JTYJN…marks Abbas Tyrewala's directorial debut. It's a campus-caper where the students never have to bother about class or the campus. They're always meeting up in a purana-qila on the waterfront with waves spalshing around them or in a tacky club/disco where quarrels/misunderstandings can easily break out at the slightest of provocations.
Imran Khan ( who's 6 inches taller than his chacha Aamir Khan) and Genelia ( whose name sounds like some exotic tropical flora-that might give you rashes if you venture too close) are 'best friends' in college for five years on a stretch. Fair enough. But he's a chikna 'gareeb-larka' with a posh-urban accent and politeness personified and she's as cute and bubbly as soda pop. They're inseparable( always in each other bedrooms) and always hugging and rubbing shoulders. But there's no feeling only. What to do?
The girl's parents step in to play agony aunt and ask the couple to try dating other people and see if there's any chemistry. For a moment there is-and then the couple realize that its better to turn platonic love into the real thing when faced with the prospect of drunken in laws and abusive fiancees. For somebody who has some other decent screenplays to his credit, Tyrewala's first solo endeavour is the definiton of hypocrisy in the broadest sense of the word. The film comes packaged as a new-liberated-post-millenia-urban-youth tale but revels in sordid cliches that equate drinking, partying and failed adult relationships with bad behaviour and low morals. A drinker, a partygoer and someone who's been through relationships is definitely a 'bad person' and a girl whose parents have a had a fall out and stuck on together for her sake is social stigma. That's a na-na.
The plot is a bunch of scenes pasted around the idea of the guy with a grand sher-singh lineage being a darpok. He badly needs to break out of his shell-crack a few jaws to prove his libido to his sweetheart. Throw a few fists-khoon nikaal. Haath-paaon thor- Rathod!
There isn't one nuanced scene in the whole film apart from the one where Genelia gets jealous of the other girl that Imran's going out with after a party. That's saying a lot for a love story-where everyone keeps howling a 70's RD Burman love song –apparently to evoke familiarity and cuteness. All the characters are cardboard cut outs and the screenplay is full of howlers like-' Woh gareeb hai,fir bhi?' Pray, which cool-college-dude talks like that? Also adding to the buffonry are heavy weights like Paresh Rawal, Ratna Pathak and Naseeruddin Shah and those thespian Khan brothers- Sohail and Arbaaz Khan. The real clincher is a 'Aashiqui' type climax where Imran must 'prevent' Genelia from 'going to the USA for 15 days.' Well-she was coming back-wasn't she? He breaks through the departure lounge and goes down on the floor screaming her very cute pet name like she's being led away to the gallows. This isn't the eighties when going saat-samandar-paar meant gone for good. Genelia would probably be online on her cell phone the moment she landed abroad. That's that.
If the film does well before people find out what its truly about-it could only be due to AR Rahman's R &B inspired music. Nothing else can save this oddity, Aditi.
Imran Khan ( who's 6 inches taller than his chacha Aamir Khan) and Genelia ( whose name sounds like some exotic tropical flora-that might give you rashes if you venture too close) are 'best friends' in college for five years on a stretch. Fair enough. But he's a chikna 'gareeb-larka' with a posh-urban accent and politeness personified and she's as cute and bubbly as soda pop. They're inseparable( always in each other bedrooms) and always hugging and rubbing shoulders. But there's no feeling only. What to do?
The girl's parents step in to play agony aunt and ask the couple to try dating other people and see if there's any chemistry. For a moment there is-and then the couple realize that its better to turn platonic love into the real thing when faced with the prospect of drunken in laws and abusive fiancees. For somebody who has some other decent screenplays to his credit, Tyrewala's first solo endeavour is the definiton of hypocrisy in the broadest sense of the word. The film comes packaged as a new-liberated-post-millenia-urban-youth tale but revels in sordid cliches that equate drinking, partying and failed adult relationships with bad behaviour and low morals. A drinker, a partygoer and someone who's been through relationships is definitely a 'bad person' and a girl whose parents have a had a fall out and stuck on together for her sake is social stigma. That's a na-na.
The plot is a bunch of scenes pasted around the idea of the guy with a grand sher-singh lineage being a darpok. He badly needs to break out of his shell-crack a few jaws to prove his libido to his sweetheart. Throw a few fists-khoon nikaal. Haath-paaon thor- Rathod!
There isn't one nuanced scene in the whole film apart from the one where Genelia gets jealous of the other girl that Imran's going out with after a party. That's saying a lot for a love story-where everyone keeps howling a 70's RD Burman love song –apparently to evoke familiarity and cuteness. All the characters are cardboard cut outs and the screenplay is full of howlers like-' Woh gareeb hai,fir bhi?' Pray, which cool-college-dude talks like that? Also adding to the buffonry are heavy weights like Paresh Rawal, Ratna Pathak and Naseeruddin Shah and those thespian Khan brothers- Sohail and Arbaaz Khan. The real clincher is a 'Aashiqui' type climax where Imran must 'prevent' Genelia from 'going to the USA for 15 days.' Well-she was coming back-wasn't she? He breaks through the departure lounge and goes down on the floor screaming her very cute pet name like she's being led away to the gallows. This isn't the eighties when going saat-samandar-paar meant gone for good. Genelia would probably be online on her cell phone the moment she landed abroad. That's that.
If the film does well before people find out what its truly about-it could only be due to AR Rahman's R &B inspired music. Nothing else can save this oddity, Aditi.
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