By Khalid Mohamed
Originally posted on Spotboye.com
Eff eff eff. The ‘F’ word keeps flying in the air. Truly, a woman straight out of hell uses f**k as if she was constantly ringing a bell, making your hair curl even if you’ve plastered it with vast quantities of gel. Life at the movies is going putridly pell-mell.
An unembarrassed but embarrassing exhibition of profane language, vulgarity and perversion, Love Games, written-directed by Vikram Bhatt and ‘bunk’-rolled by producers Mukesh and Mahesh Bhatt, is quite lewd and clearly, a punishment. Frankly, at the end, patient viewers deserve a standing ovation from the multiplexes’ staffers. Attempt, then, at your own risk, to wander into this jiggery pokery which, by the way, kicks off with a poem. Ahem.
Yoo hoo, it seems, “Roses are red, violets are blue (thanks for the info), sex can be messy, (oh!), love can be true.” Bhatt seriously, wazzat? Ostensibly, in the era of internet dating sites, WhatsApp-you and 50 Shades Of Grey, sexual mores have drastically altered. Snag is that despite the effort to be contemporary and hip, all you get are those antiquated Emraan Hashmi-Mallika Sherawat-style of lip-locks, not to forget random murders designed to give you a case of wintry shudders. Brrrrr.
Or should that be grrrr? After all, exasperation is provoked by introducing you to a pair of primeval psychos. Over to the rust-haired Ramona Darling (Patralekha) and the coke-snorting Sam Saxena (Gaurav Arora). They’re meant to be products of high-society, heh heh, swigging wine by the gallons, hanging out with unkool kats at raves, and residing in homes ashanti homes. Even a cursory look at them, affirm that they’re mental gnomes. Ewww.
Dew settles on these two psychos’ brows when they neck. So what the heck! Psycho Ramona, whose husband has jumped off a balcony (understandable, RIP), must now add joie de kinkiness by initiating a pyaar ka khel. The rules are mentioned in a mottling paperback. Uh huh, out go Pyschos Ramona and Sam, to hook different bedmates, including a threesome with an enthu-cutlet girl who’s far from winsome. Ho-haw-hum.
Next: Although Ramonaji is thrilled to bits, Sam saab ain’t. In fact, at gab fests with his psychiatrist (Icicle Lady), he’s still obsessive about SH aka Self Harm, involving wrist slitting followed by applications of a bandage balm. Sad. Love is all you need, the Icicle suggests. Wise, wise.
And presto, Psycho Sam discovers that ell ell factor on encountering a sweet surgeon (Tara Alisha), who’s being mentally-‘n’-dentally abused by her husband (played by a Blue Suit). Apna Psycho saab adores her, Sweetsums adores him back. Yaaaay?
Not so fast, alas. Ramonaji disapproves vehemently. Says she to her toy boy, “You can be with both of us. She can be your classic piano and I can be your hard rock!” Oink, no way.
To escape the cul-de-sac reached in the script, Vikram Bhatt has to organise the world’s weirdest crypt. Someone has to pop it, and pronto, before things become more convoluted. Come to think of it, who on earth cares about what happens or doesn’t to the hyper-sexed-up bores? Snore.
A story about sexual permissiveness, basic instincts and all that are fine, but not about perversion about the contrived kind. Exploitative to the hilt, Love Games makes mincemeat about such niceties as romance, tenderness and mutual regard. Indeed, throughout the attitude is patently misogynistic.
Moreover ever so simplistically, sexual knots in the characters are sourced in traumas suffered during childhood, be it the loss of a mother or a meanie-beanie uncle.
Neither does Vikram Bhatt seem to have a clue about the traits and behaviour of the upper crust. Except for the swishy Beverly Hills kind of villas, the dialogue and accents ascribed to the la-di-dah types are jarring. And would you ever hear a cop telling a bereaved woman, word to the effect, “We cops can take pity but can’t offer you sahanubhuti (sympathy).” Pure cheddar!
Manoj Soni’s uber cool cinematography is about the only redeeming factor. Sangeet and Siddharth Haldipurs’ music score is comme ci comme sa re ga ma pa.
Of the cast, Patralekha is hopelessly miscast as a femme fatale. To put it politely, newcomer Gaurav Arora is just about passable. Tara Alisha is the best of the it-takes-three-to-tango tosh. At least, she doesn’t go over-the-top.
Unavoidable conclusion: Bollywood’s brand of sex flicks are going from bad to perverse.
Rating: One Star
Here is the original link of the review
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