Whatever you make of Guddu Ki Gun, you have to laud the sheer guts of the duo who had the idea of making a sex comedy about a Lothario, his male organ that turns into gold overnight, and his attempt to regain the balance. Everybody in the cast and production also deserve bravery awards for agreeing to go along with a premise that is worthy of a 30-minute short film, especially lead actor Kunal Kemmu, who spends half the movie with a bag clutched to his crotch.
The plot borrows ideas from the Hollywood movies Bad Johnson and Switch, and the screenplay by writers and directors Sheershak Anand and Shantanu Ray Chibber is littered with pop culture references, from a meditation on the lyrics of Gulzar to the climax of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. Kemmu enthusiastically plays Guddu, the most sexually active resident of Kolkata. Guddu is a washing powder salesman (a dig at Chashme Buddoor’s Miss Chamko character), and he uses his access to needy housewives to warm their beds.
One fine morning, however, Guddu finds out that his manhood has been transformed into shiny yellow metal – the result of a curse by an ex-girlfriend’s grandfather who is a tantric practitioner. In order to reverse the curse, Guddu will need to abandon his wayward ways and find true love. She materialises in the form of the comely Kaali (Aparna Sharma), who wears glasses and has pockmarks on her face and is therefore instantly dismissed by Guddu as ugly.
Along with his buddy Laddu (Sumeet Vyas), Guddu comes up with ways to persuade Kaali that he is the man of her dreams, even as he has to stave off an antique dealer, a gangster, and a reporter, all of whom want to divest Guddu of his unwanted munificence.
This is the kind of movie that has a background score of moans and sighs, double entendres and puns by the truckload, and overly endowed female characters such as Flora Saini’s inappropriately clad nurse. The filmmakers come up with admirable ways to spin jokes from the Hindi word for penis (Lord of the lings, for instance), and their unpretentious humour is undeniably infectious in many sequences. Some of the jokes have the ring of truth found in the best WhatsApp forwards. The daring premise seals the movie’s destiny as a cult favourite, but at 124 minutes, it is stretched beyond belief and tolerance. The curse on Guddu takes far too long to lift, and the directors are unable to escape the other curse that has ruined several potentially interesting comedies. Guddu can’t keep it down, and the filmmakers can’t keep it short.
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The plot borrows ideas from the Hollywood movies Bad Johnson and Switch, and the screenplay by writers and directors Sheershak Anand and Shantanu Ray Chibber is littered with pop culture references, from a meditation on the lyrics of Gulzar to the climax of Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro. Kemmu enthusiastically plays Guddu, the most sexually active resident of Kolkata. Guddu is a washing powder salesman (a dig at Chashme Buddoor’s Miss Chamko character), and he uses his access to needy housewives to warm their beds.
One fine morning, however, Guddu finds out that his manhood has been transformed into shiny yellow metal – the result of a curse by an ex-girlfriend’s grandfather who is a tantric practitioner. In order to reverse the curse, Guddu will need to abandon his wayward ways and find true love. She materialises in the form of the comely Kaali (Aparna Sharma), who wears glasses and has pockmarks on her face and is therefore instantly dismissed by Guddu as ugly.
Along with his buddy Laddu (Sumeet Vyas), Guddu comes up with ways to persuade Kaali that he is the man of her dreams, even as he has to stave off an antique dealer, a gangster, and a reporter, all of whom want to divest Guddu of his unwanted munificence.
This is the kind of movie that has a background score of moans and sighs, double entendres and puns by the truckload, and overly endowed female characters such as Flora Saini’s inappropriately clad nurse. The filmmakers come up with admirable ways to spin jokes from the Hindi word for penis (Lord of the lings, for instance), and their unpretentious humour is undeniably infectious in many sequences. Some of the jokes have the ring of truth found in the best WhatsApp forwards. The daring premise seals the movie’s destiny as a cult favourite, but at 124 minutes, it is stretched beyond belief and tolerance. The curse on Guddu takes far too long to lift, and the directors are unable to escape the other curse that has ruined several potentially interesting comedies. Guddu can’t keep it down, and the filmmakers can’t keep it short.
