Guddu Ki Gun Movie Review: Gold Standard Nonsense

QUICK PILL

Highs:

• Kolkata, Kunal Khemu, Sumeet Vyas

Lows:

• They\'re all high

Rating: 1.5 (out of 5)

The funniest part about 'Guddu ki Gun' is that it exists. People might pay money to watch it. Hell, people paid money to make it. And it takes a special kind of talent to make a 130-minute film about a Bihari man with a penis of gold. You heard that right. Man With A Golden Gun. Goldmember. Ironman. Lord Of The Lings. Rod Is God. Lingam returns. All those lewd, vulgar sms jokes are now your worst nightmare.

I don't even know where to begin. Kunal Khemu is actually a guy who understands the essence of comic timing. His face is still likeable. He doesn't have to try hard to deliver punch lines. Therefore, to watch him enter the Adam-Sandler phase of his career is quite unnerving.

Don't see it to believe it

He seems to even be enjoying himself as Guddu, the randy washing-powder salesman pleasuring several horny Kolkata housewives. Each of them is a Savita Bhabhi for him. Is this meant to be some sort of crass play on overt Bengali sexuality and gender politics? He gets cursed, and his 'gun' turns into solid gold. Here's where the writers go Shallow-Hal on us. Only true love can un-gold him. For this, he must win the heart of an ugly girl (facial pockmarks basically) and shed his superficial persona. The old heart-of-gold metaphor, get it? Then the writers go Delhi-Belly on us. His member gets stolen. He wants his mojo back - literally. The wild goose-chase happens across the city. A few quirky dons, submissive husbands, kinky foreigners, incompetent doctors and sidekicks are thrown in. If you're still reading, this bizarre plot culminates in Priyadarshan fashion during a Mughal-e-Azam stage play.

The only interesting aspect of this thing is that the makers chose to set it in Kolkata. You'd imagine Mumbai or Delhi just by the title, but it's fascinating to watch this particular city participate in this acid trip. Maybe it's just new to see a sex comedy play out in different dialects.

However, it's consistently absurd to see everybody obsessed by Mr. Khemu's crotch. Half the film has human faces flashed with fifty shades of golden light. I can't even recommend this for its juvenility, because children aren't exactly the target audience. And neither are sane-minded guys, no matter how frustrated or deprived they are.

This is simply a film for, by and about tools. Silence would have been golden instead. Gudd-bye.