Lawyers beware. If you lose a property case, your client might just beat you up black and blue outside the court. Next: on being denied their family plot in Delhi’s Chandni Chowk, the loser pair of brother and sister skedaddle to a weirdo townling called Ranakpur. Quite easily done.

Fun? Not exactly. The screenplay of Bol Bachchan directed by Rohit Shetty — another aspirant to the100 crore-mark at the cash counters — is so weak that it’s a virtual termite-infested plank of teak. There’s just no effort at making cinema here. The emphatic aim is to publicise the product mammothly, assemble mega-marketable stars (though some of them may be on slippery ground), hack out somersaulting car stunts, beat pyscho baddies to tomato puree, and of course sprinkle crudities galore. Relentlessly homophobic and smarmy, the slapdash result may well make oodles of cash. But then it’s the season for outlandish, lower-common-denominator stuff making whoopee at the nation’s box-office. Groan.

Or maybe don’t. Currently much is being made about the disconnect between the reviewers and the ticket buying public. Come to think of it, it’s an eon-old dilemma. Trade writers may go by the matrix of a film’s commercial potential but the plain, ordinary critic still hopes to apply the matrix of that almost-extinct thingamujig called quality. Translated, quality means an element of good taste, emotional appeal, technical competence and a story that is worth telling. Alas, Rohit Shetty, like many before him and many after him, doesn’t believe in such requisites. The more excessive the merrier.

Also since concepts hinge on the malaise of remakes, here’s one more unabashed go at brain-bashing and the mangling of much-cherished originals. In addition, the Bachchan aura is sought to be used constantly, kicking off with the opening song spotlighting the senior actor in a dance appearance. Fondly or oddly, the lyrics go to the extent of calling the Bachchans a “magnanimous family”.

The Amar Akbar Anthony Easter egg-tongue-twister, “The whole thing is that...” is reprised. Plus not to miss a medley of chartbusters ranging from Ooh-la-la to Maar daala. The Subhash Ghai Karz tune is re-heated too. Truly, what is this but re-heated vindaloo? In-jokes take some potshots at Shah Rukh Khan and other film personalities, albeit carefully. What if they take offence? The viewer is left to read between the suggestive dialoguegiri. Umm. SRK can chill.

Of course, the template is none other than Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s Golmaal (1979), in which its hapless hero, Amol Palekar, grappled with his quirky boss Utpal Dutt. A sizeable excerpt from the vintage ribickler is foisted in with Palekar doing his gently duplictious number. And if Hrishida’s Chupke Chupke (1975) jibed excellently at linguistic snobbery, the writers here concoct such cornball phrases for Devgn as, “Pest control yourself!”, “Hard work is the key to the saxophone” (huh?), “I’ll make you remember your Milk No. 6” (please guys), Today my chest has become a blouse” and shudder, “Necessity is the mother of the Discovery Channel.” You don’t want to know more.

Back in the good ole times, the Golmaal conflict had revolved around a job-needy nerd and his employer with a moustache fetish. Here, the conflict involves the Muslim faith. The Delhi lawyer-basher Abbas (Abhishek Bachchan) must hide his religion from Raunakpur’s de facto monarch (Ajay Devgn). If he is seen after Id prayers, Abbas has to cloak his identity instantly. Seems the Muslim man had broken the lock of a mandir to save a drowning child, and could be lynched if he revealed his real name. Besides being convoluted, this entire track subverts the notion of secularism. If Shetty was making a point about a communal situation, why use it as a frivolous plot device? A moustache would have been better.

Anyway, what’s to be said about the goings-on? Except that Abbas must take on a dual role of a Dostani dude, next — if he is to continue living in Ranakpur. Throughout, you keep wondering why can’t his sister (Asin, bewigged) and he return to Delhi, consider Mumbai or even Honolulu? Why continue to suffer? Maybe because the Facto Monarch must fall in love with Abbas’ sister (Asin). After all, he once knew her replica who had died in an accident. Really!

More: Abbas must woo the fearsome Facto’s sister (Prachi Desai, behaving as if she’s in a toothpaste ad). And at long last, it all culminates in a cliffhanger finale, which throws you back rightaway to the climaxes of No Entry and Ready. Enough is enough.

Juggling between a style that’s part Priyadarshan and part Anees Bazmee, Rohit Shetty extracts gaudy cinematography from Santosh Thundiyil, sloppy editing from Steven Bernard and a sub-par music score from Himesh Reshammiya.

Admittedly a couple of scenes are amusing, like Archana Puran Singh’s sleazy courtesan pretending to be a docile mother, and Asrani’s beffudlement with the non-stop chaos.

Abhishek Bachchan still has to polish his Hindi diction, relax his arm-and-body language and above all, quit hamming in the name of comedy. Note his over-the-top histrionics in the finale especially. Not surprisingly, the reliably effortless Ajay Devgn is likeable. The rest of Bol Bachchan isn’t.