Bumboo, as in that divine instrument of misfortune that seeks already miserable behinds, is a copy of a 1973 French film, L’emmerdeur (A Pain In the A**) which was based on the play

When I and my chuddie-dost log were growing up in MIG flats our parents got allotted by lottery system, there were no 24x7 entertainment channels. But we had the movies. Though there was only one video player amongst several similarly strained families, we all lived on generous credit from the local video store uncle.

If you’ve invited guests over for a special occasion and you plan on making chocolate cake, your signature dish, you may decide to dress it up with some delicate shavings, a sauce, even cocoa or sugar powder. You may even place a fine orange rind on one side, for effect and a bit of zest. What you will not do is shove gulab jamuns and rasgullas into your chocolate cake, stick in the gaps bits of jalebi, push in kulfi sticks, pour a bowl of kheer and then cover it all up with silver varakh. One bite and your guests will know it’s not a chocolate cake; it’s a nervous breakdown.

We have learnt to live with Bollywood’s creative constipation, but now we must also get used to Bollywood not just picking up vile Hollywood scripts that resulted in vile Hollywood films, but also adding their two bits to make it a full-on vile-fest.
In 2004, Nick Cassavetes took Nicholas Sparks’ novel, The Notebook, and turned it into a film because, apparently, “behind every great love is a great story” and it needs retelling.

Writer-director Tigmanshu Dhulia’s Paan Singh Tomar has the quiet, single-minded determination of Joey from War Horse, even Nagesh Kukunoor’s Iqbal to some degree, and he has Phoolan Devi’s writhing anger. But Dhulia’s biopic of the fauji-turned-baagi doesn’t scream out for attention as Shekhar Kapur’s Bandit Queen did. Paan Singh Tomar is not desperate for attention. It’s quite confident that it’s the bee’s knees. It is.

Aao bachchon, aaj tumhein ek kahani sunati hoon main. Ektaji ki kahani sunoge?
Kai saal pehle ki yeh baat hai, bhayanak-andheri si raaton mein, jab nine bajte the, saas-bahus ka daily clash hota tha. Kabhi saas win karti thi, toh kabhi bahu. But because these were ghar-ghar ki kahanis, they were loved by every ghar and gharwali.

Vaise toh hamare desh mein tarah-tarah ke parv and tyohar hain, but one very special place is reserved for one special day in the lives of our young, virile and mostly virgin TV people — suhaag raat. As you know, suhaag raat precedes honeymoon and predates libido-threatening domesticity. It’s a trailer of things to come, on the couple’s honeymoon, that is.

London Paris New York is a light, cute love story that is upfront about its intentions, but not its inspiration. In the first scene itself we hear about Mills & Boon, so we figure where it’s headed. And as the film progresses, hopping from one kiss in one country to another longing kiss in another, we see and hear Before Sunrise and Before Sunset (starring Ethan Hawke and Julie Delphy).

Two questions niggled at me while I shifted in my seat, suffering Will You Marry Me? Were Shreyas Talpade and Rajeev Khandelwal kidnapped and forced to act in this film which has no reason to exist? Question 2: Does Mugdha Godse know some special jaadu-tona tricks? How else do you explain two usually talented actors fussing over her for two hours and the camera mooning over her all the time.
Seriously, Will You Marry Me? is so senseless that it makes no sense to discuss it seriously.

Jodi Breakers has a tagline to explain its quiddity -- “Single rehne ka bejod formula -- but it’s entirely misleading. Director Ashwini Chaudhary’s film devotes all its energy, attention and time to getting two single personages commit to matrimony, which, as you know, is the opposite state of being from single rehna.