Ek Tha Tiger

Yikes. No no, they aren’t your grandparents though they’re behaving like some bygone-era pair of lovers, oohing over a pair of swans, aahing over a shower of meteors and he-he’ing over corny stuff like, “If you’re called Zee, just call me Doordarshan.

” Really, the romancing technique out here is so outdated that you want to buy the couple tickets to Jism-2 or whatever’s still showing at the ‘plexes.

Truly when director Kabir Khan’s Ek Tha Tiger checks into exotic hotels with his Tigress, you don’t even see them ordering a spinach sandwich over room service. They camp in the lobby perhaps. Result: This has to be the most sanitised spy versus spy thingy to appear from the Bollytown, making yesteryear’s Farz seem so much more entertaining. Jeetendra in his tight white trousers was more 007 than this Tigerman, who actually says, “Tiger? Isn’t that a name given to dogs?” Wow bow, such self-deprecation.

Indeed, the New Age Bond/Bourne has been so badly scripted — non-story by producer Aditya Chopra — that it’s a wonder that Salman Khan, on a winning streak nowadays, actually conceded to participate in a project which is like a dry dosa without the masala. Anyone could have stepped into the shoes of the Stunt Wonder required here, but then of course the Yash Raj banner wouldn’t have succeeded in encashing on the current Khan mania. Well, quickie ticket sales over the first weekend is all that counts, doesn’t it? Never mind the drubbing the actor’s popularity may face, or the disappointing response from the audience. Kids, especially, might doze through the talkie portions, waking up for the action outbursts, and then zzzz all over again through the plot, which is patently pointless.

Okay, so you’re informed that India’s Raw and Pakistan’s ISI are at daggers drawn, despite frequent peace conclaves. The agencies’ names are dropped as if it were a video game. Tiger (You Know Who) is assigned to “observe” the movements of a Dublin University’s professor (Roshan Seth, trying hard to bicycle), a butter soft task which is made even more buttery by the appearance of Zoya aka Zee (Katrina Kaif). Turns out that she’s an ISI spy, hell’s bells, so our hero aims a revolver at her despite his dhak dhak pangs for her. TRP ratings-challenged Doordarshan shoots Zee dead. Eight reels over, it’s intermission, no more bad acting from Katrina Kaif. Yippee?

No such luck. Post-intermission Zee is back head-covered at a high power waltz party. Dude Doordarshan and Zee dance, agree that they adore each other, and run away to Cuba. Only she smokes a cigar (hurriedly), he doesn’t. Maybe she’ll double cross him, maybe he’s triple-cross her. Who knows? Who cares? Except for the antsy Raw boss (Girish Karnad, welcome back), the antsier ISI honcho (Designer Stubble), and a Weirdo Beardo (Ranvir Sheorey). Who this Hairy Bear? Seem he’s a fellow RAW agent, who has hated paying for the Tiger’s breakfast bills. Eggs tu? Meanwhile, whatever happened to the bicycling Roshan Seth? Don’t ask silly questions, and you won’t get sillier assumptions. So there!

The concept of a gym-beefed-up spy falling in love (or maybe not) with a woman who smiles like a dentist’s delight is much too thin for a Salman Khan vehicle at this point. Elements can be sourced to Ian Fleming’s The Spy Who Loved Me, the least successful of the 007 paperbacks. Anyway if the idea was to give Super Khan something more “sophisticated” and “cool”, sorry guys, it didn’t work. No Sheila ki jawani, no quotable quotes in the dialogue, no muscle flexing (the inevitable bare chest is glimpsed at supersonic speed), just no Salmangiri here.

Sure, the stunts are top-of-the-line (very Bourne Vita though) but you’ve seen the same — more snazzily executed in the international originals. As for blowing up cars, Abbas-Mustan and Rohit Shetty have already blown up a gazillion of fancy wheels. Moreover, a stunt double for Lady ISI was more obvious. In the emoting department, Ms Kaif confines herself to two expressions: Frown-frown, grin-grin. Eeeps.

Of the rest of the acting crew, quite clearly Girish Karnad and Ranvir Sheorey (never mind the facial shrubbery) are the class actors here. Salman Khan’s screen presence is as likeable as ever — when he is tongue-in-chic. Otherwise there seems to be a disconnect between the actor and the director.

Like the title Ek Tha Tiger deserves to be spoken of in the past tense. In two words, eminently forgettable.