My sister tells me I was lucky to have been born after the 1980s - apparently, I missed a series of Tamil films that had exactly the same storyline: two people would fall in love in the first 30 minutes, and for the rest of the film, the hero would fight lots of big thugs in the village. The fights would reach their climax during the Thiruvizha. Fat women in yellow sarees would run away screaming, dark men would bite their teeth and growl, Aeiii!, carts would be smashed, cans of oil would be spilt, roadside shacks would be run over, fruits would burst and pots would break.
I would have gotten away, had I not seen Chennai Express. Except for scenes where Deepika Padukone speaks like somebody is jabbing her back once in ten seconds, the film is all about people screaming, Aeiii! and chasing each other in jeeps. I like how people here always refer to things by their brand names, and not their common names - Edraa Sumo-ve, Unnoda Nokia-vaa?, Kodu da Reynolds-e...okay, okay, so I may not have heard the last one. But, not to worry, Chennai Express has so much in-film branding (Shah Rukh Khan manages to plug a Nokia Lumia before it gets thrown out of a train) that when he appears in a vest, you expect him to say, Onn hai toh Don hai.
The film is funny in parts. When Rahul (Shah Rukh, duh) tells us that he lost his parents when he was eight, we expect him to start weeping and lecturing at some point. But he takes us by surprise when he tells us the story of growing up with his Tendulkar-crazy Dadaji and his Dadaji-crazy Dadima. Of course, the film is packed with PJs as well - like when two girls address Rahul, who helps his grandfather at his sweetshop Y Y Halwai, as ‘Bhaiyyaji’, he turns to the camera and goes, Y...why...halwai! Zzz.
So, why does Rahul get on the Chennai Express? Dadaji’s last wish is that his ashes be divided between the Ganga and the sea in Rameshwaram. Rahul plans to go to Goa with his friends - despite some heavy-duty emotional blackmail from his Dadima. His plans change when he meets Meenamma (Deepika Padukone) - Meenalochini Durgeshwara Azhagusundaram (which nobody, including Deepika Padukone, can pronounce) - and her henchmen-cousins. Throughout the train ride, which has her trying to escape from her cousins, who are escorting her to her wedding, we are subjected to painfully predictable slapstick humour. Throughout, we’re also treated to Deepika Padukone’s version of Tamil accent - terrrrra phone se kaaal karrr sakti?, Naaaarth side and what she thinks Tamil is, like: Abba, naan ivri virumbren. Appa is Sathyaraj, and her prospective husband is the only one who speaks worse Tamil than her in the movie - Thangabali (Nikitin Dheer).
The other highlights of the film are a sidey item number by Priya Mani and a village full of Tam Brahms who fight the dons.
I don’t understand why Rajinikanth is thanked so profusely, except maybe that they stole his trademarks of gravity-defying stunts, pointless storyline and impossible fights, with the camera focusing on shoes and legs.
And I don’t see why they didn’t just use people to dub for the ones who can’t speak Tamil. I had more difficulty understanding the Tamil than the Hindi in this film.
Verdict: Except for a few funny scenes, this film is longer and more boring than Deepika Padukone’s legs.