Anil Kapoor wears a pair of aviators in the first twenty minutes of "No Problem" that seem determined to slide off his nose by precisely three millimeters every single time he raises his voice, and honestly, if I'm honest, that tiny optical nuisance occupied far too much of my attention while watching this thing.

Director Aneez Bazmee arrives at this material with the frantic energy of a man who has lost his car keys inside a moving washing machine, keeping the camera spinning even when two characters are just standing by a nondescript water cooler talking about diamond smuggling.

The screenplay feels less like a narrative structure and more like an emergency salvage operation conducted by five different people who were never introduced to one another, hurling characters into absurd bank robberies, mistaken identity plots, and elaborate disguises involving fake mustaches that look distinctly like stray dryer lint.

There is a specific kind of exhaustion that sets in when watching modern Hindi films try to recapture the loose-limbed spirit of 1990s David Dhawan farces without understanding that timing requires a certain spatial silence.

Sanjay Dutt plays a trigger-happy gangster with an anger management issue, barking his lines through clenched teeth while everyone else around him screams at a frequency that threatens local glassware.

Akshaye Khanna attempts to play the straight man to this swirling vortex of nonsense, but his eyes carry the heavy, distinct weight of an actor who realized on day four of shooting that his paycheck was going to take months to clear.

Bipasha Basu and Kangna Ranaut show up in roles that require them to alternate between looking glamorous and running away from explosions, giving performances that can best be described as athletic rather than dramatic, while Sushmita Sen brings a rare, stabilizing poise to a living room scene involving a stolen diamond necklace that gets passed around like a cheap appetizer.

Then there is Paresh Rawal, an actor capable of carrying entire features on his back, here reduced to reacting with wide-eyed disbelief every time a CGI tiger roars off-screen or a car flips over for no discernible geographical reason.

The sound design is aggressively loud, pumping a bass-heavy remix of the title track into scenes of characters sitting in quiet offices, making it impossible to hear the dialogue without subtitles or pure guesswork.

Cinematographer Sunil Patel shoots everything in that hyper-saturated, sun-bleached digital palette that defined commercial Bollywood during the late 2000s, turning the streets of South Africa into a flat, blinding glare of primary colors where shadows go to die.

It reminds me a bit of "De Dana Dan," another sprawling multi-starrer that mistook sheer volume for comedic momentum, though at least that film had a few more physical gags involving falling wedding cakes.

Saloni Daini pops up briefly as a child artist, and the film treats her presence with the exact same level of frantic desperation as the principal actors, proving that no one on set was ever told to lower the temperature of the room.

Thematic coherence is absent, replaced instead by a looping series of moral reversals where characters who were attempting murder five minutes earlier are suddenly sharing a heartfelt laugh over a bowl of lukewarm noodles.

Neetu Chandra gets dragged into the physical comedy gymnastics without ever establishing a clear motivation for why her character is participating in the heist, resulting in scenes where she just stands near a door looking mildly annoyed while background extras execute poorly choreographed pratfalls.

That background extra in the red polo shirt who drops his clipboard during the airport scene—seriously, look at him, he drops it a full second before anyone yells cut—captures the chaotic, unscripted shrug of the entire enterprise better than any critical essay could hope to do.