It was almost after seven years that my wife and I watched a movie alone together. No kids, no interruptions, no intermission rushes for snacks — just the two of us, slightly uncomfortable at first, but secretly enjoying the novelty of watching a full film uninterrupted.
And what a film to return to that experience with.
Farah Khan clearly wins the Om Shanti Om vs Saawariya battle hands down. While one film drowned in indulgent artifice, OSO revels in its excess with self-awareness. This is Bollywood masala in its most honest form — like a well-cooked Indian curry: a bit of masti, a dose of emotion, generous drama, nostalgia, parody, and unapologetic spectacle.
By the time you exit the theatre, you feel strangely fulfilled. The film delivers exactly what it promises — entertainment — and does so without pretence. As a sucker for cinematic indulgence, I was satisfied.
The film tips its hat respectfully to the mother of all reincarnation films: Karz — a movie I grew up with and one that still gives me goosebumps. Karz didn’t just tell a story; it imprinted itself into popular culture, and it’s no coincidence that it secured Rishi Kapoor a permanent spot in my personal hall of fame.
Shah Rukh Khan benefits immensely from the script and screenplay, but I can’t help feeling he is increasingly trapped in his own persona. His style has begun to cannibalize the actor within. A little restraint, a little de-energising, might actually make his performances sharper. Even his hamming, at times, feels oddly arrogant.
That said — what a story. The film never loosens its grip on the audience. It moves with confidence, humour, and a deep affection for the industry it lovingly mocks.
I wasn’t particularly impressed with Deepika Padukone until the second half. But by the end, it’s clear she has dum. A striking face alone won’t sustain a career, and OSO subtly makes that point itself. The iconic Deewangi Deewangi number — featuring Shilpa Shetty, Tabu, Rekha and others — serves as a brutal reminder: oomph ages into gravitas, not mere gloss.
If you’re interested in other Bollywood films that took on grand narratives in unconventional ways, you might want to check out my reviews of Sanju, Padmaavat, and Raazi — all of which challenged typical storytelling in their own ways.
The guest appearances in Om Shanti Om are cleverly curated and wonderfully self-aware. It’s evident that Farah Khan has a deep fraternity within the industry, and full credit to people like Shabana Azmi and Subhash Ghai for parodying themselves with grace. Manoj Kumar, however, overdoes it.
Kirron Kher’s portrayal of 1970s acting tropes is a delight — especially the scene where a drunken Om Prakash Makhija returns home and his mother softly asks, “Tu aa gaya beta?” It’s affectionate satire at its best.
Shreyas Talpade deserved a far meatier role — he is effortlessly watchable. Arjun Rampal finally finds his footing as a villain, though his nostril-flaring does become predictable after a point.
The songs are serviceable but pale compared to Saawariya, with the notable exception of Ajab Si. Dard-e-Disco, despite its six-pack bravado, is clumsily choreographed — ankle-deep water and lethargic movement don’t quite sell the spectacle.
The end credits, however, are a heartfelt tribute to Bollywood’s unsung heroes. Watch closely for Shirish Kunder — enthusiasm, unfortunately, mistaken for cinematic genius.
And finally — maybe I’m slow — but it was only towards the end that the true resonance of the title struck me:
Om. Shanti. Om.
A chant. A cycle. A life. A rebirth. A movie that knows exactly what it is.
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