Nowadays nothing counts in a big budget film other than the budget. But in King, the rest - the gloss, the slickly turned-out hero, the perfect-looking heroine, the awesome sense of fashion, the number of times Nag lifts both feet simultaneously up in the air in the name of dance - are all uncountable nouns.
Regular, non-fussy movie-watchers might find in King, some sequences and tricks borrowed from Bollywood, and regular, fussy movie-watchers might find even more. The title is clearly inspired; half a dozen pretty leading ladies of Tollywood make their cameo in Nag's arms in one of the songs; '...ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin, namumkin hai...' is said in Telugu (extremely obvious even to those who are non-regular and non-fussy); and Srihari does an Anil Kapoor, with his artistic underworld-don act.
But let's forgive King for all that, shall we, because, in one line, King is bling-entertaining. The story is about a person of royal origin, who is wanted dead by quite a few people. Called King (Nagarjuna), this man is sorting some factory issue in Uttaranchal, when he's shot through the heart by his enemies, and this happens very early in the film. But before that, there are some powerful moments. Nag's entry, involving him tossing around Sumos and people single-handedly (his apology: his other hand was holding a gun at the time), is one.
You might be concerned about so many Sumos being destroyed just because the hero needs to announce his presence. However, you must realize that a bunch of measly Sumos doesn't count when there are people who actually want you dead. Not because they're uncountable, but because quite frankly, no bunch of Sumos, measly or not, has ever been known to count.
King's family is told that he's missing, even though we're all shown his dead body in the morgue. In Hyderabad, Nag reappears in the form of Bottu Seenu, the law-abiding goon who signs off every 'settlement' with a threat that talks about how, when he rolls up his sleeves and punches you in the face, Google Maps does a 360 degree turn. Makes no sense unless either he's twisted your head, or you're staring at a printout of Google Maps on a particularly windy day.
Anyway, one windy and rainy day, when Seenu is not trying to exchange Kompally and Uppal, he falls in love with a raindrop (Trisha) who gives away her umbrella to a pair of umbrella-less kids and starts dancing in the rain like that was the reason why she even bought that sheer white chudidhar-kurta (okay, it was). Meanwhile, an already-established don (Srihari) joins hands with Seenu, for a long and committed relationship.
After a few coincidences, Bottu Seenu realizes his heroine is called Shravani, and sees her in a music contest on TV. From dealing with the asinine music director (Brahmanandam) who harasses her, to passing himself off as Sarat (Sunil), the man who Shravani is supposed to have her 'pellichoopulu' with, Seenu goes all out for Shravani. The second half is about Seenu switching his character between Sarat and Seenu, and predictably, King, too (the movie is named that, remember? on second thoughts, a film named Bottu Seenu wouldn't have gone down too well, even with popcorn).
King is a chilled-out film, whose asset turns out to be just that - it is a conscious, chilled-out attempt at entertaining. And even if you're not the kind to hoot and cheer when Nagarjuna's swashbuckling his way out of the dimly lit background, or when he's kicking a dozen huge thugs at once, or when he's growling corny threats to the bad guys, you are kept happy with the comedy - Srihari's and Brahmanandam's sequences are a delight. Loopholes do exist, but you'll discover them only towards the end of the story, which is not too bad a sign. Sadly, King joins the latest trend in Tollywood, of bringing in one barely camouflaged swear word to the big screen.
Nag is his usual suave, stunningly dressed self, and also acts well. And Trisha is her usual chirpy, mischievous-eyed self, and acts well, too. Srihari is an unusually witty and enjoyable shelf, who proves shelves can indeed tickle.
The music is racy - not of the tuneful kind, though (there isn't one soft romantic number in the entire film). For the heroine-studded song, you'll have to wait 3 quarters of the film, and for all the inspiration, it is a tastefully done piece.
If you thought you had outgrown terms like 'mass', 'masala' and 'Nag', or if you thought Nagarjuna had outgrown himself, let Bottu Seenu do all the talking.