Mr Singh Mrs Mehta

Director: Pravesh Bharadwaj

Rating:*

Infidelity. Cheating spouses. Switching partners. All of these elements feature in ‘Mr Singh Mrs Mehta’,which has two sets of husbands and wives playing musical beds with the most astonishingly enervating effect. Despite all the flesh on display —the curve of a bare breast,the length of a shapely back– the film is dull and lifeless.

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What would a man about town ( Aslam) who’s having it off with one of his clients ( Haasan) do when planning an assignation? Leave his cellphone with all the incriminating details on the breakfast table,that’s what. All the better for his wife ( Shields) to scroll down and check the name. She’s one of those women who wants to see what she’s up against,so she arrives at the other woman’s doorstep,only to run into her,the other woman’s,equally improbably unsuspicious husband ( Narayanan).

He’s a painter,she’s an agony aunt for a website. That leads to two things : she gets naked on a couch ( how do you do nudes,otherwise?) ; she also does a lot of moaning and groaning ( what’s an agony aunt for,otherwise?). ‘Mera mood bahut kharab hai’,she tells the painter,who looks at her inscrutably through cigarette smoke,and daubs another blob on the canvas.

There may have been the germ of a good story in this sketchy plot,but it is buried under the amateurish execution. Aslam has done good work before,but has nothing to do here other than flicking his tie over his shoulder,and painting his unfaithful wife’s toe-nails. Shields,who showed up in ‘Prince’ as one of three girls,proves that she was better off when she had to leap about in black leather. Dialogue is not one of her virtues. And Narayanan,who is usually a pleasure to watch,is completely wasted,being neither a credible cuckold,nor painter.

Also,a word to the wise: pixellating doesn’t hide a thing. A butt will always remain a butt.

shubhra.gupta@expressindia.com