The only reason I went to watch Fryday is my lingering conviction that Govinda still has something to show us. That he can, like a conjurer, pull out a performance which will make us go ‘aah’.
Alas, Fryday is just another ‘ouch’, as awful as anything he has done in the last few years. As a middle-aged adulterer who cannot keep his hands off a bosomy young thing (Digangana), he comes off more like a horny uncle, than an actor in search of that elusive role.
The film also has Varun Sharma, one of the four Fukrey boys, as a harried water purifier salesman. In his quest to get that one sale which will save his job, he fetches up at Gagan’s (Govinda) house.
Maybe this was meant to be a sex comedy. Or a moral science lecture, with Gagan’s wife turning up to wag her finger at the goings-on. A thief (Kala) shows up. So does another fellow. And another. The premise is right for a passable bedroom farce. Govinda, who could have made this thing bearable, seems to be on a solo tangent. He is only acting to, and for himself, not with his co-stars: only in a few places, he shows flashes of the great comic he used to be, and makes you smile. But those are few and far.
No one else seems to have the first idea of what to do, apart from going around in circles, and spouting dialogue which is meant to be funny but instead fries your brain.
For your hapless film critic, it was truly Fry Day.