Directed by: Ali Abbas Zafar
Rating:**
There is something to be said for YRF’s cultural bankruptcy when a wafer-thin plot from the formula that made it a powerhouse in the last century is resurrected in 2011. 'Mere Brother Ki Dulhan' borders on self-parody in many ways: an NRI brother (Ali Zafar) in London breaks up with his girlfriend, calls up his brother (Imran Khan) insisting that must be married to a good Indian girl by Christmas, the brother goes on a bride-hunt only to realize that the prospective bride (Katrina Kaif), the daughter of an Indian Foreign Services officer (which, I suppose, justifies Katrina’s strange Hindi accent in the Kaif-Kalki era of exotic heroines), is someone he had met as a wild gal who held impromptu concerts to a throng of frenzied fans from greater Agra.
All other props that entail the great Indian wedding are then thrown in: Kanwaljeet and Parikshit Sahni and their respective spouses play the in-laws-to-be; North Indian bumchums from the protagonist’s childhood hang around; a naaniji in a wheelchair glides by every now and then. The bride-to-be even has a demented brother (modelled on Dustin Hoffman in 'Rainman'/Tom Hanks in 'Forrest Gump'), who perennially holds a Rubik’s cube in his hand and repeats his sentences in a hackneyed staccato.
Through the arrangements for the wedding, Imran Khan and Katrina Kaif realize that they are in love with one another, despite the incestuous connotations. Soon the slow brother, the country bumpkin buddies, and the groom’s ex, alongside the lovers, conspire to botch this impending wedding. It takes over two hours for this plan to come to fruition by when you are pretty much like Katrina’s demented brother in this film.
Everyone is decidedly hi-energy throughout the film; Ranveer Singh’s success in 'Band Baaja Baraat' must have played some role in this ‘let’s all act like we’ve downed ten Red Bulls’ school of acting. Katrina Kaif and Imran Khan both have terrific screen presence and exude undeniable charisma, except when they are forced into gags that can best be described as un-funny. It is to their credit that the film is somewhat bearable, despite the clichés that plague it from start to end. Ali Zafar too appropriately merges urbane smugness with a bucolic twang.
Aside from the cloying silliness of the venture, two crucial factors make the film a no-brainer: why would you imagine that reasonably educated young folks would jump into matrimony this easily at the risk of destroying their lives? While all the technology that represents the ‘young’ generation is carefully highlighted (Ali Zafar’s girlfriend in the film’s opening sequence smashes his LCD television set, Ali and Kaif have their marriage interview over Skype), the film doesn’t catch the pulse of the independence of the younger generation. Secondly, one cannot feel empathetic towards characters that are so insouciantly attempt to destroy their own lives, and that of those close to them.
While 'Mere Brother Ki Dulhan' is bad enough for the future of incest in India, it bodes much worse for the future of Indian cinema.
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