It boggles the brain

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Yaaargh. Eyes hidden behind goggles, she makes the brain boggle. Hey lady, take it easy. Phooey, why the tsunami of take-offs on the widely adored songs-’n’-dances of Madhuri, Sridevi and Juhi? No dhak dhak here, only yuck yuck.
Truly, director Sachin Kundlakar’s Aiyyaa lapses into a puerile parody of vintage Bolly-hits. The digs — or tributes? — on the Yash Raj brand of chiffon boogies, a magnum spoof of Padmalaya studio’s matka natyams, a belly-belly cabaret, and even a tacky flashback to Anurag Kashyap’s Dev D, are amusing for a while — till they begin to get on the nerves.
So a movie-obsessed woman lives her life in such fantasies, but it’s no fun sharing them beyond a point. This is a mimicry fest, not a movie. And why trap the overwhelmingly gifted artiste, Rani Mukerji, into imitating her seniors? Ms Mukherji surely deserves better.
In any case, the Padmalaya matka dances, have already been rejigged by The Dirty Picture. Worse, rank vulgarity is on display, like the phallic visuals of a petrol pump’s hose entering… never you mind. Breast-heaving becomes an embarrassment. And a mom laughs with joy on learning that a double bed is being made for her daughter’s impending marriage. Meanwhile, a grandma in a fright wig screams away as if she had wandered in from Bhoot 2 showing in the adjoining multiplex screen. Heaven help us out of this cuckoo’s nest truly.
Cuckoo’s nest, in this case, is a middle class row-house in Pune. Last week the same city was the backdrop for English Vinglish too, wasn’t it? It’s in vogue. And once again it’s bereft of rogues. Just simple people leading whacko lives, like Meenaxi (Rani Mukerji) does. Her age isn’t specified but her mom places a marital column, mentioning her as a 22-year-old. Woohoo. Even her kid brother, who has a fetish for running a franchise of dog, barks at her sarcastically. Naturally that vexes our Meenaxi, who sprints out, ignoring the freshly installed garbage box at the gate, asserting that her relationship with her family is strictly that of love-hate. If only she could find a Tinsel Khan, Kumar or Khanna to wed. Tsk.
Fortunately, she lands a job in an art school. Next, Meenu lands up sharing a cavernous office room with a Lady Gaga lookalike. Gaga breaks into a bump-and-grind, again echoing The Dirty Picture. Now because of his cologne or natural body odour, Meenu flips for a rather overaged student, called Surya (Prithvi). She goes crazy over his scent, sniffing away like a hound from the Baskervilles. Her literary tastes, it is clarified though, veer towards Alice in Wonderland. See, it’s getting cur-ioser and curioser, no?
Surya, it is rumoured, is into booze and drugs majorly. Since he’s a Tamilian, Meenudi announces, “I like dark-complexioned guys.” Huh! At most, Surya is distinctly wheatish.
Next: a rose-complexioned Punekar approves of Meenudi. In the midst of a stroll, the nice gent declares that he’s nuts about Farouq Shaikh and Deepti Naval. “Deeeepteee who?” Meenu inquires. Note, she doesn’t ask about Farouqji. And so it goes yawn, till her engagement ceremony to the Deeeepteee-fan is in full swing. Our fantasy-struck Meenu must take some practical decisions… it’s now or never.
The screenplay is self-indulgent: it almost seems as if writer-director Kundalkar finds everything outrageously funny. Visually, the look is garish. The editing overlooks dreary scenes like an encounter with a drug peddler. Amit Trivedi’s music score’s a zinger though, thanks to the track Dreamum wakeupam.
Of the cast, Kerala’s popular Prithvi is starch stiff. Subodh Bhave as the rosey fiance discloses a pleasant screen presence.
As for Rani Mukerji, she’s in almost every scene. She’s spirited and saucy, but that’s it. Indeed, you crave to see her, fast, in an enterprise in which she can re-ignite her acting sparks. Aiyyaa lives up to its title. Its closest translation? Ewwwww.