Housefull 5 A Or B: We’ve Tried Both—Now Let Us Steer You Clear Of The Worst
Ever watched something so bad, you felt like you owed your brain an apology? That's 'Housefull 5' in a nutshell. It's a potent mix of lazy writing and cringeworthy humour that's brain-rotting.
Housefull 5: Ever watched something so bad, you felt like you owed your brain an apology? That's 'Housefull 5' in a nutshell. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we watched it. We watched both endings—A and B—and honestly, it doesn’t matter which one you pick, both endings are equally, gloriously, utterly terrible. In both cases, your brain dies a slow, painful death.
No matter how mentally prepared you are, knowing the genre, having watched the trailer, even if you’ve willingly left your brain soaking in a pickle jar at home, 'Housefull 5' still manages to outdo itself in insulting your intelligence. It's a potent mix of lazy writing and cringeworthy humour that's brain-rotting.
Even Nana Patekar and Akshay Kumar can’t rescue this mess
Housefull 5 comes with not one, not two, but 25 actors. A veritable who's who of Bollywood, including the incomparable Nana Patekar, who deserves far, far better than to be caught in this cinematic quicksand. Akshay Kumar, a man whose comic timing can normally make a bad film decent, also couldn’t save this disaster.
The jokes? Oh boy. They weren't just bad; they were actively offensive in their lack of comedic value. The most tired, recycled locker room gags had more wit than anything 'Housefull 5' could cough up. Sexual innuendos fly left and right, none of them land, and all of them make you cringe so hard.
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The female leads, meanwhile, seemed to exist solely to be sexualised. Every Soundarya Sharma scene is a masterclass in secondhand embarrassment for women. And just when you think it can't get worse, along comes the AC vent scene. Picture this: Jacqueline Fernandez, Sonam Bajwa, and Nargis Fakhri crawling through a vent. Now, any sane person would crawl on their stomach, like, you know, how crawling works. But not here. No sir. These ladies crawl on their backs, because, a normal, stomach-down crawl wouldn't adequately highlight their 'cleavage and thighs' for the camera's insatiable gaze. Logic be damned, we have ogling to do! Did the filmmakers somehow miss the memo that we're past the 90s, where cheap, leering humour was sadly considered acceptable?
Script? What script?
And the script? Well, calling it a script is giving it far too much credit. What we get instead is a jumble of bad jokes, clumsy innuendos, random sexualisation, three murders for some reason, and four songs shoved in without warning. It's not a story—it’s a scattered collage of scenes all desperately trying to hold together by... well, actually, nothing at all. Honestly, if they had hired even one decent screenwriter instead of cramming the frame with 25 confused actors, we might’ve had something that at least resembled a film.
The reason they could so effortlessly whip up two different endings, with two different killers, is because none of the characters have any depth, backstory, or arc to begin with. They’re all so hollow and interchangeable that you can swap one murderer for another just by tacking on a half-baked motive. That’s the level of storytelling we're dealing with here—lazy, careless, and completely indifferent to logic or character development.
As the end credits roll, you’re treated to behind-the-scenes clips of the cast laughing and having a blast on set. Well, good for them—because that’s honestly the only part of the entire experience that’s even remotely fun. If just one tiny sliver of that on-set joy had made it into the actual movie, we might’ve left with a chuckle instead of a migraine.
This isn’t slapstick. This isn’t comedy. This isn’t even so-bad-it’s-funny. It’s just bad. A Housefull of actors, minus any logic, laughs, or good thing. Whether it’s Housefull A or B, the damage it leaves behind runs deep.
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