Mohit Suri has got to be shitting me. I was discovering the pleasure of holding someone else’s hand when Murder came out, and now the sequel’s here. A pretty twisted one it is. No relation to the first part except the killer sings one of the songs from Murder every now and then. Oh yes, baby, here’s the story: A pimp is worried because a bunch of hookers from his catalogue have gone missing, so he calls upon the services of an ex-cop (Emraan Hashmi) who’s in everything for the money when he’s not fucking his model girlfriend Jacqueline Fernandez. Is she his mohabbat or his zaroorat, she asks, to which he replies that she is his aadat. Where the hell was this guy when I needed lessons?
So now a whole lot of sluts have gone missing, but it’s not hard for Emraan to figure what’s going on. He must be overjoyed Mallika Sherawat isn’t in Murder 2 smiling like a whore about to get paid. Well, forget about that cunt, and not because Jackie Fernandez is too fuckin’ sexy, but because the bad guy is aiming straight for the ‘villain of the year’ award on this blog. Can’t even call him a bad guy, because Prashant Narayanan, in splendid form, used to be a man who was very horny all the time and got himself castrated to remove the root of his problems, and now butchers women – sluts, angels, anything with a pussy – for fun. A psychopathic, crossdressing, makeup-loving hijra who casually confesses to the police that he chops women up but doesn’t tell them that he throws the corpses in a well behind his house, and then goes on to hack a fellow eunuch, a priest and a wannabe hooker inside a fucking temple? Hindi cinema has finally come of age.