padded up
Tum Milo Toh Sahi
Dimple is ravishing, yes, but the amateurish acting, typecasting and godawful songs let you down.
Ajit Duara Ajit Duara 07 Apr, 2010
Dimple is ravishing, yes, but the amateurish acting, typecasting and godawful songs let you down.
The director of Tum Milo To Sahi adores Dimple Kapadia. Playing a single ‘Bawi’ called Dilshad, she runs Lucky Café and this movie too. Even the irascible Subramaniam (Nana Patekar), has to play second fiddle to this greying beauty. As for the new kids, they sing hosannas and desperately try to save her restaurant from a takeover bid.
The menu makes your mouth water—dhansak, sali boti, patra ni machi, with caramel custard for dessert. As with many Irani restaurants in Mumbai, an MNC wants to buy it and turn it into a croissant and cappuccino joint. The offer touches Rs 45 crore, but the lady is not selling. This is the mystery that Tum Milo Toh Sahi hinges on.
The relationship between the talkative Parsi and the bad-tempered Subramaniam is the high point in the film—a classic middle-aged odd-couple comic turn triggered off when they both hit the bottle. Unfortunately, the youngsters, the clientele of Lucky Café, are played by rank amateurs, and their love interests, jokes and brief trysts with academia don’t quite match up.
What we are left with is an angry Sunil Shetty who plays the CEO of Bluebell, the MNC that twists Dilshad’s arm, and an evil lawyer who follows him around with a permanent sneer on his face (Mohnish Behl). Both actors are pinned to the wall, so horribly typecast they are past all credible characterisation.
As for Patekar, he has played this sort of person many times before, but in this film his accent and mannerisms—really more Maharashtrian than Tamilian—let him down. His sparring partner in the film, Dimple, caricatures the Parsi phraseology (the ‘dikra’ bit), something she never did in her outstanding performance in Being Cyrus.
Frankly, there is just not enough script material for a movie here, and by the middle of Tum Milo Toh Sahi, director Kabir Sadanand is running out of fuel. He throws in a few godawful songs to pad up, and we sputter our way to the end of the highway.
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