Rajjo makes you feel old, very old. Not just because it painfully labours through an excruciatingly slow 137 minutes that add light years to your age, but also for its plot and pace, frame and fabric that hark back to those B-grade films of the ’80s and ’90s. Those that never made it out of the lower shelf of the VHS cassette rental shop. It also boasts names like Uttam Singh (music), Dev Kohli and Sameer (lyrics), who last figured in the credits of a film some 20-odd years ago.

The root of Rajjo, however, lies in the 1990 film Baaghi, the love story of a college boy and a call girl. But if that was a sweet film boosted by Salman Khan’s intensity and Nagma’s innocence, then this is a crass effort that makes you eye the exit door from the get-go.

Making sense of Rajjo is a tall task. First-time director Vishwas Patil adapts a short story by Jayant Pawar to tell the tale of Rajjo (Kangana Ranaut), a prostitute who considers herself to be more of a kalakaar than a kothewaali. Bought and sold almost every day in the seedy bylanes of Mumbai, Rajjo’s life takes a turn one evening when young Chandu (Paras Arora) comes calling at her brothel. Chandu is smitten by Rajjo and visits her frequently. Four years her junior, still in college, he promises her a life outside the brothel and marries her. Shunned by society and deserted by family, the two set up home in a village, but their problems only keep mounting. The brothel is razed by the local municipality, Chandu remains unemployed and local goon Hande (Prakash Raj) has his eye on Rajjo. You, the viewer, in the meanwhile, keep an eye on your watch.

With a plot as thin as Kangana’s waistline, there is little in Rajjo that makes sense. As a child, Rajjo was sold by her older sister. Reason? She wanted the cash to buy a flat in a highrise! Chandu’s reason to marry Rajjo? “Apne pairon pe khade hone ki koshish kar raha hoon,” the jobless dude without a job and a roof over his head tells his dad after bringing his wife home. Like, really?! Chandu loses his virginity to Rajjo in the back of a car parked in a garage. At the end of it, the garage workers gleefully applaud! Eeeeeewww.

If that isn’t enough, Kangana prances about as a dance teacher in a local village school dressed in backless blouse and cleavage-revealing kurta. Even when she’s being hit on the head, dragged away and beaten to pulp, her crimson lipstick remains untouched. Er, Maybelline’s new smudge-free range?

But then again, it’s just Kangana who makes Rajjo a tad bearable. She looks like a million bucks and her screen presence is fantastic, but the film fails her. Totally. Mahesh Manjrekar’s turn as a eunuch is credit-worthy but Prakash Raj hams through yet another role. And it’s safe to say that Paras Arora will not figure in a film for many, many years — if at all ever.

A couple kept themselves busy in the corner of the gold class audi at INOX South City during the first day, first show of Rajjo. Can’t blame them... they needed the entertainment. So did we.