Imagine a psychedelic, pulsating circus-mela packed beyond capacity: Nymphets are dancing on a stage, and a bike is whirring around maut ka kuan. A pehalwan is slapping his thighs and opponents, and in a ring, acrobats and knife-throwers are doing their thing. A tall juggler is juggling, and a man on a soapbox is cracking up telling jokes. People are laughing at their distortions in crazy mirrors, music is blaring, the giant wheel is moving. Candy floss machine is weaving pink fluff, and small clouds of steam carry around delicious smells. But you are caught in a throng. It is difficult to breathe, to stop, to savour. You just go where you are taken, and soon you are spat out of the “out” gate. The assault on your senses has left you parched, disoriented. You have no sense of what you have seen. It’s a blur. You feel exhausted, crave silence and a glass of cold water.
This pretty much sums up the experience of watching Yamla Pagla Deewana. Sunny and Dharmendra play their old screen selves, only more wrinkled, caricatured and contrived. They do everything we loved watching them do: Dharam dancing, singing, flirting, drinking and being silly, and Sunny caring, staring, punching, thrashing and, of course, roaring. Little Bobby rides along, on the power of his curls, dimples and the Deol surname.
Yamla Pagla Deewana expects indulgence from fans who have been entertained, charmed and comforted by the Deols for years. This is the dakshina the Deols have demanded. It’s the Deols’ (presumably) last, collective hurrah. So just watch it and pay your dues.
This is not to say that the film is a bore. It’s not. It is just a nonsensical barrage of blows, jokes, dance and punch-drunk camaraderie. YPD makes you cringe, but it also makes you laugh. It makes you slap your forehead hard, but it also makes you want join the group hug – of which there are many. And, most embarrassingly, it has moments that make your throat lumpy. I mean, come on, if three burly jats cry because they want to be loved, what can you do but surrender to the moment.
YPD’s story is simple. It’s about reuniting bichhre members of the Dhillon family.
Paramveer Singh Dhillon (Sunny Deol) lives in Vancouver, Canada, with his mother (Nafisa Ali), gori-mem wife Mary (Emma Brown), two sons and a photograph of his father in the living room. One day one gora guest, Bobji, screams at the man in the frame for robbing him of everything save his boxers in Banaras. Before Paramveer’s dhai-kilo hand plasters Bobji on the wall, mother spills the beans.
Dharam (Dharmendra) was up to no good, indulging in small time crook-giri, and that’s why mother planned to leave him with her two sons. But before she could, Dharma took the little one and disappeared. Mother would like to see her husband and son.
Cut to Banaras where Dharam and Gajodhar (Bobby Deol) are busy conning people, drinking and clowning around. Paramveer arrives, little brother cons elder brother, elder brother meets father, says “I am your son.” Father says, “No, you are not. You are a con.” Stalemate. To move forward, elder brother must prove himself indispensible and this he gets to do when trouble arrives in the form of angry and armed con victims. Paramveer saves Dharam and Gajodhar from being mauled, arrested, etc. And this goes on till Gajodhar falls in love with Sahiba (Kulraj Randhawa) who has five huffy Sardar brothers, led by the pistol-wielding Joginder Singh (Anupam Kher).
Paramveer must now get little brother his love. So off they go to Punjab where dhols boom every time the words shaadi or dulha are mentioned. But the route to a united and happy Dhillon family is through many drunken brawls, Santa-Banta jokes, complication over the wrong brother getting married, a Canada-obsessed girl obsessing over Gajodhar, an idiotic election campaign and many in-jokes about Sunny and hand pump etc.
Director Samir Karnik’s Yamla Pagla Deewana rides on the warm and cuddly Deol goodwill and on the crackling chemistry between father and sons. It’s clear that the Deols love each other’s company and had a jolly good time making the film. It’s also clear that the intention here was to make a dippy comedy. Neither the Deols nor the film pretends otherwise and that honesty is endearing. But, at the end, all you recall is a blur and break into half-a-smile.