For all the talk about taboo-breaking, the humour in Indra Kumar’s Grand Masti is at the level of a bunch of schoolboys stifling giggles when the teacher refers to the Taj Mahal as one of the world’s greatest erections. I went in expecting elaborately orchestrated grossness, a desi Farrelly brothers’ movie, and all I got was a college named Shri Lalchand University of Technology of Science. (You can see what that acronyms to.) Later, when a bombshell in a two-piece bikini asks a drooling man the time, he ejaculates, “Bra panties. I mean, barah paintees.” Given the non-stop wordplay, it’s a miracle they retained the “R” in the title. The film’s most obscene development, though, is its insistence that Vivek Oberoi, Ritesh Deshmukh and Aftab Shivdasani are college-goers. The story has them getting married and returning to campus for a reunion that promises much naughtiness, but the film is so toothless – or maybe we should say limp – that, by the end, they see the error of their ways and don’t end up cheating on their wives. It’s like going to a strip club. You can look but you can’t touch.
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