There are movies you watch because they're moving, or informative, or clever. There are movies you watch because your stupid boyfriend likes explosions, or because you got your wisdom teeth out, or because you have the hots for Hilary Swank (why?). And then there are movies like Fight Club: Members Only, which you watch because 15 of your drunkest friends are sprawled on your living room rug, and this movie, at this moment, is the most hysterical thing that any of you have ever seen.


A slapdash Bollywood appropriation of the American Fight Club, Fight Club: Members Only has excised everything that made the original interesting. There is no subversive psychological warfare; there is no darkness. There is, however, much sensual pumping of iron; a club, in which men (and sometimes sexy, sexy women!) fight one another; and (most importantly) a character named Dicklish. Dicklish! The rest of the movie—in awkwardly translated Hinglish—is nonsense, and it's awesome.

Our story concerns four young friends—Vicky, Karan, Somil, and DICKLISH—who are living the good life in Mumbai ("Drinks, shrinks, winks... whatever! I love getting sozzled!") until they witness some dudes getting aggro outside a club. "I'll thrash you in a lonely place," snarls one combatant. Ka-chinggg! "There must be so many guys dying to clash with each other... We can make so much money out of it!"

Any beef-having guys can show up and fight in the Fight Club (members not really only): "Everyone will have a fair chance to break... to smash!" cries Dicklish. Short against tall, fat against skinny ("Hey fatso, aren't you afraid to use your hippo-like bulk on this skinny guy here?")—the fights, though long enough to bore you off your hoo-ha (here's where drunk friends come in handy), are faintly homoerotic in the most adorable way. After Vicky squares off against a childhood nemesis named Sameer, the two develop a tender bond. (And every time Sameer appears on screen, the soundtrack chants: "No one's better than the dude. The tough guy. He is never ever shy.")

Then the guys—for no discernible reason—forget all about Fight Club, move to Delhi, open a dance club called Crossroads, and battle a gang of evil drug dealers led by a thug named Anna, who is a sort of Indian Lorenzo Lamas. Karan dances on the beach in overalls with no shirt, and Vicky screams (in English), "I'll bury this guy six feet under! And I'm gonna BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM!" Nooot kidding!

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I realize that I'm basically encouraging you to laugh at foreigners. I know there are better Bollywood movies out there. I'm sure that Dicklish is a perfectly common Indian nickname, and by making fun of it I'm acting like a fucking ignorant dicklish. And normally I'd hate myself for that.

But my god! Sensual iron pumpage! Sameer's theme! "SOZZLED!" Dicklish Dicklish Dicklish! In the right place, at the right time, with the right level of intoxication, Fight Club: Members Only is a masterpiece.

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