Forget the theme. The overriding feature of the film is its supra-Mehmoodian hyper-vocalism and crudity. Govinda sports his pants the other way round, his butt on the zip side, finding the style more suited for a big flush. This is Jim Carrieism in slapstick, without the convoluted finesse-you laugh at the stupidity and hate yourself for doing so.
The film also encourages an ideological spinoff-what is Mahesh Manjrekar of Vaastav and Astitva fame doing making something like this? Spoofing the feelgood, bad city-pristine village formulae of yesteryear? Or making some easy money in the wake of his recent successes?
One suspects that after taking Govinda, Manjrekar lost his bearings. He was probably trying Kundan Shah-type takes on the afore-mentioned formulae. Or, he just wanted to have some fun. But a David Dhawan would have been better suited for the job. He is the one who makes farce look believable, bringing out the deadpan nastiness in the rural bucolic, subverting and sustaining heroism without cerebral pretensions, at least in some of his best work. He has been able to actually direct Govinda's spontaneity and incredible talent with a street-smart panache, pruning the loudness at crucial junctures.
But Ganga... suffers from a Govinda overdose. He looks too fat in places. His dance movements also lack zing, even in the two peppy Anand Raj Anand numbers. Somehow, Mahesh is uncomfortable with the theme. In an effort to intellectualise and be funny at the same time, he actually ends up all lousy, a caricature of a caricature, like a B-grade Dhawan.
The other big mystery involves Sonali Bendre's casting as a village belle. She moves and acts like a public school novice on an ethnic stage. Her latkas and jhatkas are all wrong-was this Manjrekar's bizarre idea of contesting (or ribbing) the Asha Parekhs and Nandas of yore?
