The art direction, styling, the construction of each frame has been handled deftly. Hoping to convince Murugun to take up a decent job, his Locket Lover urges him to "Get a kerosene dealership." And after having taught a handicapped robber a suitable lesson, Murugun tells him, to "apply for a phone booth instead." And even Big B is not spared when Reddy suggests his team rope in Bachchan to endorse the terrible Mc Dosas, and mimics his somber style to the 't'. "He has become thin as a chewed out drumstick," says Murugun's sister-in-law, who makes the 'best dosa-sambhar' in town. "This is a private road", says QGM, when Mango Dolly tries to seduce him.
The laughs do happen but more often you are left smiling at the intelligent dialogues and their allusions to cultural idiosyncrasies, the parodies and the sarcasm. And it definitely does not expect you to 'leave your brains behind'. QMG is not your typical slide-splitting, laugh-a-minute fare. He was this larger-than-life, over-the-top, generous to a fault, protector of the poor, saviour of the ladies, faster the bullet, sucker for mother's cooking who cries at the drop of a hat (literally) with a bad dressing sense man, we canonised in our cinema.īut lest you go in expecting some bawdy humour and slapstick comedy, be warned. Murugun, the vegetarian Tamil cowboy, is Ghosh's tribute to the archetypal hero, who dominated popular imagination for decades. The tender coconut bombs were a killer idea. The action sequences (Sham Kaushal) are superbly executed, with the faceoff at the Coconut Tree Climbing Institute and the duel in a traffic jam being our favourite.
There is enough blood and gore with whizzing bullets and cracking whips to keep you at the edge of your seat. In its flavour, it is as potent as desi chilli powder and chutney. In its outrageous, comic-book treatment, QGM comes rather close to the comedy-action-crime film Kung Fu Hustle directed by Stephen Chow.