Dilwale is torture in its purest form


Watching a movie is an onerous task these days. One month of constant hammering on TV perks up your curiosity enough to go and check our what’s in store for you. Once you book your tickets on an app, there are some ‘unforeseen’ circumstances that compel you to postpone or prepone the show timings.

For the less tech-savvy ones, it means queuing up and being forced to pay for the ‘Gold’ seats because the box office guy tells you the ‘Silver’ ones are already sold out, only to later discover that they are all empty (I can already see you nodding in acquiescence).

You walk inside the auditorium and find some bugger already seated on your seat and he requests you to ‘adjust’ as the audi is almost empty anyway. You give in and grab the nearest seat as Prachi Desai is getting all excited about her leggings that she wears anytime, anywhere.

This is followed by a Katrina getting seduced by tiles, loud and garish vajradanti ad, tacky kurta ad, and finally the torturous anti-smoking ads (May Mukesh’s soul rest in peace and his ghost never returns to haunt us in theatres). By this time Sunny Paaji growls Ghaayal Once Again (Why?), and you prowl helplessly, hoping against hope that Rohit Shetty will be your savior, knight in shining cars’ fervor. Not exactly.

Half an hour of Rohit Shetty’s latest film, ‘Dilwale’ and you are still convinced that this must be part of those pre-movie torture endured by every movie buff of our times. You want to pinch yourself to get duped by those open arms of Oops-I-did-it-again Shahrukh Khan and Look-I am-so-fair & lovely Kajol.

You find yourself pinning your hopes on the new kids – an overcharged Varun Dhavan and an underfed Kriti Sanon to make this at least ‘watchable’. By the second half, you start yourself pinning the same hopes on Varun Sharma, Johny Lever, Boman Irani and Sanjay Mishra.

Well, this time, they don’t disappoint and ensure that you are still seated on that seat you never booked or at least wished you had never booked in the first place. You can’t resist swearing beneath your breath about those marketing filmwallas of today, who can wrap shit and make it sell like hot cakes (Case in point, ‘Delhi Belly’ which literally did that), with complete disregard for the audience, who pay through the nose to watch such crap.

By the time your 150 odd minutes and 150 odd rupees are about to finish, and the writer (there isn’t one, am sure about it) has exhausted the WhatsApp jokes and list of DDLJ references, the cars have exhausted petrol stock, Rohit Shetty’s magnum crapus finally ends. You’re done with the ordeal and on the way home, the car radio enlightens you about Dilwale crossing the 100-crore mark. Slow applause.


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