Superstar
Synopsis:
About halfway through Superstar, Kunal Khemu is standing in a really tacky, sparkling silver jacket that looks like it came straight from a mid-nineties music video clearance bin, sweating under these massive studio lights and completely forgetting his lines while a director screams at him through a megaphone. It is honestly so awkward to watch, but to understand how he even got into that mess, you have to go all the way back to the beginning when he's just this total nobody named Kunal who works behind the scenes and dreams about making it big in bollywood movies because he thinks fame is going to fix all his problems and get him the girl of his dreams. So then, he's just this ordinary guy who looks remarkably like Karan Malhotra, who happens to be the reigning superstar of the entire film industry and a guy whose face is plastered on every single billboard from Bandra to Juhu, and everyone is always telling our hero that he could be a double if he just stopped daydreaming and paid attention to his real life duties. The funny thing is, he doesn't want to be a double, he wants to be the actual guy on the poster, and his loyal friends like Vrajesh Hirjee try to ground him in reality, but he's just way too obsessed with the glitz and glamour of Hindi films to care about sensible advice. Anyway, one day he actually gets a chance to meet the real star, and it turns out Karan Malhotra is this massive jerk with a terrible attitude who treats everyone like garbage, which just fuels our hero's resentment even more because why should a total snob get all the adoration of the masses while hardworking guys get nothing. Tulip Joshi shows up around this time playing this lovely woman who enters his life and starts making him question whether all this desperate chasing after stardom is even worth losing his soul over, but he's already too deep down the rabbit hole to turn back now. Right after that, a ridiculously convenient accident happens to the actual star, leaving him in a coma or terribly injured or something equally dramatic, and the ruthless producers played by guys like Darshan Jariwala panic because millions of rupees are riding on their upcoming project and they need a quick fix immediately. So they spot Kunal, notice the uncanny resemblance, slap some makeup on him, and force him to step in front of the camera as a stunt double who has to suddenly pretend to be the lead actor when the real guy can't shoot. The first time he has to deliver a romantic line to Aushima Sawhney, he's wearing this horribly itchy pastel sweater with blue diamonds on the sleeves and his left ear is twitching because he's so nervous, and honestly, the camera catches every single micro-expression of sheer terror on his face. The crew thinks he's just acting like a nervous wreck, but he's literally sweating bullets because if anyone figures out the swap, he's going to jail or worse, getting blacklisted from every single studio in town. Reema Lagoo plays his doting mother who worries constantly about him getting too greedy for success, dropping classic emotional lines like jiske paas sapne hote hain woh kabhi chain se nahi sota while serving him hot chai in a chipped ceramic mug, but he just brushes her off because the bright lights are calling his name. Sharat Saxena pops up as some intimidating producer or manager type who barks orders and smokes cigarettes in dark corridors, adding to the general chaos of the chaotic studio environment that makes you wonder how any movies get finished at all. Aman Verma is also hanging around the periphery of the plot looking slick in sharp suits and trying to outmaneuver everyone else in the cutthroat entertainment business where nobody can be trusted for more than five minutes. The transformation from a lowly nobody into a household name happens with absurd speed because the public just eats up the new persona, and suddenly he's living in a massive penthouse, signing autographs, and forgetting all about his old life in the cramped chawl. He's totally high on his own supply, walking around with his collar popped and ignoring Tulip Joshi when she tries to remind him of who he really is, which is just classic behavior for anyone who gets a tiny taste of power in bollywood. Reality bites back hard when the real Karan Malhotra wakes up from his medical hiatus and decides he wants his life back, leading to this massive confrontation where our protagonist realizes that wearing someone else's skin doesn't make you any happier. Right after a chaotic press conference where flashing bulbs blind everyone and reporters are shouting overlapping questions about his sudden personality shift, the impostor drops the microphone, rips open his designer shirt to reveal his old worn-out undershirt, and walks right off the main stage into the rainy Mumbai night.
That one tracking shot where Tulip Joshi is walking across a very clearly painted studio floor while the background projection does all the heavy lifting really tells you everything you need to know about the budget constraints breathing down the neck of Superstar. It is a messy little dual-role picture that dropped quietly in 2008 without making much of a splash in the broader ocean of Hindi movies, starring Kunal Khemu playing two versions of essentially the same guy with a few mustache adjustments and varying degrees of arrogance. Most people forgot about it before the popcorn had even gone cold in the lobby. If I am honest, I missed it during its original theatrical run too, catching up with it late on a Tuesday night because television cable programming leaves you with strange options.
Rohit Jugraj and Milan Luthria share writing and directing credits here, though the narrative DNA feels borrowed from half a dozen older melodramas about the cost of fame and the strange jealousies that brew behind the arc lights of Bollywood. Khemu plays Karan, an ambitious extra waiting for his big break, and Kunal, an arrogant reigning superstar who has lost touch with his craft. They look identical, which is the whole premise, allowing the film to play out a familiar identity-swap routine where the star wants a normal life and the extra wants the adoration of the masses. The screenplay relies on incredibly convenient coincidences that would make a soap opera writer blush, yet it moves fast enough that you rarely have time to cross-examine the logic before the next scene is hurled at you.
Kunal Khemu carries the entire weight of this enterprise on his shoulders and mostly manages to keep it upright through sheer force of will. He has always been a remarkably natural actor, holding the screen effortlessly even when the material around him turns into absolute nonsense, which happens with alarming frequency in the second half. His arrogant movie star persona is infinitely more entertaining than his wide-eyed struggling extra, largely because playing a jerk gives him permission to chew on the scenery a little bit. When he shares a frame with Reema Lagoo playing the mandatory loving mother, the film hits a rare, grounded note that makes you wish the directors had trusted the quiet moments instead of rushing toward the next dramatic confrontation.
Tulip Joshi and Aushima Sawhney fill out the romantic corners of the plot with varying degrees of success, though the editing does them zero favors. There is a supporting turn by Sharat Saxena that feels like it was dubbed by someone standing three feet away from a cheap microphone in an echoey room, and honestly, that kind of distracting audio hiccup pulls you right out of the movie every single time he opens his mouth. Vrajesh Hirjee shows up to provide comic relief that belongs in a much louder, sillier comedy from a decade earlier, while Darshan Jariwala tries to class things up as a cynical producer who has seen it all and cares about nothing except the box office returns.
The cinematography by Johny Lal leans heavily into garish primary colors and aggressive lens flares that make every indoor set look like a furniture showroom during a liquidation sale. It resembles Om Shanti Om in its obsessive fascination with the mechanics of the film industry, but without that picture's massive budget or genuine affection for retro cinema history. The soundtrack by Himesh Reshammiya and Shamir Tandon dominates the running time with tracks that refuse to stay in the background, blaring through the speakers even during dialogue scenes where nobody is actually singing. That one romantic track plays on a continuous loop during the middle forty minutes until you start hearing the synthesizer notes in your sleep.
Beneath the superficial gloss of celebrity culture, the movie tries to say something about how ambition corrodes personal relationships and leaves you isolated at the top of the ladder. But it treats this theme with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer swung by a drunk carpenter, cutting from a moment of genuine emotional vulnerability straight into a high-energy dance sequence shot in front of fifty screaming extras who look like they were pulled off the street five minutes before rolling. You can feel the ghost of older, better explorations of the same territory hovering around the edges of the frame, begging for a sharper script that never quite materializes.
Hindi films have a long and storied tradition of doppelganger stories, dating back decades before this particular iteration limped onto screens, and Superstar adds almost nothing new to that lineage. It is neither a lost masterpiece waiting to be rediscovered by film twitter nor a total disaster worth mocking for two hours with your friends. Khemu gives a performance that deserved a much better vehicle, elevating what should have been a standard direct-to-video trifle into something mildly watchable on a lazy afternoon. When the credits finally roll, you do not feel cheated out of your time, exactly, but you also cannot shake the persistent feeling that you could have spent those two hours watching a proper classic instead.