Writer John Mahendran has packed a plethora of modest jocose sensationalizations into Settai's script, subtly and frankly working within while deconstructing what I'm assuming are Bollywood tropes, the singing and the dancing, always with the singing and the dancing, while intricately laying the foundations for an alternative journalistic cultural outlet, practically yet scatologically introducing capitalistic sentiments (the scoundrel of the film's triumvirate of struggling unmarried young male professionals knows how to find money but suffers from recurring bowel disruptions throughout), as well as a host of additional interconnected motivations.
The film is deep.
Fidelity, friendship, professional integrity, authenticity, keeping up with the Joneses, love, economics, other things, all of these concurrent psychological influences are mischievously intertwined, made to seem ridiculous yet pertinent, in an attempt to encourage change from within.
I think.
For instance, one of the first scenes shows a song about to be sung by gaudy performers equipped with robotic tigers but we then discover that it's just being played on a television screen in an airport and has nothing directly to do with the film.
Hence, I thought there would be less singing and dancing.
There is still a lot of singing and dancing but one number does include flaming sitars.
They're not really flaming, it's more like gigantic electric sparks are shooting forth from their instrumental breadth, but still, a nice touch.
The distinction between quality and quantity appears again and again as mistakes introduce obstacles the surmounting of which proves empowering.
Reminded me of my idea to start a new National monthly periodical, 25% First Nations, 25% Francophone, 25% Anglophone, 25% Allophone.
Something like Multicultural Mayhem.
Not really the title I'm thinking of.
I don't have a title.
Just need some capital.
And some contacts.
And some colleagues.
And a market.
And a title.
Looks like I may have to learn to sing and dance.
Cool flick.
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