At the outset, I must make it clear that I applaud the courts for disallowing the name Ram-Leela. The film should ideally have been titled ‘Hum Teri Le Chuke Sanam’.
If you marry the absurdest ideas of a demented mind to the stinking opulence of a crazy anarchist, you get a movie like Ram-Leela. A monstrous mix of the bizarre and the brazen, Ram-Leela is so unbelievable that ‘over the top’ is an understatement by miles. Had Shakespeare known that Sanjay Leela Bhansali would unleash an atrocious dandruff shaking version of Romeo & Juliet on the poor unsuspecting cine-goer, he would have burnt the manuscript right there and gone off to the mountains never to return.
Bhansali is a living example of the cataclysmic repercussions of not marrying when you are young and reasonably sane. He unleashes an unspeakably brutal assault on your senses on such an overwhelming scale that it pales the Antilla in comparison. Even months of salubrious neuro-therapy by compassionate nurses aren’t enough to recover your subconscious from the pain of cerebral lacerations inflicted by the celluloid horror that’s Ram-Leela. It is my firm belief that SLB’s creative license should be confiscated forthwith for repeated offences of drunk directing & murdering people’s sensitivities in the chill of dark multiplexes.
It is now very easy to understand why Big B, with all his incredible understanding of cinema, had to watch Ram-Leela thrice. And look, if at all I wanted to shed tears, I would rather buy onions with the fortune I’d spend on watching Ram-Leela. But its too late.
The violation has been ruthless, and complete. And I’m scarred for life.