A heady concoction of spices, the darkly comic Masala tampers with taste-it is at once surprisingly succulent and utterly tasteless. Director Krishna mashes Bollywood musical takeoffs with satiric Sikh militants, spicy girls, and Nirvana TV, to tell a story centering on a disillusioned young man (the director himself). Orphaned by an airplane bomb, the kid emerges from a less-than-blissful stint as a junkie to find his extended family pursuing happiness in the multi-culti New World of Toronto. Like a many-handed god, the director has cooked up a zesty masala both sweet and sour: a comedy that is thoroughly pessimistic, a political satire that has no politics. The piquant metaphor at Masala's center, of a family blown to smithereens, shatters the notion that the South Asian community clings to tradition. Those most assimilated-the aerobics addicts and sariful feminists-are the most savory. But in the end it's the older generation who steal the show: the great Saeed Jaffrey in three roles (happy sari dealer, hapless stamp collector, and harried Krishna, the god), and Zohra Segal as a devout granny who puts her faith in modern gadgets.