Only in the latter half of the film does he actually have any kind of goal at all (becoming an actor). Life simply happens to Karim, everything that transpires is the result of someone else's plans. Instead, the main character is Karim, who drifts helplessly on the currents that mangle the lives of those close to him. Karim's mother and brother might have fit the bill as the only characters with common sense, but they are virtually ignored. With a theme like this, we want a character who struggles against the tides of spiritual emptiness. Their confusions range from hopeless dedication to old-country ways, (arranged marriages), to faddish spirituality, the constriction of "liberating" politics, disposable families, drugs, etc. The subject simply appears to be the myriad ways in which the people in young Karim's life find to ruin their happiness. There are clues that it goes from the beginning to the end of the 70s, yet the events feel more like a three-year span. There is no "plot" per se, no shape to this massive mess. Lighting is bad, lines are mumbled, blocking awkward.
There is truly no reason in the world for it to have gone over two hours. There are nearly an hour's worth of shots of people walking up stairs, crossing streets, and standing silently which would have been edited by any other director. Having enjoyed the quirky little "My Beautiful Laundrette," I was most disappointed by "The Buddha of Suburbia." The film is a disaster from beginning to end, and has the feeling that length was the sole purpose, as one sometimes feels when reading less-inspired 19th-century novels whose authors were paid by the word.
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