There’s absolutely no way on Earth that someone can walk into a packed-out Bollywood movie and NOT enjoy what they’re seeing. There really, really isn’t. It doesn’t matter how wooden the acting, how impossible the storyline or how irritating the music, these movies just have a certain quality that completely pull you in…
Take a stroll through London with Tom and Eve, two star-crossed young hipsters trying to make sense of their messed up lives, finding solace and comfort in each other’s conversation. Or rather, don’t. In fact, do anything else rather than watch this deeply underwhelming love story.
Someone once said ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’. Well the old rom-com formula isn’t really broke, but this film tried to fix it anyway, by inserting a huge lump of cancer into the plot. Romance, laughs, dates and cancer- oh dear, who honestly thought this formula was ever going to work?
This Bollywood movie ticks all the boxes. There’s jewels. There’s dancing. There’s more glitter than you can shake a stick at. Ignore the terrible subtitles and a plot that’s holier than Gouda, and enjoy the intertextual extravaganza which manages to reference Kill Bill, The Matrix and the Three Stooges.
Seasoned blogger and Best For Film freelancer Cal has a bone to pick with the sprawling industry which promotes and distributes film in the English-speaking world – namely, why is it so gosh-darned xenophobic? For too long has the huge variety of superb cinema produced in countries bereft of words like ‘bling’ and ‘slanket’ been lumped into one big unholy mélange of untrustworthy foreign muck under the euphemistic non-genre of ‘World Cinema’. Well, no longer! We’re standing up and saying NO to a system which thinks L’Illusionniste belongs alongside Emmanuelle.
We all love a good puppeteering. From blossoming love between Kermit and Miss Piggy to the Alpine goat dance in The Sound of Music, puppets are great. But take away the romance and the joyful singing and replace it with murder and mystery and you’ve got yourself the dark creation of the Jim Henson Company, Happytime Murders. Who could be happy murdering puppets? It’s sick.
Imagine that all that was once gold has turned to rusty iron. Yeah, it’s bad, but most of us have too many responsibilities and not enough in the bank, to just go swanning off for a year. But say if you were an unhappy, attractive American woman with money to spare who longs to “marvel at something”, then you probably wouldn’t find yourself laying about in your pjs, picking fluff out of your bellybutton. Most likely you would go galavanting off into the sunset. Puh-lease. Come back to the real world, Julia Roberts.
Before watching I Hate Luv Storys I was a Bollywood virgin. I was aware of some of its conventions – its vibrancy, its musicality, the way it revels in artifice – but beyond that I was painfully naïve. So, armed with my postage-stamp sized amount of knowledge of Hindi cinema, I set about popping my Bollywood cherry. Sadly, like so many hungover 16 year olds, I find myself instantly regretting this awkward first encounter. Bloated, dull and repetitive, I Hate Luv Storys has nothing to offer beyond reheated romantic clichés from Hollywood and Bollywood alike.