The cut also stands as a powerful symbol for all the things the show alludes to without clarifying it — which producer did not allow Rani Mukerji to do Lagaan (an anecdote she also dished out at IFFI in Goa)? What was that icy “organic distance” between Kajol and Rani Mukerji, because it seems more than just a natural unraveling? Who has the control over the air-conditioning on set?
Curdled by Nostalgia
Johar, prodder extraordinaire, remains respectful in the distance he keeps, merely suggesting something and then, not needling further, as is wont. It is, perhaps, the kind of gentle friendship that demands boundaries and steers clear of it. But as we are being shoved deeper into the descent of Koffee With Karan, it is becoming clear that more than an attitude of respecting boundaries, this show has lost its teeth. Its dentured avatar is happy with long, tiring shots of its guests laughing, cackling, at and with each other. Frequently, it feels like connecting tissue of hysterical laughter. We — consumers, fans, masochists — are left in the lurch and out of the loop. If not for its teeth, what was Koffee With Karan? What is Koffee With Karan, then?
Nostalgia has a way of sucking the air out of a room, especially when it is grasped at like a crutch in a conversation, that the only way to make the present bearable is to mine the past. Johar immediately pushes its buttons, fed up as he is with the same questions, stories, anecdotes. It is almost like ripping a bandaid. What Johar promised in the beginning, “Motormouths back in full form”, is an advertisement for an episode that was not this.
It is a little uncomfortable and the silences between question and answer, within questions, has this odd, fragile weight, like it is almost going to collapse. Each person shoots out anecdotes from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai from every pore of their body, like blasting photons; their explanations, accusations, excuses, all cross-cutting each other. Did you know? Do you remember? How could you not know?