Housefull, 2010

Directed by: Sajid Khan

1. WHY does Laura Dutta get all the love that she does? I think she’s just SnoozeLand, USA. Compared to Deepika I preferd the latter, and my feelings about Miss Padukone are not the nicest things in the world.

So I saw Housefull last night at the InOrbit mall in Mumbai… just a hop and a skip away from my house here in the city.

Can I tell you how WEIRD it is to watching INDIAN films in INDIA?  It shouldn’t, SHOULDN’T blow my mind but seeing all the previews with Shah Rukh and Bebo and everyone else was just so WERID.

Ok, I admit it, I started crying a little. Don’t judge.

These are the people I live through in the states, and here they are, just the normal Tom, Dick and Harry of the entertainment business around here.


Anyway, Housefull is a film that I would never have seen back home. As it is, I thought I was meeting with the director, but my boss misinformed me and I saw it anyway. O well.

Comedy isn’t my thing… except in really rare cases. Spy Movies, War Dramas, Historical whatsits… THAT’S my scene. So to see an Indian Comedy… something I don’t quite understand to begin with is something. I think the lack of subtitles really aided in the fun I had at this film… that and a very long, very Ranbir-centric preview for Rangeeti

Having to know exactly what everyone said would have killed this movie so dead for me. And quickly. I’d say I got 75% of it just on context alone, but I don’t need the fine details. It was low-brow humor of the same qualty of all of those dumb teen sex movies. Am I right?

At first I was annoyed that there were no subtitles to distract me from Deepika’s face… but then after I realized I just had to bite my tonge and look at her, that I didn’t find her that offensive. Maybe she’s growing on me? Maybe I found her so much more interesting than that annoying-even-in-Hindi Itailian fellow, or maybe because Ritesh might put me to sleep faster than Laura Dutta… I don’t know but I managed to find Akshay and Deepika the most compelling characters in the story.

Oh… and Lilete Dubey. She’s fab.

Although I haven’t seen that many pairs of shiny hot-pants as displayed in the “Boys Night Out” since the Spice Girls were cool.

Fashion is circular, I guess.

Blah blah blah. Housefull.
It’s not that I found it so terrble, but it just seemed so contrived, so forced. Like everyone on set should have taken a muscle relaxer and THEN done their shots.

And is it just me, or does Deepika just have one dance move? The bent-knee, “drive the golf cart”, hip thrust? TRUST ME, watch for it, it’s ALL SHE DOES!

Akshay was precious though, I tend to just like him for the sake of seeing him wear clothes. Suits in general. OOOOO BABY can he wear a tux! Also, what happened to the extreme clumsy-ness about 1/4 into the film? It was just gone. (Good riddance, but still, inconsistant!!)

And is it only becasue I’m in India that I find the Punjabi/Sardar sterotype rather abrasive? Gosh, I’m going to have to investigate that.

Deepika should only wear all black, and with a smokey eye. Even I will admit that she’s quite the sex kitten enrobed ala Femme Fatal.

Ok, So I might just like Deepika now.

Wasn’t it SO werid to see Mukesh (Arjun Rampal) from OSO being happy and dancy? Gave me the shivers.

This is not so much a reviw as just feelings. But it’s effing hot here. Ok?


(p.s. this keyboard kind of stinks, any errors are not my fault.)

Mumbai Monday, ONE WEEK ONE WEEK!

Don’t mock the tabs people, be JEALOUS of the tabs.

A week from today, at precisely 2:45 EST I will be boarding my plane to Newark, and then to Delhi.


Do you know who isn’t prepared for this? Me, that’s who. I haven’t even unpacked my life from moving, I’m in no position to pack now! Not to mention that I don’t even know what to take. Never mind that I was given a packing list, and so many of you have made suggestion but I won’t be making decisions until I start putting stuff together, roughly 12…or more likely, 3 hours before my flight.

I just want to take this time today, and reflect on the fact that I have waited my entire life for this moment. Ever since I was 5 and I was given “Indian Barbie” because according to my grandmother “It looks like [me], dark thing that [I am]”.

Couple that with a heavy childhood infatuation (though I wouldn’t have admitted it, I loved his accent, plus his mom had a nose ring, that’s alarmingly cool to an impressionable child) to the little boy who sat next to me in grades 1 through 5 and looked like this:

But now, looks like this:

I’ve been informed that my mother stole this picture and made it her desktop background.

The unfairness of my not jumping that gun is astounding. Why did no one show me K3G when I was 10? I would have known!

I’ve been chatting to the other intern, and we’re both a little mystified. I know for me it won’t hit me until I’m shoved up against some Uncle for 18.5 hours on a plane watching Bollywood movies and trying, TRYING not to get  my standard “trans-continental flying ulcer”. (Can you will that stuff away?)

Or, it will hit me when I actually walk out of the airport and have to get to my hotel and suddenly everyone is, well, Indian.

Goodness, I hope I don’t get overly excited and try to touch the taxi-wallah’s feet or something equally as awkward, because knowing me, I’d manage it.

Mumbai Monday… The Oops! It’s Tuesday Version OR The Bollywood Model

My darling lovelies, I have been busy. Since last week I have graduated university, moved to the the other side of the country and have been scared by the not so numerous days I have until I leave for India.

Last week I promised to write about the Bollywood Model, which has been floating around in my head for quite some time, and which was made all the more poignant when my mother voluntarily sat down to watch Jab We Met and looked at me halfway through and said: “Please don’t tell me that this is your plan while you’re in India. You are NOT allowed to run after trains, and you are NOT allowed to have a whirlwind romance.”

Silly Maa, I don’t have to plan any of that, The Bollywood Model tells me that it will just happen.

TBM goes down a little bit like this:

On my train from Delhi to Jaisalmer I will meet My Bollywood Hero, the Annoyingly Endearing Mystery Man (MBHAEMM) in some sort of embarrassing situation. He’ll be in my seat or I’ll be late, or we’ll be trapped in the middle compartment, or he’ll bust open my suitcase or something. MBHAEMM will try to smooth over the situation by laying on the oily charm. He’ll schmooze, but this girl, no she ain’t taking it. Only after making the situation worse in his attempt to improve it MBHAEMM will walk away leaving me in a huff, complaining to my coworker about his imprudence.

Magical moment #1: Though we are both chagrined by the outcome of the meeting there is something that makes both of us a little unsettled. Was it his laugh, or his eagerness? That great head of hair or the V-Neck shirt?  MBHAEMM will wonder why such an uppity, controlling gori won’t shake out of his thoughts. Etc…

Sooner or later both of us forget about the experience, until we are seated next to each other on a flight to Mumbai.  At first we leer uncomfortably at each other until MBHAEMM breaks the silence and begins conversation.

Magic Moment #2: I do or say something that catches MBHAEMM off guard and that intrigues him. And quick as a whip, BAM! He’s in love. The heros always fall in love first, so of course mine would have to as well.

When we part at the airport we linger a little, but not enough to understand why. He walks one way, I walk another. We turn and look back, but at separate times. Always at separate times, disappointed that the other is not returning our glances.

Magic Moment #3 Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Duh.

The weeks pass without any real conversation or thought with and aboutt he other person. That is, until his sister’s/brother’s/aunt’s/mother’s/sister-in-law’s cousin’s daughter’s mendhi and or engagement (or both!). I enter the family function vis-a-vis a coworker or friend who insists that I go. Somehow, despite the hundreds of people at the party, me and MBHAEMM lock eyes and see each other. Coy flirtations are exchanged, introductions are made, which leads into…

Magical Moment #4: This is a big one. Not only is it the big song and dance, admittance of feelings AND almost intermission; but it’s also something else. The Sari Moment. Yep, that magical moment where the heroine dons ethnic wear and knocks the hero off of his feet and out of his mind. As my friend would have dressed me in appropriate attire, this is so totally the moment. And of course, the dumbfounding moment goes down as we get attached to each other in some method, and then circle around slowly just staring at each other, wind machines on high, the whole shebang. There is no going back after a combination family function/slow circle/wind machine/hooked on my bangle/Sari Moment.

Enter: Conflict.
At some point something had to go down the crap hole, and that moment is now. Just as MBHAEMM and I are getting romantical and in the throws of filmi love, something goes down. Either I forget about a boyfriend who calls me out of the blue (hey, it’s happened) or his parents force him to get married, or his parents hate me because I’m white, or he has to take over the family business and that somehow writes me out of his life, or I choose to go back to Amrika or MY parents rip me away and force me into wedlock or suddenly appears a lost brother who’s a smuggler… Or something. We weep and moan and cry and vow never to love again and a whole lot of other nonsense.

Magic Moment #5: Intermission… Or, as it could be called, travel; for when the action picks up again, we shall be in different places than where we left off. For ease let’s assume that I went back to Amrika and he took over the family business.

For the next hour (roughly 1 year or an odd number of months, like, say nine) there is a lot of moping and pining going on. We each perform our own love ballads, dance in the rain, and attempt to move on with our lives. It doesn’t work. Finally, at the same time, we decide we can’t stand it any longer and fly to our respective lovers. MBHAEMM and I pass each other dramatically in the airport terminal, but don’t notice.

Magic Moment #6: Missed connections. There I stand in India, crying at his parents because “how could you let MBHAEMM leave when you could FEEL that I was coming to him!?”; in Amrika there is MBHAEMM head-bobbling and sad-puppy-eying my father, wearing a scarf that matches his cardigan, proclaiming his love. With permission MBHAEMM scoots back to India, to find me. (Since I have obviously stayed and become a live-in resident with his family because being with them is consolation enough).

Magic Moment #7: Winning over the in-laws with my grace, charm and wit.
What can I say about what happens next? It’s just a race to the end (because our 3.5 hours are UP!).

MBHAEMM comes home, we stare at each other, the wind machines start up, I turn and fling my hair about when he arrives….

Magical Moment #8: Lovers Runited.

Magical Moment #9: Shaadi!

Magical Moment #10: Awkward as-the-credits-roll Item Number.

*sigh* Just like my terribly strange day dream a few weeks ago, I’m about 89% convinced that this will actually happen… Though, I sincerely hope not, that’s a lot of pining and weeping, two things I really suck at.

However, since it is THE Bollywood Model, I’m guaranteed a least one of those magical moments, or at least an awkward experience on a train.

Less than two weeks people!