Deadlock Lane "Should I make a movie oh-oh-oh?" Suri walked by, singing something. And he will. Out of sight, over his ears. Something long and sticky. I looked where he was coming from. There was Jackie, there was the love of the public and a new peak, conquered by power star Punit Rajkumar. The silhouette of the director gradually disappeared in the distance. Ahead, where he was going, the power star was figuring out what his karate techniques would look like in slow motion. I couldn’t hear it from my seat, but a wind friend whispered to me about what he was saying on Suri’s road: “I’m going to put him on a bike decorated with a metal skeleton, make him appear with a light, and only boiled eggs will be cooler than him.” He licked his finger and turned west, where he thought Ghost Rider and James Bond were. He smirked rather, uttered a triumphant "be-be-be." They looked at each other and arrogantly ignored the outrageous challenge, as if realizing that this will not stop, Suri only enters the taste.
I look hard to see what’s going on in his film. And I see a guy named Anna Bond and his stupid boyfriend. (I would say to myself that the writer is a formalist.) Preferring the changeable wind of wanderings to the constancy of a single bet, along the way they manage to neutralize the organized-criminal minds of the city in an extremely humane, but no less effective way. (However, he wants to be known as the original.) At least that’s what competent doctors say. (And a joker, too.) The triumph of social justice lasts only as long as it takes ordinary people to baptize a hero as a god. (Nothing speculative is alien to him.) Anna Bond reflects on life in the countryside, how a visiting beauty stole his heart. (I was in no hurry to give it away.) He was tested by the laws of Greek comedy in the Indian cemetery. (Country report.) And although his heart was quivering, but he never dared to confess: the girl left. However, the guy deeply burned in the soul said her farewell words: “Achieve something, do not burn your life in vain.” (Didactic moment.) Together with a friend, they leave, where eyes look, struggle, search, find and do not give up. (With a template villain, beloved, family happiness.)
The audience is leaving the session. "And he's got it! They're for him. And he shone to them! – a flock of barefooted tomboys flew by. “A very good movie. Punit Rajkumar, or Appu as we call him, the fans are the best actor. How he fights! How he dances! Very good film. "That's right," grumbles the bald man in the wig, "fan-only cinema." “But tell me,” I interfere, “does fanatic mean dumb as a cork, and will not notice being dulled further?” Oh, I see you nodding affirmatively... Girlfriends walk, holding hands: "Girls, remember what she said?" “The men are already divorced. One or two will kill themselves because of us, no big deal.” That's right. I agree. What a manly Punit! What a body he's got...mmm. “All men are their own...” a forty-year-old lady throws on the move. The inveterate balagur, who was most proud of two things - knowledge of cinema and a sense of humor - quipped: "Comfortable editing and thumb-sucking shura mura will not correct what sags like an old bed that guarded sleep for at least three generations." At the same time, lovers of arguing about everything in the world start another discussion: “To reproach militants, blockbusters – I am talking now in general, and not only about those who are filmed here in India – a certain deviation from reality, sometimes disregarding the laws of physics and logic, is, esteemed, a moveton.” - I'm not talking about that, dearest, - does not give up his interlocutor. Entertainment cinema is its genre markers, its role is not denied. But in this case, we are dealing with unprofessionally written dialogues, inconsistent characters. As a result, with the inability of the film to fulfill the main purpose - to entertain. You can talk about parasitism on stamps, - corrected the glasses on the nose, - about the degeneration of the genre, if you will. A tall gentleman in a hat explains to his son why it is in the conditions of repeated repetition of one plot with different actors that the metaphysical catharsis of the viewer cannot take place in this particular case, and how it is affected by the waning phase of the moon. Finally, I see Suri approaching me. Not a shadow of embarrassment, only three awards and twice as many nominations, a stunning success at the box office and not at all overshadowed by the place of honor tape in the list of the biggest film disappointments of the year smile and confident step. "Should I make a movie oh oh oh oh oh . . .?" is a familiar motif. And I'd be happy to ask you what, but, fascinated by the new idea, the director turned left. Don't keep up with him. I'm a house on wheels, standing still, and they say I'm rolling forward.