By Subhash K. Jha, IANS

If you are a fan of Ekta Kapoor's terrific tidal wave of treacle television soaps, then you are advised to keep away from her effort to win audiences over with a cyclone of smut and sleaze in this ribald and rudely uncouth comedy.

But if you like repeated and rigorous jokes about anal sex - replete with frantic pelvic thrusts, groans and grunts and other noises of simulated sex - and if you think American Pie can be rendered as a desi pao bhaji, then stop right here.

KYAA KOOL HAI HUM (KKHH) is probably your last chance to get into the vulgar groove with such velocity.

It's unlikely that our cinema will ever get as motor-mouthed and cheesy-minded as this ever again.

You thought Indra Kumar's MASTI was vulgar? Wait till you see Riteish and Tusshar's anal adrenal antics in KKHH. MASTI looks like a fairy tale in comparison.

Filled with distasteful jokes about homosexuality and rape, everyone gets to be a brunt of the dizzying over-long and finally fatally prolonged script's butt of ridicule.

Director Sangeeth Sivan wants audiences' laughter at any cost. The scenes seem written predominantly for an audience just discovering the joys of sex and the pleasures of self-gratification.

Even by those amateurish standards, the clumsy and crude vulgarity quotient takes you by surprise. Tusshar kicks off his sober image to indulge in a binge of sexual situations, which include a sequence where a cop thinks the hero is having sex with a cat.

In another sequences, Tusshar "douses" his crotch with a bottle of water after a cigarette butt accidentally gets into his pants. Everyone thinks he has wet himself in excitement after watching a chick flip over.

Have a hard... I mean heart!

Soon the script and the characters lose their turgid titters. Knowing that the prolonged three-hour joke is long over, the director resorts to flaccid farce that won't be funny even to those in the audience who enjoy watching Tusshar making out with a cat.

You gape in disbelief as former censor chief Anupam Kher, playing a whacked-out shrink, does his own share of sex jokes with an overweight Shoma Anand joining him in bed.

Age and dignity seem to be no bar to the dialogue writers Sachin Yardi and Pankaj Trivedi's stabs at verbal vulgarity.

Every character speaks in crude double meanings. The ladies go at it with hammered tongues, leaving you wondering what happened to the demure damsels in distress!

Admittedly Isha Koppiker playing a cop named - hold your breath! - Urmila Martodkar gets into the mood of 'masti' with great gusto. She does the vulgar lines and situations with a relish that makes you grieve for the grace and dignity that leading ladies once brought to the most riotous comedies about male bonding.

Remember Saira Banu in the relentlessly humorous PADOSAN?

The watchable actor is Reteish Deshmukh, who gets seriously sleazy without forcing audiences to look away from the screen. Deshmukh seems to be having fun. Poor guy.

All through this homage to an uncontrollably over-sexed generation, the characters indulge in the cheapest double-speak.

Koppiker trying to anxiously seduce Tusshar to prove he's a serial killer breaks down before her seniors. "I've begun to doubt my womanhood. A man known to rape women of every age hasn't even looked my way."

You doubt the above dialogue that invokes laughter in the theatre. Didn't a 17-year-old child allegedly get raped by a policeman in Mumbai just the other day? And shouldn't the producer who has a great responsibility as a TV software manufacturer show more sensitivity towards issues that concern women's right to dignity?

Success at what cost? And if KKHH with its italicized stress on the shape size and various functions of unmentionable parts of the anatomy becomes even a minor success, it's time for Indian cinema to get seriously worried.

At many junctures, the dialogue writers pay homages to the films, characters and actors from Ram Gopal Varma's cinema, including Urmila Matondkar.

But if I were Urmila I'd sue the makers of this film for defamation. You can't condone a film for trying to be funny in vain when it shows a serial killer arriving at the police station to confess his crimes with a Tiffin-carrier filled with parts of women's anatomy.

Two women of great repute Shobha Kapoor and Ekta Kapoor are credited as this abominably obscene film's producers.

God save the screen.