For four years, I have painstakingly tried to encourage Westerners to sample the Bollywood genre; but with films as ridiculous as “Matru……..” my efforts are bordering on the nonsensical. I ceased fruitlessly counting the films from India that I have seen, and have repeatedly recommended worthy ones (most available on Netflix); after two and a half hours of watching a bibulous landlord/father ingest rivers of alcoholic libations (making the airline pilot in “Flight”, resemble a social drinker) and the rest of the cast scrambling, rambling, fumbling, generally making fools of themselves, in a plot so sophomoric, ploddingly dull that many made an early and wise exit. This movie, with minor tepid exceptions, was bereft of any sensational, sensual, scintillating dance sequences; just sickening stultification that only a moderate dose of strychnine could relieve.
Bollywood has cornered the Asian film market and the message so blatantly visited upon the Western audience with detritus such as “Matru Ki Bijlee Ka Mandola” is how unnecessary, meaningless is our attendance. In fairness, the theatre was stocked with a myriad of young Indians, searching for a taste of Eastern fare, silliness, an escape from ubiquitous violence and an “R” rating.