Rating: *

Among the many worsts that this Netflix  atrocity  has to offer, there is the worst dialogue I’ve heard  in recent times spoken by the very brave actor Mohit Raina. “I was surprised when  my sister visited a gynaecologist since she was kunwari,” deadpans Raina. Now, kunwari can be taken to mean either a virgin or unmarried.  Both ways, this sucks bigtime.

Ditto the film. The insufferable pretentious puerile  garbage  from Shirish  Kunder, Mrs Serial Killer  is  the kind of self-consciously lurid thriller that must have sounded like  Bollywood’s own version  of  the grisly Korean masterpiece  I Saw The Devil on paper. I can see Manoj Bajpayee, Jacqueline Fernandez and Mohit dancing around the dining table  after the narration while Farah Khan (Kunder’s wife) cooked up her own thing in the kitchen.

Devil be damned, I saw Kunder’s film. And my life will never be the same again. In these  desperate times for movie addicts like me,  Kunder has provided just the antidote  for  my addiction. Mrs Serial Killer is not just an awful film, it is so proud of its awfulness that it may leave  viewers emotionally  battered and wounded  for a while.

Jacqueline Fernandez braving her way through an absurd role and wading through a Hindi accent that made me wonder if her character is  supposed to be a foreigner, plays Manoj Bajpai’s  distraught wife. Her husband is in the cooler for bumping off  unmarried pregnant  women. In a town that resembles a small  hill station, I wondered how many of those (unmarried, pregnant) women would  a serial killer find? Perhaps he could have moved to Brazil and spared us this film.

Fernandez  hits on  a bizarre plan to save her  husband’s ass (along with the rest of him). She kidnaps  a woman (pregnant and unmarried) and decides to kill her so the law (always an ass) would think her  husband  innocent.  Genius at work.

The plan, in keeping with everything else in this  corny concoction of  blood and buffoonery, is  horribly botched. By the time the  film chugs to its  atrociously exaggerated  climax in the basement of a hospital, we are as distraught as Ms Fernandez who looks like she has just seen a bat in her  house during the lockdown. Bajpai smirks and hams through a role that is as thankless as it is witless.

I did see Mohit Raina trying to take his role seriously. He failed, of course. No talent no matter how big, can withstand the torrent of asininity that  Shirish Kunder  unleashes on us.  A  word to Netflix. Do they really think we are so desperate for new films that we would sit through this super-twisted  take on a twisted mind? During the  climax, Manoj compares the film to his namesake’s The Sixth Sense.We hear  you, Manoj. We can’t stop laughing.