Bheja Fry

Assemble these ingredients: a rich music company owner who gets his jollies from humiliating poor saps, an unhappy singer who hoofs off into the night in her fancy new car, a nymphomaniac who loves her pooches to distraction, a hairy, happy music director, and a dyspeptic tax inspector. Toss them about with an oily-haired gent who thinks he is the greatest singer he’s ever heard, losing nary a moment to burst into song. And you get Bheja Fry, a contemporary comedy-of-manners which makes you laugh out loud for a lot of its under- two-hours running time.

First-time director Sagar Ballary seems to have the same gift that Rajat Kapoor, who plays the wealthy guy, has: he does quirky well. Some of the humour reminds you of Mixed Doubles, but that could be because that movie also starred, apart from Kapoor, both Vinay Pathak, here playing god’s only gift to sangeet jagat, and Ranvir Shorey, the sour-faced tax inspector.

This is one of those rare films which actually give you a situation: Kapoor’s wife (Sarika) stomps off in anger, leaving him with a painfully-twisted back, and his smiling idiot-for-the-evening (Vinay). It’s a game Kapoor and a bunch of his luxe-loving pals play: they invite a poor unsuspecting fellow as a dinner guest, and make him the object of their derision. This time around, the positions are reversed, and at the end of the very Harold Pinter-ish ensemble, you are left in no doubt who the real idiot of the piece is.

Good acting, enough novelty in the script, and very funny lines, even if they peter out occasionally. And a crackling performance by Vinay Pathak, as the songster for all occasions. With his movie, Pathak cements his position as one of our finest comic talents, who can overplay, underplay, and offer up unforced hilarity.

One grouse though: Ranvir Shorey, who can be equally brilliant, has been seriously underutilised. A little more of him, and our bhejas would have been better fried.