An unabashed review of Besharam

There are occasions when you decide to trust your instincts and go against your better judgment. Neurons are firing in your brain, willing you to turn back. You pause, take a deep breath and tell your heart, ‘there, there, its going to be alright’. You walk into the theatre, settle into the cramped seats, the movie opens, the script unfolds and you whisper to your heart, ‘bravo!’ Well, this was exactly what I did NOT experience last evening as overwhelmed by an attack of masochism, I found myself staring emptily at the opening credits, with its proud announcements of the many media partners that Besharam had wangled, an agony that you are subjected to before the real pain…oops movie begins.

From the very beginning the makers of Besharam – to their credit – warn you to what lies in store. Javed Jaffrey serves up a montage of his past caricatures in his depiction of a Hawaladar or a money launderer. ‘Bheem Singh Chandel’, he announces with his worst scowl to a hapless cop who had dared to halt his booty laden convoy, as you glance askance at the nearest exit, in case a quick evacuation is needed. A couple of Scorpios leap into the air in flaming infernos as if on cue; a stunt favored by the current brat pack  - read Rohit Shetty – to warm things up. It pretty much is downhill from here and you would do well to save yourself a few grey cells by realizing straight up one key fact – there is no plot. Besharam was meant to have no plot, for it is a vehicle for the latest progeny of the Kapoor clan (and his doting parents) to indulge themselves with both father and son outdoing themselves in letting the audience having a peek at err, well, their ‘crack’ and I’m not referring to jokes here, not the verbal kinds anyway.

With their investment secured by shamelessly plugging for an iconic car marquee and a popular candy maker – if you walk in a little late you can be forgiven for mistaking the movie for an elaborate Mercedes ad – Abhinav Kashyap sets about what could have been a comic caper and ends up dishing out sheer nonsense and toilet humor of the cheapest kind. Appalling one liners with references to flatulence to actually having to witness the elder Kapoor’s morning exertions on the throne, with its attendant ghastly acoustics, leaves you wondering if you can survive till intermission. This may well have been an attempt to recreate Ranbir in his illustrious grandpa’s avatar of a tramp in the cult Mera Naam Joker. I hope that is a figment of my imagination alone as Raj’s rendition of the forlorn clown and the timeless soundtrack exuded a fragrant whiff, best left unsullied by the fetid odor from Besharam’s armpits.

The characters are paper thin and silly; Pallavi Sharda’s character careens through the streets of Delhi in her freshly acquired Merc A class in the initial scenes (perhaps Merc wanted to show off the A class’ handling too, not content with branding alone) with a lunatic glint in her eyes, this impression of a vacuous belle quickly gives way to a self-possessed corporate climber who would rather putter around in an ALTO than hitch her ride to a sadakchap mechanic. As you try and reconcile these disconcertingly contradictory traits, the caricatures pop up thick and fast, threatening to nudge you over the edge. Warning: long forgotten twitches and tics may resurface, do carry medication for pre existing conditions. Neetu Singh looks ancient and gnarled; perhaps it would have been wise to let memories of Amar Akbar Anthony and Deewar reign in the hearts of admirers. Rishi Kapoor looks content playing a goofy cop but fails to evoke either humor or sympathy, in that order. There is an art to playing such slapstick roles where your gestures and sense of timing often complements and sometimes transcends the inane storyline to leave the audience in splits: Anupam Kher and Kader Khan in Haseena Maan Jayegi comes to mind, a movie which was hugely entertaining purely for the histrionic skills on display without having to resort to toilet humor. But perhaps the intent with Besharam is different.

If you are still reading this, it can mean only one thing, that you are hoping for a reason to still watch this effort. And the answer should be obvious: Ranbir Kapoor. You can’t help but think that someone with such screen presence is wasted here, but then that is stating the obvious; Ranbir follows in the long line of the Kapoor clan with Greek god looks and charisma and the female fan following with comes with it, but with little else. They have made Bollywood (sharing the turf uneasily with the Khans) and Bollywood is because of them. Every once in a while the audience is subjected to a grim reminder that they loom larger than trivial considerations like a good script and storylines and it will be easier for us to live with ourselves if we see Besharam as great family entertainer: not your family but the Kapoor’s. Pallavi Sharda has potential and we see glimpses of that here, with some luck and a few more mega budget releases, we should see her exchanging cold stares with the leading ladies of tinsel town. The rest are as forgettable as, well the gas that passes from the nether regions as so eloquently described by one of Ranbir’s flunkies in the movie.