Director: Ajay Lohan
Cast: Urvashi Rautela, Rumana Molla
If I didn’t believe in the concept of poetic justice earlier, I do so now, after seeing that a film titled Virgin Bhanupriya exists on the same OTT platform that has such offerings as Body Massage, Sex Drugs & Theatre, Never Kiss Your Best Friend and a series named Topless, with episodes titled ‘The Booty Call’, ‘The Cleavage’, ‘The Blue Ball’ and ‘Gangbang’.
The title suggests the film is going to be a dog. The notion is bolstered by the early scene where Bhanupriya’s (Urvashi Rautela) boyfriend is caught selling a local dog as a breed from either Uganda or Cambodia. There are, of course, dog breeds that take their names from places like Rottweil, Alsace and Dalmatia. But Uganda? Cambodia? Or am I the real mutt, expecting research in a movie like this?
Urvashi Rautela wears glasses. That’s movie-speak for “the character she plays is a nerd”. The film’s plot is about her wanting to lose her virginity. (You thought the title referred to a mocktail?)
Ajay Lohan is the director. Wikipedia doesn’t have a page for him, but for you all, dear readers, I raced to Google, which led me to the man’s Instagram account, where he describes himself thus: “A revolutionist & A filmmaker”. As in… he makes ‘A’ films?
Bhanupriya’s parents are separated. Her father thinks he looks like Virat Kohli. Her mother says he looks like Vinod Kambli. I’m wondering if I should summon up my inner wokeness and rage about this looks-ism, but decide it’s not worth it. Besides, by now, I’ve been introduced to Bhanupriya’s best friend, Rukul Preet Singh (Rumana Molla), who has the tattoo of a revolver on her stomach. The barrel points to her nether regions, as the soundtrack erupts with a dishkiyaoon.
Why “Rukul Preet Singh”? The name is obviously a riff on the name of the actress. But why is it funny when “Rakul” becomes “Rukul”? What am I missing here? I want to investigate some more, but I am terrified of being led to another weird Instagram page.
Rukul’s job is to help Bhanupriya lose her virginity. For some reason, she doesn’t ask her friend to get a Tinder profile. She prefers to do things the old-fashioned way, by setting Bhanupriya up with a series of men. It’s no biggie, she says. “Virginity hai. Rajinikanth ki haddiyan nahin jo tootegi nahin!” (Relax, babe. It’s just virginity. It isn’t something unbreakable, like Rajinikanth’s bones.) What. A. Line. Had I been in church, I’d be singing hymens in her praise.
And now, we get a whole section about sanitary pads. Bhanupriya’s father says he is going to the store and asks if she wants something. She says she will go later, because she wants some personal items. He insists on knowing what these are. She tells him she needs sanitary pads. And he decides he needs to have a really long conversation about this, and why she shouldn’t get “ultra wings” because they cost more money, but of course her mother got “ultra wings” and flew away (i.e. she left him, and no wonder, if this is his idea of a metaphor), and then later, he changes his mind and buys the pads with ultra wings, and tells his daughter to wear these and fly high. (If I were your friend, I’d say, “Don’t tie yourself down for two hours with this movie. Stayfree!”)
In another scene, Bhanupriya’s father proves, yet again, that boundaries are for the birds. He enters her room and discovers she is in the loo. Ah, he says. “Nature’s call can happen anytime.” So he sits on her bed and begins to talk to her — through the door — about his date with a woman named Chandni, whom he calls “Moon”.
Rukul, meanwhile, settles on Candidate No. 1: Rajiv (Sumit Gulati). She tells Bhanupriya that the man crapped his pants once, but forgets to mention that he has a lisp. Poor Rajiv calls Bhanupriya and sings the Arijit Singh number: Muskurane ki vajah tum ho. But he sings the line as: Moot karane ki vajah tum ho. Bhanupriya is aghast. She thinks he is serenading her with a song about a urinary infection. The laughs keep getting
bladder badder in this movie.
Another joke from Rajiv, about his friend: “He is not gunda. He is very good munda.” Bhanupriya’s father likes the occasional rhyme, too. At an astrologer’s office, he declares, “Jisme culture nahin hota hai, woh vulture hota hai.” The vulture is a big bird. Big birds have big wings, i.e. “ultra wings”. What a cunningly circular screenplay this is!
Candidate No. 2 is a six-packed stud named Shartiya (Gautam Gulati). He makes a reference to Bhanupriya’s “aage wala do” and “peechhe wala do”. Apparently, he’s talking about her eyes, which appear double, thanks to her glasses. We are now in a specs comedy.
Astrologers, meanwhile, weigh in that “sambhog ke sukh” (the joys of sex) are not in Bhanupriya’s destiny. Her parents have another fight. The mother says she should not use the word “fuck”. “Say ‘oh fish’ instead.” Her father tells the mother that she should be talking to their daughter about Ramcharitmanas, instead. By now, I’ve begun to see sexual references everywhere, and am wondering if that’s perhaps an anagram for “charm samaritan”. But no, it is, apparently, a nod to the Tulsidas epic.
Rukul tells Bhanupriya, “Baby, I had a nice fuck!” Actually, she tells Bhanupriya everything. At one point, when Bhanupriya calls and she’s in the loo, she says she’s constipated: “Kuch baahar hi nahin aa raha hai.” Later, she says, women can be both helpless as well as hurtful [to men]: “Abla bhi hum hain aur tabla bhi hum bajayenge.”
Well, actually, it’s her tabla that gets bajao-ed. She finds out she’s pregnant. Who could be the father? The man who wore the XL condom? But before she can find out, she’s off to Goa with Bhanupriya, for an abortion. And there, we get some scathing political commentary. The government has changed, and the hospital needs the father’s signature, too. So says the woman with the saffron scarf, before uttering “Jai Shri Ram”.
There’s a man with a guitar, a single father who takes them to a party. I think he just decided the film could use a song, because anything’s got to be better than listening to those lines. As if to prove this, Rukul calls Bhanupriya from a beauty parlour, with a mud pack on. “Men are shit, shit is man,” she yells. The beautician says it’s time to rinse the mud pack off. End of call.
Bhanupriya realises, as we have from the film’s fifth minute, that Rukul is not going to be of any help. She summons her parents for a family meeting and says she wants to talk about her future. Her father, as perceptive as ever, asks, “Are you going to do an MBA?”
I don’t want to spoil the “climax” for you (heh, heh!), but I’ll just say it has a man having a conversation with his penis along these lines: “Have you forgotten how we used to play together during childhood?”
Is it really that difficult to lose one’s virginity? Yes, apparently. At the end, we get the
threat promise of a sequel: “Virginity continues…” The film ends with this cherry cheery thought.