Headless chickens spoil the curry

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Luv Shuv Tey Chicken Khurana

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Chalo Punjab — again. And why not? Acres and acres of farmfields, a brick haveli, puttering scooters and delectable dhabas, are eminently camera-friendly. Indeed, the soft, brown-shaded backdrop is so inviting that you want to hop over there instantaneously.

Alas besides its setting, director and co-writer Sameer Sharma’s tongue-twistingly titled Luv Shuv Tey Chicken Khurana is strictly bheja fry. Its ceaseless inanities and absurdities make you wish you’d spent the ticket money on a spinach salad instead. Much more nutritional. In fact, this Murgh-e-Punjab is quite indigestible, no matter how valiantly you attempt to make a meal of it.
At most, its plotline could have made for a short film. Dilemma: it has been stretched to a two-hour-plus feature, which runs helter-skelter, somewhat like a headless chicken. Cut, then, to a desperate hunt for a lost secret recipe. Old Khurana saab, the recipe’s inventor (Vinod Nagpal), has retreated into a shell, his dhaba has shut shop, and a rival restaurateur is flourishing. Since such a situation has to change — enter the inventor’s grandson Omi (Kunal Kapoor). Good? Not really.
Zounds. Grandson has jetted in from London to rob the family of money equivalent to 50,000 sterling pounds. This huge amount is a must to repay a gangster (Bald for Amrish Puri-like effect), back in London. Or Grandson Omi will be lying dead in a Southall ditch. Aiyyaa.
Eerily, Omi reaches India on what looks like a clay model of an airlines call “Jatt”. That’s meant to be funny. At the Khuranas’ brick haveli, he’s half-welcomed. A kindly aunt is delirious with joy. Ditto a boozaholic cousin. One uncle is terribly hostile, another (Rajesh Sharma) insists on sharing his charpoy at nights. As for grandpa’s response, he keeps… err… farting regularly. By the way, that’s supposed to be very funny.
Despite coaxing, grandpa just won’t reveal the magic recipe. No one tries to come up with a yummier alternative either. Meanwhile, women pop out from the woodwork. Grandson’s childhood sweetheart (Huma Qureshi) is a doctor who makes it clear that she didn’t forge or buy her MBBS degree. More: She is bethroted to the boozaholic, who is actually madly in love with an Army widow from Bengal. Too many characters — or should one say caricatures? — spoil the curry constantly.
So, see everyone’s facing issues here, including the audience. Because the pace is slower than a tractor with punctured tyres. Neither do you empathise much with the London-returned Grandson who must raise those £50,000 pounds. Omi’s much too self-centred and amoral to arouse the viewer’s concern. Neither black, white nor grey, he’s just colourless like the chicken bones he keeps marinating. Burp.
In the event, it’s essentially the sidebar characters who are somewhat likeable. Like the real-estate shark who can never strike a decent deal. Then there is the guileless household servant, not to forget a fake godwoman (Dolly Ahluwalia from Vicky Donor) who needs to smoke a joint in the middle of a satsang. Slowly and unsurely, the recipe chase hobbles to a finale, which sets your teeth on edge.
On the upside, director Sharma doesn’t tread on the hyper-commercial path. Imagine, no item number out here. And he keeps the melodrama on a low simmer, and uses the locations wonderfully. Lucklessly, the script is another story.
Amit Trivedi’s unconventional music score is another upper, although the background howls and chants are frequently obtrusive.
Of the acting crew, Rajesh Sharma knocks out the most accomplished performance. Incidentally, his character is given a veiled homo-erotic element. If the director didn’t want to go into this aspect, why the loaded insinuations? Huma Qureshi depends far too much on her cosmetic kit.
To a large extent, Luv Shuv… doesn’t work because of Kunal Kapoor’s weak, uninspired performance. The manner in which he peppers almost every third sentence with “yaar” becomes a drag. Jut like the rest of this enterprise that could have had more Luv than Shuv.