The film essentially is a vehicle for Shifaali (yes, that’s the latest spelling) Shah who plays Madhu Saxena, a bored housewife and mother of two
Truth to tell when I first heard the title Kucch Luv Jaisaa, my first thought was that the film would be something about Luv, you know, Shotgun Sinha’s wooden son who debuted last year in Raj Kanwar’s Sadiyaan? No? Don’t blame you. Just to jog your memory, Luv’s bow in the big bad world of Bollywood was even worse than that of Mimoh (as he styled himself then) in Raj Sippy’s Jimmy.The reason these two turkeys are being invoked when Thanksgiving and Christmas are both months away is the leading man of Kucch Luv Jaisa, namely Rahul Bose. As Raghav, a supposedly street and tough Mumbai gangster, Bose is completely one note, dull and boring, much like the film itself. Mimoh and Luv appear positively Dilip Kumar-like in retrospect. Perhaps it’s not Bose’s fault, as he is woefully miscast in a role that doesn’t even see him run the gamut of emotions from A to B.
The film essentially is a vehicle for Shifaali (yes, that’s the latest spelling) Shah who plays Madhu Saxena, a bored housewife and mother of two. Her husband Shravan (Sumit Raghavan) is a busy advertising executive who forgets her birthday on February 29 (yes, once in four years, yawn). So Madhu decides to go for broke. She buys and wears some new clothes and gets some cosmetic stuff done at the beauty parlour and for her pains ends up looking like – Shifaali Shah. She then buys a new car and heads for a nourishing brownie where she runs into aforementioned Raghav who is shovelling down fettuccini. She bums a cigarette off him and for some reason comes to the conclusion that he is a private eye. As Raghav is on the run from the law (what exactly is his crime is not mentioned, nor are we interested) since his girlfriend has ratted him out to the cops, he needs a car that Madhu conveniently has.
The pair tails a random target that has an unnecessary subplot about not being able to get married. In between, they have very long conversations while driving around south Mumbai where Madhu spouts middle class homilies and Raghav tries his hand (badly) at a serviceable tapori accent. For reasons beyond comprehension they end up at a resort outside the city where the director tries and fails to inject sexual tension between them.
In case you were wondering, Madhu returns to her family, is cold to her husband and dreams about being physically close to the gangster while also finding some time to talk to her teenage daughter about the birds and the bees. The poor tyke is made to mouth: “Love isn’t sex and sex isn’t love”. Raghav, meanwhile, having had enough, turns himself in to the police. Can’t blame him really.
Shifaali tries gamely to insert some spark into this turgid enterprise, but she is let down by the writing and direction by debutant Barnali Ray Shukla. On the evidence of this film, she shows no promise in either discipline.