Animal Movie Review: A Loud Fart on Our Faces

This review comes in the aftermath of Ranbir Kapoor winning a Filmfare award for Animal. I have been trying to think of all the different ways one could describe a rank bad movie. Quite frankly, I don’t have enough stock to convey my feelings via literature. I’ll give it a shot, nonetheless. Animal is the same regurgitated mess you find in the bathrooms of the Bollywood honchos after a late-night orgy. The movie stinks not merely because it is a misogynistic, headless monster. This particular movie is so badly stitched together that Mary Shelly could have drawn inspiration from its screenplay and editing to visualize her monster, had the movie come out in her time.

I sometimes watch the unwatchable because it makes me appreciate good filmmakers more for their contribution to the cinematic arts. I remember going to take a dump midway through the movie and missing nothing. Why did Sandeep Reddy Vanga steal scenes from cinematic legends so shamelessly? Well, they all do. So, he stole the scene, where Ranbir Kapoor’s Vijay lectures the factory workers, from Schindler’s List (1993). And he stole the hotel fight scene from John Wick: Chapter 3 (2019). And he stole the scene, where the protagonist’s precious gift of a custom-painted Rolls Royce blows up, from Godfather 2 (1974), and so on. Vanga is a poor director. Nay, he is an art thief, a shameless plagiarist with the maturity of a middle schooler.

I love how Vijay and Rashmika Mandanna's jumpy Geetanjali make love mid-air with Kapoor managing to fly the airplane almost with his dick. By the way, Mandanna's acting is as flat as a washboard. I love how Vijay loves his penis more than his wife but less than his dad, so much so that he never stops mentioning his pecker like a sex-crazed adolescent. I adore how Vijay’s burly Sikh troop suddenly begins to sing in the middle of a fight, letting the deluge of henchmen engulf him. Oh, that scene, by the way, is stolen from Kung Fu Hustle (2004). Yes, that one where the henchmen storm Vijay’s plush hotel in droves. And why the fuck is Bobby Deol’s Abrar mute? And why were they – Abrar and Vijay – fighting half-naked on an airstrip? Bare skin rubbing against asphalt gives road rash and itchy balls! Oh, Vijay already has them. I almost thought the movie would take a sharp turn towards gay porn after Vijay and Abrar’s kissing scene. And why is Vijay sawing at Abrar’s neck? A simple slash would have sealed the deal for him. Animal is a puzzle. Animal is defecation on the silver screen, worse than Bat Pussy (1973).

To think that this movie or any of its actors could receive any consideration from serious critics is an assault on one’s intellect. I think Filmfare’s panel of judges was as badly put together as Kapoor’s college boy makeup and Modi’s guestlist. My boy considers me his superhero. But I have never seen him obsess over me like Vijay frothing at the mention of Anil 'shaven chest' Kapoor's Balbir. Vijay’s affection for his father is almost sexual. I strongly believe, Animal could have been marketed as softcore gay porn. To think that Kapoor is the same person who made up for Rockstar’s sloppy direction with a scintillating performance hurts my sentiments. Rockstar inspired me to spurn a high-paying corporate job and become a full-time artist. And 12 years after that movie, Kapoor gifts us Animal. What could have led him to choose projects like Brahmastra and this movie I’ll stop mentioning? It’s anybody’s guess.

Every day I see my country lose its way in the labyrinths of zealotry. Every day I watch a Prime Minister feed false hope to his fellow citizens and get worshipped in return. It petrifies me to realize that our cinematic taste too has gone to the dogs. No one asked why Sam Bahadur was snubbed. Ok, it wasn’t as good as Meghna Gulzar’s Talvar or Raazi. But Vicky Kaushal deserved his share of ratification. Filmfare had to give something to 12th Fail. They just had to – to justify their own existence.

I dream of a day when our audience matures and starts putting moviemakers like Vanga out of work. I dream of a day when Vanga comes out and embraces his sexuality and penchant for BDSM and dominates Karan Johar. I dream of a day when Ray’s ominous proclamation about the average Indian movie-goer being backward is proven wrong. But all that is just a dream in a country where Khajuraho and the Taj Mahal take backseats in the wake of political jingoism served up as a neo-classical shrine. ?

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