After watching the most discussed series on Netflix, I was planning to write an asterisk-heavy column. As a tribute to the asterisks in its title.
An abusive title puts off many. But it also triggers immense curiosity. So, who are the real “bas***ds” here? No spoilers. But after I finished watching the series over three nights, desperately searching for clues — I got the answer. Everyone.
Gaalis galore litter the script from the opening (and worst) sequence itself. Those with delicate sensibilities — please avoid. If there are kids around… watch at your own peril.
The best thing about the Netflix series? Its blatant, defiant, audacious endorsement of Nepo Kids. It cannot get more brazenly nepo! Suck it up, strugglers.
The Nepo Advantage starts with the Nepo Director. Smart move. Perhaps it’s the first time in Bollywood that a superstar’s son makes his entry into showbiz behind the camera. Would anybody have watched The Bas***ds of Bollywood as intensely had the director been a talented but unknown newbie whose name wasn’t Aryan Khan? Would you? Would I?
Also Read: Aryan Khan’s Bads of Bollywood begins with Sameer Wankhede
B is for b*ring
Four conclusions:
Bollywood is obsessed with genitals.
Bollywood is predominantly gay.
Bollywood is hyper-narcissistic.
Bollywood is — hold your breath — boring.
Multiple references to small male appendages pop up non-stop, minus any context. “Mine is bigger than yours” is the leitmotif or running joke through seven crisp episodes as various characters make references to the penis size of opponents, rivals, villains. The hero’s penile dimensions are hinted at, but we are spared precise statistics.
Like thousands of others, I watched B*stards, B*dasses, B*dguys, whatever, only because it is an Aryan Khan series. It’s unlikely I would have bothered otherwise. Essentially, it’s a fast-paced mom-and-pop show featuring the Khan khandaan’s friends and family in clever cameos, spouting lines peppered with in-jokes and self-referencing wisecracks. These nudge-nudge, wink-wink moments are fun for those who get the send-up. But does a viewer from Bilaspur or Kolhapur relate to the non-stop spoofing and locker-room humour? Parody is a tough act to pull off.
I would have loved more Sameer Wankhede footage. That one brief “revenge scene”, featuring the overzealous Narcotics Control Bureau officer who infamously arrested Aryan Khan during the Cordelia cruise drug bust, left viewers thirsting for more.
The Great Gaali Class Divide
Nothing quite beats the voyeuristic thrill of parachuting into this bizarre carnival and imagining being an “insider” at an intimate Bollywood sangeet featuring favourites. All kinds of vile things happen as obnoxious people hurl unspeakably abusive gaalis at one another.
The ameer-gareeb angle is cute. Ameer log mainly say “F**k off” or “F*CCCCCK!” to express any and every emotion. And describe those they don’t like (almost everybody) as “d**kheads”. The male sexual organ has a role of its own in Aryan’s production and should have featured in the credits. The “poors” use variations of ch*tiya and m*darch*d. There is a distinct gender/class divide here. Taporis abuse women. Nepos demean men.
The biggest elephant in the series is the bold acknowledgment of the continued power of the underworld over Bollywood. The Bhais are still around! Arshad Warsi’s character Gafoor Bhai threatening and controlling mega production houses, adopting the purana Bhai tactics of intimidation, kidnapping, murder… Aryan and team deserve taalis just for this big reveal. Which beats the script’s real reveal. My lips are sealed.
Also Read: Mumbai measures everything in Bollywood box office terms. Even Ganesh Utsav
So, who’s the biggest ‘d**khead’?
The impressive parade of self-parodying stars is supposed to be the main attraction here —the tension and excitement of guessing which big-ticket celeb will walk on next. It’s all terribly campy and great fun to watch the likes of buddies Salman Khan, Aamir Khan, Ranveer Singh, Ranbir Kapoor line up for SRK’s Laadla. Their minier-than-mini cameos are grafted on minus any connection to the storyline. But hey — who’s complaining? Bring them on! That’s about the only suspense in an otherwise disjointed, incoherent, illogical narrative.
A car chase featuring a baby pink Porsche with Mr Nostrils (Bobby Deol) at the wheel careens crazily across the Sea Link for no good reason except to demonstrate Laadla’s talent at shooting action scenes. The far more convincing action scene was of Divik Sharma playing Deol’s son Shaumik Talvar, as he energetically pleasures himself during the climax. He also gets one of the best lines: “Only poor people shop at Duty Free.”
Still wondering whether we’ve all been had! Practically every character is seriously dysfunctional.
It’s hard to pick winners, but there were a few standout performances worth mentioning. Raghav Juyal eats up everyone and the set as Parvaiz (the token good Muslim, as opposed to the bad Muslim Bhais). Anya Singh, the petite, elfin, vibrant Thumbelina, is a joy to watch as Sanya, the loyal lesbian manager to Aasman, the main protagonist, sincerely and convincingly played by Lakshya Lalwani. But I happily gave my heart to Rajat Bedi — what a terrific turn as Jaraj Saxena, a neglected actor finally getting his just desserts. Also, a big shoutout to Manoj Pahwa as Avtaar Singh, especially in the sequence when he, as a back-up singer, totally overshadows the lead vocalist.
Aryan Khan’s premier OTT series established one thing unequivocally: Bollywood, India’s biggest dream factory, hides sinister nightmares, driven by gangsters and a star cast of self-proclaimed “ba***ds” out to “f**k” the trusting, fawning audience.
The biggest d**kheads are us!
Shobhaa De is an author, columnist, social commentator, and opinion-shaper. She has written 20 books. She tweets @DeShobhaa. Views are personal.
(Edited by Asavari Singh)