I deserve this, this feeling of wanting to gorge my eyes out and play foosball with them. Or the overwhleming feeling to run under a train and give up life. I deserve it, cause i willingly let myself into the theatre showing this film. What was i even thinking?
Veena Malik is a super model, who is in Fiji vying for an endosrement deal for a wine baron (wink wink nudge nudge then yawn away to glory). The photographer is Ashmit Patel (hereby would and should be rechristened a log of wood, and no references to any body parts intended). There are other super models too vying for the same deal (read other asylums have beens who cant keep clothes on them for more than ten seconds). One by one, they start getting killed!! and wonder of wonders Veena gets blamed for the murders. Through this story (no really, they prefer to call this a story) the film tries to delve deeper into the trials and tribulations of the world of modelling and the lives o supermodels.
What are these tribulations and miseries? Having to wear clothes for one. Given a chance, which super model wouldnt want to walk down busy market areas and hotel lounges dressed in clothes that can give bikini a panic attack? Then there is the unimaginable want for supermodels to hit on any and every one, perenially on drugs and alcohol, their libido knows no bounds. Plus there are the hungry horny men letchers who they have to satisfy for it is their dharma.
And it is our karma, to sit and watch this drivel. Veena Malik proves that she is the most dangerous terror export ever, intended to slow poison our wits and brains. Ashmit, her conduit, is well, lets just say he deserves to be made into a furniture to actually make sense of his existance. Rest of the cast was aware this film is an excuse for veena to wear bras and underwears in the name of acting and ashmit to get some action, so have decided not to bother with any pretence of acting.
Still want to go watch it? be my guest. Though, do carry a pair of screw drivers to guage them eyes out.