Granny Freeze*† in Mira Nair's "Mumbai Rouge"**

Um, what in Stepford Wives hell is this?

 

1—India? Whatever for?

2—Little girl from Slumdog Milluhnair? Hope she was paid handsomely, in funds that are available right effing now, in some form of currency her batshit crazy father can’t get hold of.

3—Maribou saris? Whatever for?

4—Turns out Bollywood stars are often quite hot. That gent can put the turmeric in my jalfraizi any day. A-thank-ya.

6—“What did I expect”? Apart from your face cracking apart into tiny matte-finish shards?

7—Why must that giggle exist, as it is awful? And sounds like the sort of giggle a flirtatious Looney Tunes character would deliver. Oscar winner Nicole Kidman, ladies and gennelmen.

8—French? What does India have to do with France? The vague patina of imperialist racism—"Ooh! Regard with awe, little brown girl, the gleaming white goddess arrives on her maribou-sari zephyr!"—made sense when I figured, quite reasonably, that this commercial was British. But now, I don’t…I’m just  so…hmm?

9—Oh, right. French. There’s the racism bit sorted. (Though, to be fair…)

5—Nicole Kidman? Whatever for?

10—Finally, what is point of commercial? Freeze-faced white lady arrives on maribou-sari zephyr, cavorts in lacy sari veil with bejeweled non-sequitur Indian girl. Freeze-faced be-maribou-saried white lady coquettishly seduces hot Bollywood star. Freeze-faced be-maribou-saried cock-tease white lady undoes dress and skips off to bedchamber, and…drinks club soda…And then asks us what we expected.

That’s just dumb.

That’s all really. Other than that Nicole Kidman’s forehead is made of melted Tupperware.

Bless.

*Yet further evidence that Miss Kate should just wholesale take over the writing of this blurg.

**Ibid.

†Actually, turns out, this comes from this nice lady over here. Credit where credit’s due and all that.