lara Dutta [Images]) at Hotel Ritz, Paris. He was low on cash, she on relationship . A hip-hop session around the Louvre and Eiffel Tower [Images] ensues in je t'aimes and French kisses.
While Alvira's tale of romance is narrated using piece-to-camera cinematography (a technique employed in a lot of French comedies) wherein she instantly falls head over heels for the the super wealthy and super dynamic lawyer, Steve Singh (Bobby Deol [Images]) who rescues her from Superman, no less!
During this gab fest, we are forced to believe, that Rikki and Alvira have developed some sort of serendipitous connection. Her dares her to run upwards on a descending escalator. She bullies him into getting a butterfly tattooed on his chest. No thanks, the Emperor's New Clothes gimmick doesn't really work with the audience.
Abhishek and Preity share too much of a 'buddy' chemistry to pass off as Heer-Ranjha. Speaking of which, what was that whole dream sequence build around Taj Mahal and Humayun's Tomb with two spewing Salim-Anarkalisms and parading in Mere Mehboob inspired costumes?
In contrast, Bobby and Lara are consistently wacky. They get to play two diametrically different characters each, pre and post interval, to which they do complete justice.
Bobby is positively hilarious as the nail-chewing Mamma's boy darting non-stop 'I hate yous' at his Soldier co-star, Preity. He shares a wonderful Sholay moment with Abhishek in a lookalike of the historic film's legendary scooter. Jai and Veeru must be really proud.
Lara oozes oomph and spice, especially when she is required to hurl abuses at Preity. The latter reciprocates in kind with the same nasty fervour. Preity's comic timing is bang on. She gets away with a lot of teasing one-liners with her inherent class and cheek.
Finally, there is Abhishek Bachchan. Don't go by the outlandish clothes he wears or the Punjabi-thick lingo he speaks. The man is a rockstar of this faulty enterprise. He gets into the skin of Rikki Thakral so seamlessly, it is hard to remember it's him. It's Rikki -- his roguish demeanour and classic repartee, especially the bits directed at Alvira's home country -- all the way.
If only Shaad Ali had written a story befitting such brilliantly insane protagonists. His priority rather is on staging a spectacularly choreographed show, which is abundantly aided by Yashraj's extravagant budget, Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy's electrifying notes, Vaibhavi Merchant's charged steps and Ayanaka Bose's spiffy camera angles.
If only Jhoom Barabar Jhoom was more than a lavishly produced concert.