God promise, I tried hard to laugh at this silly concoction about three bumbling bank robbers, or Bank Chors (pronounced to rhyme with an ugly cussword in Hindi) who willy-nilly end up as heroes.
And we end up feeling like the biggest ‘c*******’ (excuse the language) in the world.
As the film closed with footage of Aamir Khan in Dhoom 3, and Rs 2,000 notes began to rain down from the sky, I willy-nilly ended up cursing myself for being such a diligent movie buff, always, there, faithfully watching evaluating. Is this kind of faith one should have in our cinema when a reputed production house spews such garbage in the hope of raising a few laughs?
Indeed the first 20 minutes of Bank Chor is so inept clumsy and mis-directed, with the camera moving through the trapped characters like a lost Alsatian which can’t find its way back to its owners, I wondered if it was a delayed April Fools’s joke where producer Aditya Chopra would suddenly show up on screen and announce: ‘Fooled you, my dear viewers. Here’s the real film now.’
Alas, this IS the real film. What you see is what you get. Run out of the theatre, don’t bother about the ticket money(though admittedly, the money could’ve been used to feed the starving children I saw outside the theatre), just run while you still have time. This is not only the worst film ever produced by Yash Raj, it wears its stupidity proudly on its sleeve, parading its grotesque sense of humour as though the joke was on us.
It probably is. Considering the audiences’ complicity in the absurd plot is taken for granted. But let’s be fair. The second-half of this ramshackle tongue-in-shriek tribute to the “Dhoom” series is a marked improvement on the first-half. Why and how? Well, without giving away the ingenious plot(as one of the minor character said “ismein itni sarcastic hone ki kya zaroorat hai?”), let’s just say the first-half has Ritesh Deshmukh fooling around with his two outcaste colleagues played by Vikram Thapa and Sahil Vaid (interesting, this Vaid chap).
Curiously, a lot of the intended humour in the bloated unkempt banter is targeted at the Delhi-Mumbai divide. Characters trapped in the bank where heist makes for cinematic waste, take great pride in pointing out their place of origin, as though the place where they came from justified their level of heightened idiocy.
Even the villain, an interesting bloke as played by theatre actor Bhuvan Arora, sprouting Urdu diatribe lets us know he is from Faizabad.
Having figured put where all the characters come from, I am still wondering where this film’s plot originates from. It tries so hard to be smart and sassy, it trips over itself in trying to be extra-clever. If you succeed in sticking it out to the end you will witness the finale’s grand twist, so ridiculous and unconvincing it feels like a last-ditch effort to get our attention.
Too exhausted to feel sorry for the actors, I can only feel a sense of unmitigated annoyance at Riteish’s self-deprecatory humour. During the end-credits we see him tell his two co-stars that they don’t have the ‘auqat’ of even a Riteish Deshmukh. Ha ha.
Bank Chor reveals its ‘auqa’t early in its narration when the talented Vivek Oberoi playing a scowling CBI officer barges into the bank held up by the three clumsy chors and comes out without hurting a hair on their body. The unforgivably brainless goings-on could be stopped any time. But they goes on and on, skipping and hopping from one painfully contrived smart-ass episode to another.
This is film that THINKS itself incredibly clever and cocky. In actuality it is just a woefully tacky Dhoom ripoff with characters who seem to have watched the dubbed Bhojpuri version of “Oceans 11” at least 11 times.
Deshmukh’s character believes in Vaastu. He should point us to the nearest exit door before catastrophe strikes us down.
It will take me a long time to get over Bank Chor.
