Who said sex has anything to do with anti-wrinkle creams? Uplifts or artificial 'jobs'? Madonna was pregnant at 42. Charlie Chaplin fathered a child at 73. Even our pleasantly plump Annie Monterio (Shernaz Patel) gets a 'little' pregnant at forty-six. After years of prayers, and divine intervention (actually the missionary position) she is blessed with her 'labour of love', a second child; the first is an adopted teenager, Ruth, who wonders why her parents didn't use a condom in the first place. While Annie's antique life is all about Goa and being a true wine-drinking Goan, singing in the church choir and attending Sunday mass, her much younger and less holy husband, Savio (Ash Chandler), an executive with an underwear brand has a higher calling. He believes there's no shortage of kinky people in India, so he sets out to launch an edible lingerie brand called 'Eat Me' (in flavours like vindaloo, bibinca, tikka, etc). 'Panty'-ing already, eh? Hold on, there's more to Savio's enthusiasm. He joins an inspirational salsa group (whatever!) by 'Cleetus' (thankfully, not a sex-guru), where a 'brief' encounter with a subtly flirty amateur photographer, Natalie (Seema Rehmani) and her short-term boyfriend, gets him into a mess that disrupts the breezy calm of his mundane life. Enter, Bruno ( Sohrab Ardeshir), the local Goan Don, who tries to be Savio's saviour, but only ends up complicating this feni-flavoured film. Shernaz Patel lights up the screen, like sunlight glazing the silvery beaches of Goa. She's 100% natural, without a care for creases or crow's feet, jawlines or jelly bellies.
Ash Chandler is the perfect 'Mac bugga', wading through his mid-life madness, surprise fertility, erotic business ideas and urges (sexual and otherwise), with confidence and casualness. He's a cool (God)father too, often impersonating the iconic Marlon Brando to humour his family over dinner.
In his first feature film, director Sandeep Mohan captures pretty Goa the way Goans would love it - the setting sun, white beaches, minus the Pamela-Anderson-inspired nymphets, drugs, rave, rock 'n' roll. It's simple, pure, and breaks cosmetic clichés - that's the beauty. But halfway through the film, the wrinkles steep deeper, in the script that is. Washed away with stretched sub-plots in the wrong positions (don't think dirty), the film turns flaccid and is no longer the sweet, 'upright' Goan slice of life it set out to be. And we're left craving for a spicy Sorpotel instead. Burp!
