I watched home delivery mainly because it seemed different from the usual Bollywood fare (no morality judgements-we can rip each other apart some other time). The movie has a crisp clean look to it and is populated with zany characters who make you laugh out loud in shock, surprise and just plain old silly.
A sampler-
A Hindustani singer whose swansong is termed of all things ’Rawalpindi’ and his eternally ghoonghated wife named (what else) Kalavati
A bald often scantily dressed brahmachari who is an Indian Kramer of sorts.
A ladder climbing South Indian sex siren from Canada who will give you her jism but not her dil.
A deep philosophical discussion on veggie sandwiches as they pertain to Italian cuisine.
Home delivery seems like a rocket that cant go wrong in its first half. The eminently watchable (a little swooning is respectful) Ayesha Takia and the jerky antics of Vivek Oberoi, whose home is a sort of halfway house for all the above mentioned characters carry things along smoothly. Then the plot thickens and slows till it is a sluggish mash wrapped up at the end like a goody two shoes bollywood movie. A lot of cameos for the sake of cameos to the point where the film is infested with them.
Home Delivery surprisingly also has a deep vein of nastiness and sadness in it. But the story could have gone in a different direction and this would have been a better movie. It is undeniably funny in parts but somewhere you get the feeling things are simply being taken care of because the movie has to end. Worthy of mention is some nice Bandra area camerawork.
I am yet to recover from the sight of Saurabh Shukla singing a paean to ’Brahma Naari’ in a tattered Kurta.