jism2-review-670
In today’s landscape there’s nothing more juicy than controversy and Bollywood’s latest Jism 2, was engulfed in it long before it’s release.
Jism 2 is exactly what one would assume it to be — an amalgam of skimpy outfits, a salacious storyline, and equally bad acting.
If you're casting an adult movie star with earnest intents to “break her mold”, and spark an alternate career path, then a word of advice Mr. Mahesh Bhatt: Don't announce her as a “porn star” and then parade her as a floozie.
In the first few minutes of the new Bollywood movie Jism 2, there’s a skin-deep conversation between a cop and a self-proclaimed adult film star. He says “Isn’t it time you served your country”. She responds, “I do … by taking off my clothes”.
Pakistani audiences are also abuzz over the movie with former Junoon vocalist and frequent provocateur Ali Azmat lending his voice to two songs "Maula" and "Yeh jism hai tu kya" for the film’s soundtrack.
Jism 2, which runs on risible dialogues, a hysterically stodgy plot, arthritic performance, hefty-billing at Victoria’s Secret and the need-to-cash-in sex-sationalism, is a would-be contender for late night B-grade raunchy-thrillers. The ones that routinely run on specially subscribed channels on international cable.
Sunny Leone plays Izna, who tells us that she’s an adult film actress living a demoralized, dispirited life of wooing rich men for one-night stands (Leone’s voice, clearly dubbed, and her body-language give out mixed signals here). She is recruited by Ayaan (Arunoday Singh), an intelligence office who wants to bait Izna’s ex-boyfriend, Kabir (Randeep Hooda) a cop-gone-assassin, into a honey trap.
Obviously, she’s the only one who can hook and hoodwink Kabir into giving up a secreted file that name his oh-so-dangerous accomplices. Ah! – the limitless imagination of Mr. Bhatt.
The screenplay, a byproduct of a weekend's first draft for director Pooja Bhatt, is a testament of Bhatt's sleaziness; it is designed with only one predictable intention in mind.
Leone is inarticulate, not in just her delivery but as as whole.
With so much space allotted to the film’s always lingering sex-drive, the grave, and sometimes too sincere turns, by both Hooda and Singh come out as faux-dressing. But then again, they didn’t count in the first place.
