Every
year
has
its
share
of
duds
and
turkeys.
2024
was
no
different
except
that
even
the
rotten
ones
are
too
drab
to
have
any
real
offence
value.
Sukanya
Verma
lists
10
of
her
least
liked
Hindi
movies
of
the
year.
Bade
Miyan
Chote
Miyan
From
my
review:
Clad
in
trendy
clothes
and
slow
motion
swagger,
these
globetrotting,
gun-toting
heroes
on
hire
highlight
the
merits
of
a
hare-brained
plot
that’s
got
more
bullets
than
brains
in
its
storytelling.
It
would
be
no
exaggeration
if
the
script
reads
bullets
after
every
sentence.
Though
it
would
be
a
surprise
if
there
was
any
script
at
all.
Suffice
to
say
the
new
Bade
Miyan
Chote
Miyan
is
nothing
like
the
Amitabh
Bachchan-Govinda
1998
comedy
of
the
same
name
starring
the
pitch-perfect
entertainers
in
double
roles.
Forget
comic
chops,
you’ll
not
find
an
ounce
of
camaraderie
between
Akshay
Kumar
and
Tiger
Shroff
as
they
go
about
firing
ammo
and
flexing
abs
at
a
breakneck
pace
to
ward
off
Prithvi’s
army
of
clones
for
nearly
three
excruciating
hours
of
this
noisy,
nonsensical
drivel.
Yudhra
From
my
review:
There
are
so
many
loopholes
in
this
lazily
scribbled
plot,
it
could
be
a
different
movie
and
still
as
crummy.
Fully
paid
scholarships
to
major
in
a
branch
of
science
where
students
carry
designer
purses
not
backpacks
to
school
is
not
nearly
as
mind
boggling
as
one
of
its
biggest
pre-intervals
twists
that’s
barely
addressed
and
never
confirmed.
Kids
and
their
doll
games
convey
more
coherence
than
the
erratic
manner
Yudhra‘s
characters
are
written
and
pitted
against
each
other.
Vicky
Vidya
Ka
Woh
Wala
Video
From
my
review:
Vicky
Vidya
Ka
Woh
Wala
Video has
the
eagerness
of
a
standup
comic.
It
is
the
sort
of
movie
that
feels
obliged
to
make
a
joke
before
a
sentence,
between
a
sentence
and
after
a
sentence.
Problem
is
the
humour
is
not
just
pedestrian,
it’s
also
plain
unfunny.
Between
tons
of
sexual
innuendo
and
Kapil
Sharma
brand
of
slapstick
gags
characterised
in
loud
caricatures,
moronic
behaviour,
flimsy
wigs
and
cartoonish
rhythm,
Vicky
Vidya
Ka
Woh
Wala
Video‘s
jarring
notions
of
exuberance
have
nothing
novel
to
offer.
Sarfira
From
my
review:
Mission
Mangal,
Mission
Raniganj,
Mission
Ram
Setu,
Mission
Menstruation
and
now
Mission
Deccan
Air,
Akshay
Kumar
has
shed
so
much
blood,
sweat
and
tears
in
rescuing,
rehabilitating
and
restoring
the
nation
in
the
past
few
years,
no
amount
of
amnesia
in
the
world
can
wipe
off
the
monotony
of
this
imagery.
Once
again
his
latest
is
a
remake
of
a
South
Indian
hit
inspired
by
a
true
story
fulfilling
Akshay’s
criteria
to
take
on
a
movie,
preen
in
its
heroics
and
colour
it
in
his
patented
hue
of
patriotism.
Sarfira
has
the
depth
of
a
potato
chip.
Instead
of
the
struggle
gone
in
making
a
low-cost
airline
work
or
the
partners
flanking
Veer
like
props
not
receiving
due
importance,
Sarfira
is
interested
in
pressing
our
emotional
nerves
to
the
point
of
plugging
them
out.
Throughout
its
155
minutes,
every
scene
is
doused
in
blaring
background
music
and
melodrama.
Disappointment
alone
won’t
do,
it
must
feel
like
a
full
blown
catastrophe.
Do
Patti
From
my
review:
Credited
for
its
story,
screenplay
and
dialogues,
Kanika
Dhillon
cannot
tell
her
femme
fatale
from
her
feminist
in
her
increasingly
formulaic
vision,
split
between
ambiguous
motives,
unhinged
interactions
and
stagy
big
reveals.
Always
seeking
an
element
of
danger
through
her
precarious
protagonists
and
their
unhealthy
preoccupation
for
toxic
relationships,
Dhillon’s
women
are
either
rebelling
or
recoiling.
Do
Patti
is
a
showcase
of
those
limitations.
For
all
its
contemporary
edge
and
desire
to
address
spousal
abuse,
Dhillon’s
storytelling
stinks
of
out-dated
sensibilities
and
their
perverse
ideas
of
reconciliation.
Dukaan
From
my
review:
For
a
movie
that
claims
to
sympathise
with
commercial
surrogacy,
which
has
been
banned
in
India
since
2015,
it
sure
goes
overboard
in
painting
a
horrific
picture.
It’s
like
bonus
points
are
earned
every
time
the
camera
fixates
on
women
parading
their
final
trimester
tummies
in
low-waist
ghagras,
throwing
up,
receiving
injections,
and
going
into
labour
when
her
water
breaks
and
the
gynaecologist’s
cries
of
‘Push
kar!’
cut
to
Pushkar
in
Rajasthan.
Its
callous
perspective
and
comical
treatment
of
a
sensitive
matter
makes
a
complete
hash
of
things.
Between
its
graphic
look
at
bringing
a
baby
in
the
world
and
offensive
notions
about
surrogacy,
adoption
and
abortion, Dukaan
delivers
nothing
except
baloney.
Blackout
From
my
review:
Trippy
black
comedies
fuelled
by
freewheeling
plots
or
ones
that
make
something
up
as
they
go
along
make
for
a
wacky
joyride
in
subversion
and
dark
humour.
But
Blackout‘s
daffy
aspirations
refuse
to
up
the
ante
of
a
potentially
devious
premise
beyond
a
puerile
practical
joke.
Blackout‘s
mindless
game
of
dumb
charade
has
little
excitement
in
its
bag
of
pea
brained
tricks
and
stereotypical
betrayals.
Murder
Mubarak
From
my
review:
It’s
a
mela
of
suspects
out
there
—
the
key
players,
the
secondary,
the
periphery.
Trouble
is
not
keeping
up
but
not
feeling
any
interest.
Murder
Mubarak‘s
sloth
pace
and
meek
comedy
give
the
movie
the
feel
of
a
drawn-out
Web
series.
Not
to
forget
incessant
background
music
alternating
between
sitcom
and
grating.
Homi
Adajania
has
a
flair
for
edgy
wit
but
he
cannot
highlight
the
self-inflicted
damage
the
delusional
and
privileged
are
capable
of
nor
the
upstairs-downstairs
disparity
that
escapes
their
worldview.
The
Sabarmati
Report
From
my
review:
Where
sensitive
movies
like
Parzania
and
Firaaq
attempt
to
depict
the
trauma
caused
by
the
tragedy,
The
Sabarmati
Report,
dedicated
to
the
lives
lost
in
the
incident,
spends
all
its
time
pointing
fingers
at
one
side
and
entirely
absolving
another.
For
all
its
audacity,
The
Sabarmati
Report
is
so
flimsy
in
its
execution,
taking
offence
to
it
would
be
dignifying
its
existence.
All
the
continuity
blunders
on
display
in
Vikrant
Massey’s
changing
hair
and
stubble
only
suggest
this
pitiable
project
produced
by
Balaji
Films
is
a
confused
double
agent
that
started
out
hoping
to
be
a
bold
whistleblower
but
settled
to
become
an
appeaser
for
the
regime
in
reign.
Maidaan
From
my
review: Underdog
sports
stories
are
as
life-affirming
as
they
are
formulaic.
What
distinguishes
the
decent
ones
from
the
drags
is
vision.
Director
Amit
Ravindernath
Sharma’s
haywire
take
on
how
an
Indian
football
coach’s
commitment
led
his
team
to
win
gold
at
the
1962
Asian
Games
in
Jakarta,
Indonesia,
is
mind-bogglingly
devoid
of
one.
Dishing
out
more
of
the
same
on-the-nose
routine,
racist
white
players
impose
their
might
on
a
team
freshly
freed
from
colonial
rule,
rioters
in
Indonesia
give
India
a
hard
time
and
Devgn
dribbles
from
determined
to
die-hard
to
Devdas.
Channelling
the
martyr
spirit
of
Bollywood
heroes
of
yore
who’d
valiantly
stay
put
even
when
wincing
in
pain,
its
yet
another
instance
of
the
shallow,
super
filmi
biopic.
