I wish more had been done with the central conceit. There’s a terrific running gag about a slutty housewife whose husband wants her dead — naturally, he asks Gopi to “shoot” her — and the visual joke about Gopi’s bike, surely the world’s slowest, being used as a clothesline is priceless. But the bits about the vampire haunting the village seem forced, as does the stretch about a director named Steven Spiel Kumar who’s even better than T Rajendar — he handles all 64 departments of filmmaking, and also plays the hero and heroine. (Sean Roldan’s rollicking score makes us feel we’re watching a film that’s funnier than it actually is.) And the subplot involving the local deity seems endless. This is not a lazy film by any stretch. There’s a surprising detour involving cats that veers into surrealism. But a comedy should be light on its feet. Linger too much, and it can begin to seem out of focus.