Guru.

There’s a village bumpkin who oscillates from looking like a coke addict between lines, to a slimy fixer-upper walking the streets outside Mantralaya. Lo and behold, in one magic blocked camera movement, safari-suit goes from 1 factory to 5 factories to 20 factories, and everyone is expected to reach for their kerchiefs and dupattas when aam-aadmi comes up to him in his worst time (which happens without reason, explanation or coherence) and tells him that aam-aadmi owes his Maruti 800 with detachable stereo panel, daughter’s marriage to fuckwit wife-beating NRI, wife’s lucknowi sarees with zari-work and son’s education to him, to which bumpkin safari looks all wierded out and surprised. And rightly so, no one told him how and why he managed that either. And inbetween some god-awful shots that use ‘international techonolgy’ to create awe-inspiring scenes that are not even a patch on ganpati-visarjans in Bombay, ‘Guru’ suddenly ends, wondering if it’s the same director who gave us ‘Bombay’. Mani sir, Disas-ter.