We have given the privilege earlier to the other NTR kid, Tarakaratna. So we thought that Kalyan Ram must get his share of the cake too. Of course, the popularity of Tarak helped, but the real reason we're doing this is that we're out of fresh stuff. But we're sure that most of fullhyd.com's readers don't remember anything, and the rest cannot read. So here's a déjà vu review with a twist. This is Abhimanyu, as a single-act, scripted play:
Reverberating Voice: The Lord, they say, has his own strange ways. Whoever said that obviously hadn't seen a Telugu movie. Now, the Lord, they say, has his own set of blind goggles.
In the house. In the college. In the dumps.
Abhimanyu (climbing up a rope): Hi! This is my daily workout. I paint my face, climb up to the terrace of the building by a rope, and feel energetic. Actually I feel nauseated, but I've been practicing. I can barf up to 10 metres now! Initially I was supposed to play Spiderman. But somehow Hollywood didn't work out. It seems the suckers never heard of my grandfather. Rats! So now I settle here. I get to play Spiderman here too. It's just that I don't have eight legs.
Bhanu (on the next floor): Hi! Seeing a painted man climbing up, I fainted. But when Abhi removed his face pack and gave me his seductive look, I went into a coma. Once revived, the director said that Abhi's expression only meant that he wanted to play. Whatever - how would I know about expressions? I'm from Bombay.
Suhasini (in a wheelchair): Don't worry; the wheelchair's just a ploy to avoid income tax. The rate at which my husband makes movies, I can use all the help I get financially. Now you know why I'm doing this film. I'm playing Abhi's foster mother. If only I knew he would give that terrific speech on Mother's Day. I would've donated him to George Bush personally. Now I have to mother Abhi, even at 25!
Venu Madhav and gang: We went to every other director in the industry for a role. After which we started wondering how anybody manages to get a role in the industry with all the filthy things the directors call their actors. We chose this movie instead of being called filthy things by directors. Now we're called filthy things by the audience. Cool, huh?
Pavan Malhotra (Villain): I'm not a typical Telugu movie badass. I'm not the heroine's dad or a factionist in Cuddapah. I'm the heroine's dad AND a factionist in Cuddapah. Though Mumbai seriously is the place to be. Work there for 10 years and don't get noticed. When you're out of job, get meaty roles in the South; get critical acclaim; get job satisfaction; get wasted.
In the college. In Cuddapah. Still, in the dumps.
Abhimanyu: Bhanu, I might love you but I'm not too sure. How can I love you if you don't lie down?
Bhanu: Oh, you little devil, you! Wait till my dad hears of it. Till then let's rush off to Mauritius for a couple of quick ones. Quick songs, I mean.
Villain: I killed my own sister because she married a Christian. And now my daughter's in love with my dead sister's son (Abhi). I guess it's about time I killed her too, or else Abhi's mom will lecture me on human sentiments in the climax. Then I'll have to kill myself.
Abhimanyu: MOM, please let me go and get my girlfriend. I can handle the thugs.
Mom: No, it's too dangerous. They got weapons.
Abhimanyu: Okay. Thanks, mom.
Mom: You wussy! Go kick some butt and get your girlfriend! Pronto!
Abhimanyu: Dishum! Bonk! Bang! Dishum! Damn these Indian roads! Villian, here I am, let's get it on.
Villain: Sorry, I give up. I cannot bear your anger. Or whatever that emotion is on your face. Please spare me...
Bhanu: Oh Abhi, I knew you would come to get me. Our love is too strong to be separated by weapons and mobsters. So now, about my diamond wedding ring...
Reverberating Voice: And so Abhi and Bhanu lived happily ever after. For all those who're dissatisfied with Kalyan's performance, remember that he thought that he would be wearing a mask. Love this movie for the cinematography. Love it for all the bunk. Or just love it for love. It's love that gives you a free trip around the sun every year.