Cast: Riteish Deshmukh, Vivek Oberoi, Aftab Shivdasani, Manjari Fadnis, Sonalee Kulkarni, Karishma Tanna
Director: Indra Kumar
The Indian Express rating: ½ * (Half star)
The Masti boys are back. Only, nine years later, they are boys no more. They are grown men pretending to be college kids. Groan. In the original film, their boyishness translated into freshness and some amount of fun-filled naughtiness. In Indra Kumar-style, Amar, Prem and Meet got married, got bored, went off to relive their carefree bachelorhood. There was the semblance of a story. The fellows sang and danced, and romanced the lovely Lara (Dutta) and it was okay.
In Grand Masti, the trio looks too old. Strike one. The film doesn’t even make a stab at a plot, not even a sliver-thin one. Strike two. And the gross-out gags, all geared at male groins which is what Bollywood “adult comedies” are presumably meant to do, are all, apologies in advance, limp. Over and out. Amar (Ritesh), Prem (Aftab) and Meet (Vivek) are much married. Amar is literally left holding his baby, as his wife flits about. Meet’s biwi is so busy in office that she doesn’t have time for hubby dear. And Prem ki patni is a gharelu type, always at the beck and call of his family. No sack time. What is a man to do? Why, accept a reunion offer from their college, where there will be, hopefully, hotties to be had.
Only when you are assaulted for over two hours by lines so astoundingly callow that you realise why we have no “adult” comedies. Don’t get fooled by the parade of bikinis and acres of bobbing bare flesh, or dialogues that “involve rockets in pockets”, or the oldest, most tired joke in the book, naming characters Rose, Mary and Marlow, and saying the names out loud all through the film: I lost count of the times it happened, and after a while, even the guys in the row behind me stopped sniggering.
No one expects films of this sort – boys and their toys – to be sophisticated or intelligent. By definition, they are meant to be crass and tasteless. But then filmmakers getting into this should go the whole hog, and give us what they promise: there was nothing adult in what I saw, only pubescent groping. In a slack tale, laden with stale lines, and a moral science lecture tagged on.