Loud and unclear

Johnson Thomas

This one’s a monumental ego trip—the size of which has never been ‘scene’ before. GRRSJI sets out on a gigantic self-promotion exercise through cinema, wherein he acts, writes, scripts, directs, composes songs, cinematographs, produces and does everything else under the celluloid banner possible. 
He is a superstar in the film—the love charger, ghost-rider, superhero, vigilante, bomber, painter, healer, self-styled cult-evangelist and everything else imaginable. He also incorporates every possible clichéd Bollywood idiom into this exaggerated extravagance intended mainly to gather his followers together and provide them with something to crow about. Unbelievably elongated into a 197 minute-long show of an all-in-one packaged cure all for abuses of all forms, terrorism, female foeticide, corruption, AIDS etc, this film takes the cake and eats it too.
There’s really no such thing as a story here. The plot is pitiable woebegone, the dialogues are quite ridiculous, stunts are unimaginable, editing is sloppy, costumes are hideous, music is cantankerous and the acting is terribly pedestrian. A diaphanous crusade against social ills, this prettifying of a cult doesn’t ring true at all. This is by far the most strenuous experience in a cinema, since a long time.