The past decade saw a significant shift in the national box office, with dubbed films and remakes featuring unknown South Indian actors achieving massive success, often overshadowing original Bollywood productions banking on its leading stars. This trend is among the crucial socio-cultural aspects analysed by film scholar M. K. Raghavendra in his book under review, entitled “The Subject of the Nation and His ‘Others’ in Hindi Cinema: Gender, Religious, Caste, and Ethnic Identity As Difference”. The author draws on literary critic Fredric Jameson’s famous assertion that all ‘Third-World’ literary narratives should be interpreted as national allegories, arguing that post-colonial narratives bear public connotations because private life is much less separate from public concerns. Raghavendra extends this premise in his book, noting that cinema has gained sway over literary narratives in articulating the nation’s story.
Also drawing on political scientist Benedict Anderson’s concept of ‘imagined communities’, Raghavendra looks at the ‘imagined nation’ in Hindi cinema and identifies the hero chosen to ‘embody’ it. The hero’s personal story thus mirrors the nation’s existence as an allegory. This national subject is characterized as an upper-caste, Hindu, predominantly male archetype, often ‘surname-less’and ‘region-less,’ thus functioning as an ahistorical representative. Women, the marginalized categories, and minorities are presented as ‘others’ with separate stories for the issues dealing with them—but distinct from that of the nation. While this cinematic blueprint is not entirely unexpected, the author traces its origins to the rise of 19th-century Indian nationalism, as reflected in Bankim Chandra Chatterjee’s “Anandamath” (1882) and, in the first chapter, finds its basis to be elitist at its core.
This chapter on ‘Film Form and Ideology’ defines popular Hindi cinema’s stable, non-mimetic form. It prioritizes the relay of a pre-existing message or truism rather than reproducing the ambiguity inherent in reality. The primary message relayed in Hindi films sounds like traditional wisdom that upholds a seemingly universal value independent of historical context, for instance, loyalty to the family and obedience to it (Hum Aapke Hain Koun…! (1994)). Due to the focus on “universal truth”, character subjectivity is notably absent. The camera maintains an omniscient viewpoint, showing events as they transpired rather than through someone’s perception. The narrative unfolds as though a “first cause”—akin to karma, often a pivotal prehistory like the humiliation of the father in Deewar (1975), or a “seed” from Sanskrit drama—determines all subsequent actions. Romantic relationships do not progress through stages of interpersonal conflict (as in Hollywood) but are announced as “perfect” and “eternal”. Difficulties are caused by external agencies. The successful culmination of a romance (the transition from brahmacharya to grihastha or householder) is used primarily as a structural device to bring the film’s story to an end (closure), as “adulthood” is not an acknowledged stage of life in traditional Indian ashramas (life stages).
This entire form, stable since the silent era, is attributed to a hierarchical Brahminical tradition. The discussion calls it false consciousness and contrasts the form with Western mimesis, considering it as the normative standard. However, the possibility of a unique, coherent indigenous aesthetic—one that draws on the best of tradition—cannot be discounted, even if its expression lies outside the realm of popular cinema.
The author maps the male hero with distinct political eras: In the 1950s, stars like Raj Kapoor, Dilip Kumar, and Dev Anand portrayed diverse characters reflecting Nehruvian modernity and egalitarianism in films like Awaara (1951), (Babul, 1950) and Kala Bazar (1960) respectively. The 1960s saw romantic heroes signal national disengagement, e.g., Shammi Kapoor in Kashmir Ki Kali (1964), followed by the Angry Young Man in the 1970s, e.g., Amitabh Bachchan in Deewar (1975), emerging from Mrs. Gandhi’s radical politics. Post-1991, market logic defined personal destinies resembling karmic law, and the state recedes (Hum Aapke Hain Koun…! (1994)). It led to the New Millennium Anglophone/ Multiplex cinema which justified criminality for success (Guru (2007)).
The book’s perceptive analysis of Bollywood’s decline, set against new nationalist demands for patriotic cinema post-2014, is one of its important sections. As the author points out, this has led to a depletion of narrative possibilities, reducing them to the singularity of nationalism. Older patriotic films, like Manoj Kumar’s Upkar (1967), included multiple narrative threads, such as family life and agrarian relationships, alongside war. Unlike them, modern war films like The Ghazi Attack (2017) and Uri: The Surgical Strike (2019) have weakened or eliminated these other threads, suggesting an increasingly propagandistic role for cinema. The book discusses the pan-Indian success of dubbed South Indian blockbusters such as Pushpa (2021) and KGF 2 (2022), connoting “resistance to central authority,” and wonders whether this spells trouble for the inclusively imagined nation. While these films fill the void left by Bollywood’s patriotic fatigue, it is worth asking whether their defiant regional undertones would have come through in north India in the same way. In Hindi-dubbed versions, the regional versus national distinction is likely to be blurred, and their defiance may appear simply as local grit. Their anti-establishment or anti-authoritarian themes run counter to Bollywood’s nationalist preoccupations, complicating its national narrative—though ascribing “resistance to central authority” even in their pan-Indian avatar perhaps stretches the interpretation.
Film aesthetes might find it odd to view cinema through such a socio-political lens. They may echo the scepticism of Vladimir Nabokov, who famously questioned the value of fiction as a reliable source of information: ‘Can we expect to glean information about places and times from a novel?’ Extending this critique to cinema, one might wonder whether films can truly offer insight into a nation. However, the methodological approach of the book under review is grounded precisely in Fredric Jameson’s assertion that all ‘Third-World’ texts should be read as national allegory.
The book asserts that the portrayal of women remains fundamentally male-centric, evolving from strong pre-independence figures to victims of social pressures or state weakness, often needing male intervention for justice. Even modern, woman-centric films like The Lunchbox (2013) and Pink (2016) end up relying on and giving dominance to the male narrative voice. As for Muslims, historically positioned as ‘others,’ early film genres (like Historicals or Courtesan films) focused on upper-class life and forbidden love, reflecting social hierarchy. Post-Partition, the author argues that secularism became a form of minority protectionism, making these film narratives archaic by insulating them from internal issues like class conflict (Pakeezah (1971) and Nikaah (1982)). During the radical period of Mrs. Indira Gandhi in the 1970s, art cinema (supported by state intervention) provided different portrayals (Garam Hawa (1973) and Salim Langde Pe Mat Ro (1989)). The period following economic liberalization in 1991 initially saw Muslim identity become less significant in Hindi cinema (Rang De Basanti (2005)). After 2014, however, Muslim representation became distinctly politicized in films, with The Kashmir Files (2022) being a clear example.
The author analyses narrative patterns of films featuring Dalit heroes such as Masaan (2015) and Sairat (2016). They depict caste as mere irrational prejudice by using upper-caste actors, thereby denying the reality of the immense social gulfs and power imbalances inherent in its structural reality. The ‘social other’ evolves from the criminalized lower classes to politicians. It’s a sharp observation that Hindi film criminals are often portrayed as inherently criminal even before committing any illegal act. As for ethnicities in Hindi cinema, Kashmir is a law-and-order issue; South Indians gain economic respect, while North-easterners are overlooked. Finally, Pakistan is depicted as a morally inferior ‘brother led astray,’ questioning its democratic viability as in Veer-Zaara (2004).
This is the nineteenth book published by the prolific M. K. Raghavendra. It offers an insightful look at how India is imagined in Hindi cinema. The prose demands patience due to its scholarly depth, but the careful effort is richly rewarded by the author’s acute observations. Some interpretations may appear forced, suggesting an over-reliance on the national allegory framework. Nevertheless, while it is not aimed at film aesthetes, it demonstrates how film narratives reveal and perpetuate asymmetries of exclusion of ‘others’. Ultimately, the book not only analyses the recent success of South Indian blockbusters vis-à-vis Bollywood’s struggles but also provokes crucial questions about the future trajectory of Hindi cinema.
“The Subject of the Nation and His ‘Others’ in Hindi Cinema”, Routledge, 224 pages, Kindle edition ₹3,145.80, Hardcover ₹13,340
Indian OTT Cinema is the ‘Third Big Bang’ in History of Indian Cinema: A Comparative Analysis of OTT Hindi Cinema versus Hindi Cinema Tradition
Abstract:
Watching films like The Archies (Akhter, 2023), Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (Singh, 2023) and Jane Jaan (Ghosh, 2023) makes one realize that these are not mainstream Bollywood films or what have been called masala[1] films. Hindi cinema officially started by Phalke’s desi[2] cinema has a long and commendable tradition of films starting with mythological genre, to studio cinema, star cinema, the golden age of melancholy and socialism and the socials and the angry young man era to the romance and action films of 1980s and the domestic dramas of 1990s to hatke[3] films of the 2000s and the digital invasion of 2010s and it goes on. It also has divergent traditions of parallel and new wave and the hatke films but exclusive OTT films are different. Not only are the films unconventional in storyline, character portrayal and basic narratives but the platforms that they are released on and the kind of reception they receive is also contrasting compared to the mainstream cinema. This research paper would look at the inception of exclusive OTT cinema[4] in India, the reasons behind it – survival of the film industry during Covid times, technological changes, medium characteristics, niche audiences and freedom to experiment with storytelling. It would also look at the text of this cinema and compare it with the text of a typical masala film to understand how the cinema has evolved into new spaces in India.
Keywords: Hindi Cinema, OTT Cinema, Audiences, Masala Film, Film Business
Introduction
Shah Rukh Khan made a blockbuster comeback in 2023 with films like Jawan (Kumar, 2023) and Pathaan (Anand, 2023). These films garnered massive fanfare, strong recall value, and substantial box office profits. They are considered tentpole comeback films for SRK. Collectively, his three releases in 2023—Jawan, Pathaan, and Dunki (Hirani, 2023)—grossed approximately ₹2500 crore worldwide, reaffirming his position as a frontrunner in the box office race (Madhukalya, 2023). In contrast, films like Jaane Jaan (Ghosh, 2023), starring Kareena Kapoor Khan, Vijay Varma, and Jaideep Ahlawat, and Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (Singh, 2023), produced by Zoya Akhtar and Reema Kagti, were released directly on OTT platforms. These films represent a different kind of cinema—niche, modest in budget, and intended for a more specific audience.
Indian cinema encompasses various subcategories, with Hindi cinema being the most prominent, and Indian OTT cinema emerging as a significant new category. Hindi cinema has a well-established tradition characterized by genre fluidity, digressions, narratives rooted in mythology and folklore, star-driven appeal, strong industry verisimilitude, and a loyal audience base (Thomas, 1985). In comparison, Indian OTT cinema is still carving out its identity. It is fresh, unconventional, and often breaks away from the established norms of mainstream cinema, whether in terms of content strategy or financial expectations.This research paper critically examines the longstanding tradition of Hindi cinema while exploring the emergence of OTT cinema in India. It investigates the factors that contributed to the development of OTT films as a distinct category, including an analysis of their textual and narrative features in comparison to mainstream Hindi cinema. In addition to secondary research, which outlines the two filmmaking traditions—Hindi cinema and Indian OTT cinema—the paper also presents a comparative textual analysis between Jawan, a typical Bollywood masala film, and Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, a representative exclusive OTT release.
Literature review
i. A historical context to Indian Popular Cinema
Hindi cinema, post 1990s also known as Bollywood, has a rich and diverse history that spans over a century. The foundations of Indian cinema were laid in the early 20th century with the release of the first Indian feature film, Raja Harishchandra (Phalke, 1913). Silent films dominated this era, and filmmakers like Himanshu Rai and Franz Osten formed the Bombay Talkies in the 1930s. The 1940s saw the emergence of iconic filmmakers like Raj Kapoor, Guru Dutt, and Bimal Roy, contributing to the Golden Age of Indian cinema. Classic films such as Awara (Kapoor, 1951), Pyaasa (Dutt, 1957), and Mother India (Khan, 1957) were produced during this period. The industry also witnessed the rise of playback singers like Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi. The 1970s marked a shift towards masala films, characterized by a mix of action, drama, romance, and musical numbers. Amitabh Bachchan emerged as a megastar, starring in blockbuster films like Sholay (Sippy, 1975) and Deewar (Chopra, 1975). The era also saw the rise of the angry young man[7] archetype in Bollywood.
Filmmakers like Shyam Benegal, Govind Nihalani, and Satyajit Ray explored realistic and socially relevant themes in their films, giving rise to parallel cinema[8]. Arth (Bhatt, 1982) and Mirch Masala (Mehta, 1987) are examples of films that diverged from mainstream commercial cinema. The 1990s marked a revival of romance in Indian cinema, highlighted by the success of films such as Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (Chopra, 1995) and Hum Aapke Hain Koun (Barjatya, 1994). This era also witnessed the rise of stars like Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan, and Salman Khan, who went on to become influential personalities in the Bollywood industry. The industry expanded its reach, with Indian films being screened at international film festivals and gaining a global audience. Technological advancements and increased collaborations with foreign filmmakers have further propelled the globalization of Hindi cinema. The 2010s saw a diversification of themes and storytelling styles, with films like Queen (Bahl, 2013), Dangal (Tiwari, 2016), and Gully Boy (Akhtar, 2019) breaking traditional norms. Content-driven cinema gained popularity, and filmmakers began to address social issues with a fresh perspective. (Ganti, 2013; Dwyer, 2014; Rajadhakshya, 2016)
ii. Critical thoughts on Hindi cinema
Prasad (2000) extensively analyzes the cultural and political dimensions inherent in popular Indian films, offering a unique perspective on Indian cinema. His focus encompasses the economic, narrative, and institutional aspects, unveiling the intricate relationship between cinema and society within a post-colonial context. According to Prasad, the Indian film industry grappled with asserting its entitlement to state support, bank loans, and legitimate investment. He underscores the dominance of the distribution sector in financing, resulting in a formal rather than genuine integration of production with capital. This fragmentation impacted the diverse components of production, influencing the specific skills and narrative elements involved in filmmaking. Prasad discusses the characteristic narrative structure of popular Indian films, emphasizing the performative expression of familiar story elements, moral imperatives, and rhetorical modes of character speech. His exploration probes how these narrative elements are shaped by the cultural and historical context, reflecting the intricacies of Indian society and politics.
Mishra (2013) investigates into the historical, cultural, and social dimensions of Bollywood, providing insights into its growth, impact, and significance as a cultural phenomenon. He evaluates Bollywood’s evolution, narrates its journey, and scrutinizes the ideological and aesthetic elements that contribute to its enduring popularity. Bollywood emerged in the early 20th century as a response to colonialism and the Indian struggle for independence. Inspired by Indian folk traditions and Western cinema, Bollywood created a unique blend of cultural influences. The introduction of sound in the 1930s revolutionized Bollywood, contributing to its rapid growth. Bollywood films are known for their extravagant song and dance sequences, elaborate costumes, and grand sets. Emotional storytelling, larger-than-life characters, and the celebration of love and family are central to Bollywood narratives. Bollywood often addresses social issues such as poverty, gender inequality, and communal harmony. The rise of Bollywood stars and their fan following played a significant role in shaping the industry. Bollywood films have gained global popularity, serving as cultural ambassadors and offering insights into Indian traditions and modernity.
Bollywood often perpetuates traditional gender roles, portraying women as objects of desire. Some films feature female protagonists challenging societal norms and asserting independence. Male sexuality in Bollywood is often veiled and expressed through symbolism. Bollywood reflects and shapes political ideologies, both nationalist and global. Films have been used for sociopolitical messaging. Bollywood plays a crucial role in constructing and maintaining national identity through its representation of religion, particularly Hinduism. Bollywood’s commercial success heavily relies on the Indian domestic market, making it a global film industry leader. The distribution system, star power, and the rise of multiplexes have shaped Bollywood’s economic structure. Bollywood shapes consumer culture through film-related merchandise and endorsements. (Malhotra & Alagh, 2004; Dwyer, 2015; Ganti, 2014; Rajadhakshya, 2015)
Vasudevan (2000, 2014) delineates cinema’s multifaceted impact on the cultural, social, and political landscape of the country. He discusses the historical, aesthetic, and narrative dimensions of Indian cinema, offering valuable insights into its distinct characteristics and importance. Indian cinema, with its diverse languages, cultures, and regional industries, mirrors the vast diversity of the nation, providing a platform for a myriad of stories, experiences, and perspectives. It has evolved into a potent medium for filmmakers to address social, political, and cultural issues prevalent in the country, serving as a powerful tool for collective consciousness and social commentary. He underlines the pivotal role of the audience in shaping the meaning and reception of Indian cinema, analyzing the dynamic relationship between filmmakers, films, and viewers, with a focus on context and interpretation. Globalization has significantly influenced Indian cinema, introducing new narrative styles, themes, and visual aesthetics, impacting not only content and distribution but also prompting critical reflections on authenticity and cultural appropriation. The portrayal of gender in Indian cinema undergoes scrutiny, with an examination of evolving representations of women on screen and a critical stance on prevailing stereotypes, shedding light on feminist voices and movements within the industry. Regional film industries, including Tamil, Telugu, Bengali, and Malayalam cinema, are thoroughly examined, emphasizing their unique contributions to the broader landscape. His work dives into the diversity inherent in the Indian film industry, highlighting the significant role of regional cinema in shaping the cultural narrative. The incorporation of music and dance in Indian cinema, emphasizing their integral position in storytelling and popular culture, is discussed, recognizing their contribution to the emotional and aesthetic appeal of the medium.
India, as the leading global producer of feature films, exemplifies the profound impact of cinema on its societal fabric. The communal nature of movie-watching in the country involves diverse participants, creating a vibrant experience. Even when attending alone, male viewers often contribute to a shared experience through vocal responses like shouting and engagement with the screen. Audience engagement in Indian cinema halls goes beyond passive observation, with attendees actively participating through sound effects, reciting dialogues, and offering commentary, becoming integral to the unfolding narrative. The cultural tradition of repeat viewing, rooted in Hindu practices, contrasts with the more individualized perception of film-viewing in the United States. Indian movie marketing acknowledges various ‘extras’, recognizing the social nature of movie-going. These findings highlight the distinctive social, cultural, and participatory aspects of the cinematic experience in India, setting it apart from Western movie cultures. Banaji’s research on young people’s interaction with Hindi films adds nuanced insights into varied interpretations of film narratives, challenging stereotypes and showcasing the multifaceted nature of the film-viewing experience. (Srinivas, 2002; Banaji, 2006).
Content recreated and trans-created from traditional Indian epics, such as the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, often inspires characters and plots in commercial Hindi cinema. The emotional content presented aligns with aesthetic theories found in Indian epic narrative. The stereotyping of characters and relationships in Hindi cinema shows influence from Indian epic structure. The self-reflexive humor in Hindi cinema is inspired from the historically powerful traditions of Indian drama and narrative. These findings accentuate the deep-rooted influence of traditional Indian culture and storytelling on the content and narrative structure of commercial Hindi cinema. This critical analysis of realism and emotion in films provides valuable insights into the societal and cultural implications of cinematic representations. The inclusion of diverse perspectives, such as psychoanalytic, cultural studies, and cognitive science models, enriches the discourse on Hindi cinema, showcasing multifaceted approaches to understanding its significance. The emphasis on audience activity and the distinctiveness of Hindi films adds depth to the exploration of this cinematic genre (Booth, 1995; Roy 2017, Hogan, 2009).
iii. The world of OTT
In recent years, the landscape of cinema has undergone a transformative shift, with the rise of Over-The-Top (OTT) platforms redefining the way audiences experience and consume films. The phenomenon of exclusive releases on OTT platforms has emerged as a game-changer, providing filmmakers with new avenues for creative expression and audiences with unprecedented access to diverse cinematic content. One of the key advantages of exclusive OTT releases lies in the accessibility it offers to viewers worldwide. Unlike traditional theatrical releases limited by geographical constraints, OTT platforms allow films to reach a global audience instantaneously. This democratization of access has paved the way for filmmakers from various corners of the world to showcase their work without the traditional barriers of distribution. Moreover, the exclusive release model on OTT platforms has given filmmakers the flexibility to experiment with unconventional storytelling techniques and genres. Freed from the constraints of box office expectations and runtime limitations, creators can dive into complex narratives, niche subjects, and experimental forms of filmmaking that might have struggled to find a place in mainstream cinemas. OTT platforms have also become a haven for independent filmmakers and emerging talents. With the conventional studio system often favoring big-budget productions, OTT platforms offer a level playing field, allowing smaller-scale, and innovative films to find their audience. This democratization of the film industry has nurtured a diverse range of voices and perspectives, enriching the cinematic landscape with fresh and compelling storytelling. (Khandekar, 2021; FICCI FRAMES 2023 ; Partho Dasgupta – Change in the Strategy of OTT Platforms Needed to Succeed in India, 2022; Netflix’s Monika Shergill on Understanding Audiences, Stories and the Storytelling Journey, 2021)
The streaming environment has also sparked a renaissance in episodic storytelling. Exclusive OTT releases often come in the form of series or limited episodes, providing filmmakers with a longer canvas to develop characters and intricate plotlines. This format not only caters to binge-watching trends but also allows for a more immersive and detailed exploration of narratives, creating a unique viewing experience that contrasts with the traditional two-hour film format. However, the rise of exclusive OTT releases has not been without its challenges. The theatrical experience, cherished by many cinephiles, is undergoing a shift, prompting discussions about the future coexistence of traditional cinemas and digital platforms. Filmmakers now face the choice of whether to pursue a traditional theatrical release, an exclusive OTT launch, or a hybrid model that combines both. (Drennan & Baranovsky, 2018).
OTT stands for ‘Over-The-Top’, and it refers to a type of media distribution that bypasses traditional cable, satellite, or broadcast television platforms. In the context of the entertainment industry, an OTT service typically delivers content (such as movies, TV shows, and other video content) directly to viewers over the internet. Instead of relying on traditional methods of distribution, like cable or satellite television, OTT services make use of the internet to reach their audience. OTT platforms are known for providing on-demand content, allowing users to stream videos whenever they want, as opposed to scheduled programming. Commonly known OTT services encompass Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, Disney+, and various additional platforms. These platforms have become increasingly popular as technology has advanced, providing viewers with more flexibility and control over their entertainment choices. OTT platforms have democratized access to content, making it available to a global audience. Viewers can access movies, TV shows, and other content from anywhere with an internet connection, breaking down geographical barriers (Partho Dasgupta – Change in the Strategy of OTT Platforms Needed to Succeed in India, 2022; FICCI FRAMES, 2023).
OTT services have given rise to a diverse range of content, including films and series that might not have found a place in traditional mainstream media. Niche genres, experimental storytelling, and independent productions have flourished on these platforms, catering to a wide array of tastes and preferences. Filmmakers and content creators benefit from the creative freedom provided by OTT platforms. They can explore unique and unconventional storytelling without the constraints often imposed by traditional studio systems. This has led to a surge in original and innovative content. OTT platforms have popularized the binge-watching culture, where viewers can consume multiple episodes or an entire season of a show in one sitting. This has changed the way narratives are crafted, allowing for more intricate and serialized storytelling.
The rise of OTT platforms has disrupted traditional distribution models. Filmmakers now have the option to release content exclusively on streaming services, challenging the dominance of theatrical releases. This has led to discussions about the coexistence of traditional cinemas and digital platforms. OTT platforms leverage user data to personalize recommendations, tailoring content suggestions based on individual viewing habits. This data-driven approach enhances user experience and helps platforms retain and engage their audience. Some filmmakers and studios are adopting hybrid release models, combining theatrical releases with simultaneous streaming on OTT platforms. This allows for greater flexibility and a broader reach, appealing to both traditional cinema-goers and digital audiences. OTT platforms invest heavily in producing original content to differentiate themselves in a competitive market. This has led to high-quality productions, attracting top talent in the industry and further diversifying the content available to viewers. OTT platforms employ various monetization strategies, including subscription-based models, ad-supported content, and a combination of both. This flexibility in revenue models has contributed to the sustainability and profitability of these platforms.
Evaluating various streaming entertainment platforms in the Indian market involves considering several key parameters such as regional content, pricing strategy, licenses, telecom tie-ups, and technological innovations. The increasing demand for internet connectivity, coupled with upcoming mobile networks offering unlimited data, is making online streaming services more accessible and affordable in India. The availability of 4G and LTE networks further contributes to the growth of online streaming services. Brands like Amazon Prime Video and Netflix have gained popularity in the Indian market due to factors like localized regional content, ease of accessibility, and affordable pricing. Focusing on regional content is identified as a key strategy for unlocking the digital market in India, given the lower viewership of English programs (Moochala, 2018).
The paper ‘Cinema viewing in the time of OTT’ reports findings from a survey and semi-structured interviews among viewers of OTT platforms. Nearly 89% of respondents prefer watching films on OTT platforms like Amazon Prime Video, Hotstar, Netflix, and Zee5. The majority of respondents fall in the 18 to 25 age bracket, with a significant female representation. The study suggests a shift in audience preference from big screens to small screens, particularly among the 18-35 age group. Despite the trend toward private viewing, audiences engage with peers through virtual social media spaces to discuss content, connecting to a larger global communication network (Chatterjee and Pal, 2020). The factors contributing to the rising adoption of OTT video services in India include increasing internet and broadband penetration, declining data charges, proliferation of internet-enabled mobile phones, and personalization of content, and competitive pricing. The streaming market collectively accounted for 46% of the overall growth in the Indian entertainment and media industry from 2017 to 2022. Local services like Hotstar and Jio Cinema, along with global platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime, have gained traction in the Indian market. The pandemic accelerated the adoption of OTT platforms due to ease of access, content variety, and limited entertainment options during lockdowns. The potential challenges for OTT services in India include their impact on traditional services, regulatory concerns, and market power issues (Nijhawan & Dahiya, 2020).
India, being the second-largest market for tech companies globally, has witnessed rapid growth in OTT video services. Factors driving this growth include digital infrastructure development, price wars associated with the rollout of 4G, and increased smartphone penetration. State policy and regulation, including the Telecom Regulatory Authority of India’s (TRAI) consultation on the regulatory framework for OTT services, play a significant role in shaping the industry (Fitzgerald, 2019).
The convergence of cinema and social media is evident in contemporary discussions, as highlighted in Madhusree Dutta’s documentary 7 Islands and a Metro (2006), where marginalized individuals actively shape their representation through social media. Ethical considerations in cinema are explored by Elora Halim Chowdhury in Ethical Encounters (2022), focusing on the aftermath of the Bangladesh Liberation War. Lalitha Gopalan’s work, Cinemas Dark and Slow in Digital India (2021), examines the evolving aesthetics of digital independent films in cities like Delhi, Bangalore, and Chennai. Eda Kandiyil Ahmad Faseeh’s fieldwork on Deccani cinema explores the negotiation of Muslim identity within film production practices in Hyderabad. Amrita Chakravarty’s research article addresses the archiving of cinematic gestures and phrases in the era of new digital media, emphasizing the transition of Hindi cinema’s filmi culture to digital platforms (Vasudevan et al., 2023)
Research Objectives:
1. To understand Indian OTT cinema as the ‘Third Big Bang’[9] moment in Indian cinema.
2. To compare the traditions of mainstream Hindi film and the newly erupted OTT Hindi cinema.
3. To observe the industry verisimilitude, text of Indian OTT cinema and reception of Indian OTT films.
Research Methodology
This is a qualitative study where the traditions that are followed by Hindi cinema and are being created by evolving OTT cinema in India are being discussed in the literature review section. Here the researcher has taken a purposive sample of two films based on convenience and critical review of both the films which places them in contemporary traditions of Indian cinema. Two film theories Genre film theory and Rasa theory are being used to critique these two films respectively. Genre theory emphasizes on the narratives, iconography and ideology of films in a particular genre and that is what has been discussed in the films’ textual analysis which is taken from the OTT universe as a sample for discussion- Kho Gaye Hum Kahan. Also Jawan another film which has been taken as a sample to represent tent-pole masala films of Indian cinema is critiqued through the rasa theory lens because genre theory doesn’t apply to the traditions of typical masala film which has multiple plots, song and dance sequences, stereotypical and exaggerated character performances, a predictable conventional storyline infused with elements of melodrama.
Genre theory is a concept within the field of literary and film studies that focuses on categorizing and analyzing works of art based on shared characteristics, themes, and conventions. It helps scholars, critics, and audiences understand and interpret different types of media by identifying patterns and expectations associated with specific genres. A genre is a category or type of artistic composition characterized by a particular form, style, or content. Genres can be applied to various forms of art, such as literature, film, music, and visual arts. Each genre has its own set of conventions, which are the typical features and elements associated with that genre. These may include narrative structures, themes, character types, settings, and stylistic choices. Audiences often have certain expectations when engaging with a particular genre. For example, viewers expect horror films to evoke fear, romance novels to explore romantic relationships, and science fiction stories to involve futuristic elements. Genres serve specific functions and purposes, both for creators and audiences. They provide a framework that allows creators to communicate with their audience effectively, and they help audiences make sense of and interpret the work. Some works may blend elements from multiple genres, creating hybrid genres. These works challenge traditional genre boundaries and offer new and innovative ways to express artistic ideas. Genres are not static; they evolve over time in response to cultural, social, and artistic changes. New sub-genres may emerge, or existing genres may undergo transformation and adaptation. Genres often reflect the cultural and societal values, concerns, and anxieties of a particular time and place. They can be used to explore and comment on social issues, norms, and attitudes.
Genre theory provides a framework for critical analysis and interpretation of works within a specific genre. Scholars and critics use this framework to examine how a work adheres to or deviates from genre conventions, as well as to explore the cultural and thematic implications of the work. Genre theory is a tool that helps us understand, classify, and analyze works of art by identifying patterns and conventions within specific categories. It provides a shared language for discussing and interpreting creative works across various media (Neale, 2005).
Iconography in the context of genre films refers to the visual symbols, images, and motifs that are characteristic of a particular genre. These visual elements often convey specific meanings and help establish the identity of a genre. In horror films, common iconographic elements might include dark settings, eerie music, monsters, and symbols associated with fear. In science fiction, futuristic technology, space settings, and advanced gadgets are frequently used as iconographic elements. Iconography serves to quickly convey genre expectations to the audience. It creates a visual language that audiences recognize and associate with specific genres, contributing to the overall atmosphere and thematic elements of the film.
Ideology in the context of genre films refers to the underlying beliefs, values, and worldview that are often present in the narrative. It reflects the cultural, social, and political perspectives that shape the story and characters. Action films often promote values such as heroism, justice, and individual agency. In romantic comedies, themes of love, relationships, and personal fulfillment are commonly explored. Ideology can also involve underlying messages about gender, race, or societal norms. Ideology in genre films shapes the narrative and characters, influencing the way the story is told and the messages it conveys. It allows filmmakers to explore and communicate specific cultural or societal ideas within the context of a particular genre.
Narrative in genre films refers to the storytelling structure, plot, and character development. Different genres often have distinct narrative conventions, including specific plot arcs, character roles, and thematic elements. In a crime thriller, the narrative might revolve around solving a mystery, with plot twists and suspenseful moments. In a romantic comedy, the narrative could follow the ups and downs of a romantic relationship, often with humor and a happy resolution. The narrative structure is crucial for engaging the audience and delivering the genre-specific experience. It helps set expectations for the progression of the story and the resolution of conflicts. Effective storytelling within a genre enhances the overall impact of the film on the audience. In summary, iconography, ideology, and narrative are interconnected elements in genre films. Iconography establishes the visual language of a genre, ideology shapes the underlying beliefs and values, and narrative structures the storytelling to create a cohesive and recognizable genre experience for the audience. These components work together to define, communicate, and explore the unique qualities of different film genres (Neale, 2005; Mac Donald, 2007, Altman, 2012, Slugan, 2022).
Fig 1: The Genre characteristics of an OTT Film in India
Films that investigate the realm of social media offer intriguing glimpses into the complexities of modern communication and interaction. One standout example is The Social Network (Fincher, 2010) which provides a gripping portrayal of the rise of Facebook and its founder, Mark Zuckerberg. The film looks into the intricacies of entrepreneurship, personal relationships, and the transformative power of social networking platforms. Another thought-provoking documentary, Catfish (Shulman & Joost, 2010), explores the deceptive nature of online identities and the potential dangers lurking behind social media facades. Meanwhile, Pirates of Silicon Valley (Burke, 1999) offers a historical perspective on the rivalry between tech giants Apple and Microsoft, shedding light on the innovation and competition that shaped the digital landscape. These films, along with others like Hackers (Softley, 1995) and Julie & Julia (Ephron, 2009), paint a vivid picture of the profound impact of social media on society, from its thrilling possibilities to its darker complexities. Through compelling narratives and compelling characters, these movies navigate the intricate web of human connections in the digital age, inviting audiences to ponder the ever-evolving intersection of technology and humanity. (Montti, 2022; Vimalan, 2014).
‘It’s the digital age sirf lagta hai zyada connected hai lekin shayad itne akele pehle kabhi nahi the. – Simran (Kalki Koechlin)[11]
‘Hum sab social media pe sirf aur sirf show off karte hain.’-Imaad Ali (Siddhant Chaturvedi)[12]
This film is a thought-provoking observation on the paradox of the digital era: despite the sense of heightened connectivity, there is an underlying loneliness. The creators convey this insight earnestly, tailored for the Instagram generation, as depicted in Kho Gaye Hum Kahaan, featuring young and trendy actors like Siddhant Chaturvedi, Ananya Pandey and Adarsh Gourav, and others, perfectly encapsulating the world of the Insta generation. The narrative revolves around the lives of Mumbai-based best friends Imaad (Siddhant), Ahana (Ananya), and Neil (Adarsh) as they navigate the challenges of adulthood. Imaad, immersed in Tinder, grapples with personal issues, while Ahana seeks attention from her commitment-phobic boyfriend. Neil, aspiring to escape his middle-class life, hopes that a workout selfie with a celebrity will elevate his social media presence. The ensemble cast exudes a visually pleasing, casually ruffled vibe, seamlessly blending English and Hindi in their dialogues.
The film’s title suggests an exploration of the Farhan-Zoya[13] universe, depicting confused youth transitioning into adulthood. However, these characters are deeply entrenched in the digital age, relying on their phones for companionship, validation, and connection. The film appears almost tailor-made for a mobile viewing experience. The writing strives for inoffensiveness, incorporating mild humor and sporadic attempts at depth. Moments addressing issues like classism and the consequences of seeking closure are notable. The film aligns itself with contemporary drama, exploring the complexities of modern relationships. It incorporates elements of romantic comedy and coming-of-age genres, utilizing a diverse ensemble cast to portray the nuances of interpersonal connections in the digital age. The blending of English and Hindi in dialogues adds a multicultural layer to the narrative, reflecting the cultural diversity of the characters’ urban experiences. Despite its attempts to navigate relevant social issues, the film falls short of providing a cohesive and impactful storyline, potentially leaving viewers with a sense of unfulfilled expectations. (Desk, 2023; Gupta, 2023)
KGHK[14] is a film which falls in the category of social media films, the ideology of such films deals with the effects of social media on our lives, how digital communication changes us; the film asks existential questions on the presence of social media in our lives; other such films in India which have dealt with the topic of social media include Bajrangi Bhaijaan (Khan, 2015); Mujse Fraandship Karoge (Asthana, 2011) and Secret Superstar (Chandan, 2017). The misc en scene of the film brings out the varied spaces of Mumbai, from a middle class crunched one BHK to a plush studio apartment to a live-in space; Mumbai is seen in its various unpredictable colors; Singh (2024) mentions how he wanted to pay a tribute to the city by the spaces shown in the film, the city of 1990s with simpler buildings and gentry of mixed classes; he wanted Bandra and its cosmopolitan life to be emphasized and give a nostalgic feel of old Bombay. Its characters and their dialogues are well etched, Imaad and his Hideout standup comedy place gives a tangibility to his childhood fears and his dialogues are a sarcastic cushion to his insecurities. Ahana defines every-one of us who is glued to social media and stalks friends and family and needs to come out of the social media insecurities and accept life as it is. Neil is a middle class boy aspirational for a better life and the inclusion of social media in his emotional entanglements and his fall as a human and the redemption that comes in the end. The three characters are from different spaces of Mumbai but their lives are intersected by their friendship and the social media connection. Narrative of the film flows simply and gives us moments to reflect at the lives of Gen Z; it’s a simply told of intertwined life of three Gen Zeers’ but the themes and underlying messages are existential.
Conventional Masala Film and the Rasa Theory
Rasa theory, originating from classical Indian aesthetics and most notably associated with Bharata Muni’s Natya Shastra[15], is a concept that explores the emotional impact of art and performance, including its application to films. Rasa, in Sanskrit, translates to essence or flavor. The theory suggests that a successful work of art, including film, should evoke specific emotional responses in the audience. According to Rasa theory, there are nine fundamental emotions or sentiments, known as Navarasa. These are:
Shringara (Love/Beauty)
Hasya (Laughter)
Karuna (Sorrow)
Raudra (Anger)
Veera (Courage)
Bhayanaka (Fear)
Bibhatsa (Disgust)
Adbhuta (Surprise/Wonder)
Shanta (Peace/Tranquility)
The ultimate goal of art, according to Rasa theory, is to evoke a specific dominant emotion or mood (Rasa) in the audience. Each piece of art, including films, is said to have a specific Rasa that it aims to convey. Bhavas are the psychological and emotional states that contribute to the overall mood or Rasa of a performance or work of art. They are expressed through facial expressions, body language, and other artistic elements. Sthayi Bhava refers to the primary or dominant emotional state that persists throughout a performance or work of art. Vyabhichari Bhava are transient emotions or moods that complement and enhance the Sthayi Bhava. They help in the overall development of the emotional experience. The audience is considered an active participant in the creation of Rasa. It is believed that the artist’s expression and the audience’s receptivity together contribute to the evocation of the desired emotional experience. In the context of films, directors and filmmakers can apply Rasa theory by carefully crafting scenes, dialogue, music, and visual elements to evoke specific emotions. Different genres and types of films may aim to generate various Rasas, depending on the intended impact on the audience. Rasa theory provides a framework for understanding the emotional power of cinema and how it can resonate with viewers on a deep, visceral level (Booth, 1995; Hogan, 2009; Jones, 2009; Roy, 2017).
Panch ghante chalne wali mosquito coil ke liye kitne sawaal karte ho…lekin panch saal tak apni SARKAAR chunte waqt ek SAWAAL nahi karte, kuch nahi poochte.[16]– Azad (SRK)
Main hu Bharat ka naagrik. Baar baar naye logo ko vote deta hu, lekin kuch nahi badalta hu.[17]– Azad (SRK)
The film Jawan starts with a striking opening sequence set along India’s northern borders, depicting the remarkable recovery of a wounded soldier amidst a sudden and intense attack on a peaceful village. The soldier, emerging as a messianic figure, wields a spear against a dramatic sky in a grand, mythical scene shrouded in darkness, featuring even a flaming horse evoking Adbhuta rasa. Notably, the film has been compared to the style of Japanese video game designer Hideo Kojima[19], marking it as Shah Rukh Khan’s most Metal Gear-inspired film. Directed by Atlee, a Tamil filmmaker renowned for collaborating with Southern directors on Bollywood action films, the narrative suggests complex characters with multiple identities. Atlee’s inclination towards stories involving fathers and sons aligns seamlessly with Khan’s history of excelling in multiple-role films. The storyline fast-forwards 30 years, introducing Khan as a quirky vigilante leading a team of female fighters to hijack a Mumbai metro train. The plot unveils Khan’s character, Azad Rathore, as an ethical terrorist who moonlights as a high-security women’s prison jailer. His present-day mission involves marrying Nayanthara’s character, Narmada, a negotiator from the hijack incident.
Jawan pushes the boundaries of Khan’s superstar repertoire, showcasing him in diverse roles, from a benevolent citizen to a grizzled, cigar-chomping character reminiscent of Wolverine. The action sequences in Jawan are lauded as slick and Hollywood-style, featuring drones, choppers, and gatling guns. Atlee infuses Indian elements into these set pieces, such as a hijacker escaping in an auto-rickshaw and a flashback with Deepika Padukone slamming Khan in the mud. The film also addresses social justice issues, with Khan launching a Clean India campaign and challenging faulty institutions. Jawan has movie references, encompassing both Bollywood and Hollywood giving intertextuality and depth to the film (Mishra, 2009). Fans are expected to enjoy spotting references to various films, including Khan’s own works like Main Hoon Na (2004, Khan), Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi (2008, Chopra), and Duplicate (Bhatt, 1998). While certain elements, like Atlee-esque melodrama and generic songs, may not resonate universally, performances from Vijay Sethupathi and Nayanthara receive acclaim creating a film which is infused in masala elements of typical Bollywood tradition evoking adbhuta rasa with the characters of father and son- Vikram and Azad , Bibhasta rasa is evoked with Vijay Sethupati’s characters’ ruthlessness (Kalee Gaikwad); Bhayanak and karuna rasa are evoked simultaneously at the same time with sequences depicting the sad story of all the brave women characters (Halena, Laxmi and Dr Eram) in Azad’s team (Mitra, 2023; Mukherjee, 2023).
In a Rasa analysis of the film several key elements contribute to the viewer’s perception and understanding of the narrative. The film employs visual and narrative techniques to engage the audience and convey its underlying themes. The opening sequence, set along India’s northern borders, establishes a vivid and dramatic backdrop for the story. The wounded soldier’s recovery and emergence as a messianic figure create a veer rasa moment for the audience. The use of a spear, dramatic sky, and a flaming horse adds mythical and symbolic layers, engaging the viewer’s cognitive processes in deciphering potential meanings. The opening scene creates a Bhibatsa and Shaurya rasa evoking performance. Director Atlee’s collaboration with Southern directors influences the cognitive reception of character complexities. The narrative hints at multiple identities, aligning with Atlee’s penchant for stories involving fathers and sons. This cognitive layer prompts the audience to explore the connections between characters, especially Shah Rukh Khan’s various roles, and enhances the film’s puzzle-like nature. A lot in the film points towards the typical masala nature of it. Larger than life characters, grand sets and open shooting spaces, emotional potpourri- the father son story, the typical sacrificial mother who has been coincidentally named Kaveri Amma to bring intertextuality from other SRK films (Here, Swades (Gowarikar, 2004)); the song and dance sequences, the messiah[20] or the angry young man of the 1970s surfacing interchangeably through Azad and Vikram Rathore’s characters. The names pointing towards ideologies they have in life and creating intertextuality with old Hindi films and in the process paying tribute to them. The last dialogue where SRK speaks to the audience and encourages them to be a conscious citizen; the kidnapping scene before it and the tear jerking Padukone subplot; there is no dearth of melodrama (Prasad, 2000) in this film. We get to see a lot of emotions, multiple plots, larger than life characters, digressions, and simplification of complex concepts giving the film a typical masala character.
Conclusion
In conclusion, this research paper critiques the dynamic evolution of Indian cinema, tracing its rich history from the early days of Phalke’s desi cinema to the contemporary landscape dominated by mainstream Bollywood productions. The emergence of Over-The-Top (OTT) cinema marks a significant paradigm shift, challenging conventional norms and opening new horizons for storytelling. The juxtaposition of Shahrukh Khan’s blockbuster comeback films like Jawaan and Pathaan with niche OTT releases such as Jaane Jaan and Kho Gaye Hum Kahan highlights the coexistence of diverse cinematic traditions in India.
The paper explores the inception of OTT cinema, identifying factors like the survival imperative during the Covid times, technological advancements, medium characteristics, niche audiences, and the freedom to experiment with storytelling as catalysts for this cinematic revolution. It underlines the stark differences not only in the narratives, characters, and storytelling methods of mainstream Bollywood films and OTT releases but also in the platforms they are released on and the reception they garner. The age-old tradition of Hindi cinema, with its roots in myth and folklore, genre-less narratives, star power, and industry verisimilitude, is juxtaposed against the fresh and unconventional nature of OTT Indian cinema. The research paper critiques this transformation chronologically, offering insights into how the two cinematic traditions coexist and complement each other. It emphasizes that while Hindi cinema has a well-established identity, OTT Indian cinema is still carving its niche by challenging mainstream cinema norms and assumptions.
The comparative analysis between the typical Bollywood masala film Jawaan and the OTT release Kho Gaye Hum Kahan serves as a microcosm of the broader cinematic landscape. It provides a lens through which to understand the shifts in content strategy, budgeting, and narrative choices, reflecting the evolving tastes of the audience and the dynamic nature of the film industry. In essence, this research paper contributes to the ongoing discourse on Indian cinema by unraveling the intricacies of its transformation. It underscores the importance of acknowledging and studying the coexistence of traditional and emerging cinematic forms, shedding light on how both contribute to the vibrancy and diversity of India’s cinematic heritage.
In spite of the insightful exploration into the evolution of Indian cinema and the emergence of OTT platforms, it is crucial to acknowledge certain limitations within the scope of this research. The paper primarily focuses on a select set of films, such as Jawaan and Kho Gaye Hum Kahan, which might not represent the entirety of Bollywood or OTT content. A more comprehensive analysis could be achieved by including a broader range of films and genres, considering the vast and diverse landscape of Indian cinema. Furthermore, the paper largely discusses Indian cinema in a broad sense, and a future avenue of exploration could involve a more in-depth analysis of regional cinemas and their unique contributions to the evolving narrative of Indian storytelling. Regional nuances often play a significant role in shaping cinematic identities, and a focused study on specific regional cinemas would add depth to the understanding of India’s cinematic diversity.
As the film industry continues to evolve, with advancements in technology, changing audience demographics, and global collaborations, future research could investigate into the impact of these factors on content creation, distribution, and reception. Understanding how the interplay of global and local influences shapes the narratives and production values of Indian films could provide valuable insights into the industry’s trajectory. In conclusion, while this research sheds light on the transformative journey of Indian cinema and the disruptive influence of OTT platforms, there exist opportunities for more nuanced investigations. Exploring a wider array of films, probing into specific regional cinemas, and conducting in-depth analyses of the socio-cultural and technological facets could enrich our understanding of the intricate arras that is Indian cinema.
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[6] The passing down of traditions or values from one generation to the next, or the process by which they are transmitted through time.
[7] In the 1970s , the characters that were created for Amitabh Bachchan, by screenwriters, especially the duo Salim-Javed was of the superhero subaltern hero against the corrupt system; a mention of this era is made in seminal studies like Ganti’s, Prasad’s as well as Mishra’s.
[8] Gupta at length describes the difference between commercial and art cinema in Seeing is Believing (2008)
[9] Ashish Rajadhakshya (2016) explains the first two big bangs as Phalkes inception of desi cinema and Satyajit Ray’s release of Pather Panchali (1955) as the interface of Indian cinema with the world on a critical stage
[10] Film : Kho Gaye Hum Kahan. (2023, December 26). Imdb. https://www.imdb.com/title/tt15434074/
[11] It’s the digital age; it just seems like we’re more connected, but perhaps we’ve never been so alone before.
[15] The Natyashastra is an extensive guide and manual for theatrical artistry, encompassing every facet of classical Sanskrit drama. Traditionally attributed to the legendary Brahman sage and priest Bharata, believed to have lived between the 1st century BCE and the 3rd century CE.
[16] Elect your representatives wisely during elections
[18] A still from Jawaan. (2023). Times Now. https://www.timesnownews.com/entertainment-news/jawan-prevue-fan-reactions-shah-rukh-khan-atlee-film-with-nayanthara-deepika-padukone-is-going-to-be-a-hit-bollywood-news-article-101632059
[19] Born on August 24, 1963, Hideo Kojima is a prominent Japanese video game designer celebrated as a visionary of the medium. Fostering a deep love for cinema and literature since his early years, Kojima’s journey into the realm of video game creation began when he joined Konami in 1986. It was there that he crafted his seminal work, Metal Gear (1987), for the MSX2 platform, which not only pioneered the stealth genre but also laid the cornerstone for the acclaimed Metal Gear series, marking the zenith of his creative endeavors.
Sitaare Zameen Par is original, progressive and empowering.
How is Sitaare Zameen Par an original film? Since this is an adapted film, the obvious burning question needs to be addressed first. The answer depends on how one defines originality for a film. The prism of originality need not be limited to the plot or the characters and what is at the surface, but rather what we find when we start looking within the layers — the filmmaker’s intent and core values, the process, the cultural rootedness and the effective use of film language. Also, the film’s significance goes beyond originality in the form of the creation itself but reflects in the outcome it creates. To examine the subject deeper, from a ‘von above view’ looking at the idea of originality, nothing really is created from a void, but everything builds on the foundation of someone else’s work as there is an interconnectedness to our living, and originality is relative.
Stating the basic facts, firstly there was a Spanish film titled Champions (Campeones) made in 2018 that was loosely inspired by the true story of Aderes, a Valencia based basketball team with special learning needs that won 12 Spanish Championships between 1994 and 2014. Secondly, Aamir Khan an Indian star as a producer acquired the legal rights for the original Spanish film and made his film Sitaare Zameen Par which was released in June 2025.
The film is very similar to the Spanish film in terms of its plot and characters at first glance but if we look beyond, its thematic exploration unfolds the common thread between its spiritual twin Tare Zameen Par (directed by Aamir Khan). In keeping with the close bond it’s important to note the title of this film is Sitaare Zameen Par and not Champions. The title of the discussed film has an endearing quality that is absent in the title of the original Spanish film. It is a small difference but could mean a shift in focus, from viewing the film through the prism of a sports genre to now a human drama. And the film is therefore relying less on cinematic devises of the sports genre but is in the playing field of emotions. If we can take this point further, the film is shaped by the Indian tradition of the Rasa theory of heightened emotions and a key scene that depicts that well is the victory of Guddu when he overcomes his fear and phobia of water(bathing) which is treated melodramatically, or rather I would say treated with a ‘larger than life’ aesthetic, beautifully retaining its core truth.
The filmmaker’s intentions feel rooted in Indian culture and alive with a personal struggle and commitment reflected in their own lives to the cause of seeking to understand oneself and growing to a larger consciousness with society. The makers are aware they might not be ideal human beings or ideal parents for that matter, but by accepting their human flaws and being vulnerable about it is portraying honesty on and off screen. The film utilises the same vulnerability to its full effect in the film with the choice of the comedy genre to highlight characters with their flaws, but they are not looked down upon, the weaknesses are either improved or celebrated. The film has been careful with the treatment of humour to connect to the audiences but has managed to maintain the fine balance between entertaining and critiquing and not laughing at but with the characters. In tune with the true spirit of the comedy genre the main stars of the film are the neurodivergent individuals who share the spirit of the character of the archetype of the clown being pure, honest and rebellious at the same time. An important progressive outcome of the film is also in its casting of these actors; they are not only fun and authentic to watch but now are the leaders of their own cause and are empowered by the film.
The filmmaker and specifically Aamir through this film and his body of work as a human being is softly whispering beneath the veil of stardom, a voice seeking innocence and authenticity, a purity and acceptance of love in society. While Aamir, the star in the film is the protagonist taking the journey who we identify with no doubt, he hands over the reins of his growth this time to the rest of the cast to shine the light on him. His journey in the film is about realising that his intellectual capabilities might be normal, but his moral imperfections make him abnormal and miserable. And the film makes us reflect on – what we label as normal and our current state of existence as individuals and as a society. In the film’s silences, it yearns for utopia with a moral purity of heart. With the success at the Indian box office it probably seems like the audiences are smitten by the innocent fools who are more wise than clever men claiming to have wisdom.
As a Producer Aamir Khan has refused to release his film on any OTT (Over The Top) platform and dedicated it to a theatrical release which could have caused him a negative financial impact, but it seems he showed supreme confidence in his work and surrendered it to the audience. He also stayed loyal to cinema with this film as a format of exhibition where the audience with their volition visit the sacred space of the theatre to experience emotions, ideas and reflections of themselves. This bold step could revitalise the theatrical business and cause some filmmakers and the government to pause and reflect on the value of cinema viewing as an important tradition in society.
In India there are many films made each year as a product for entertainment or commerce, but there are only a few which can serve as a beacon for the community to heal and transform.
Photo courtesy of the clown: Firefly AI. The clown embodies innocence, deep wisdom, joy and sorrow and is something that I feel Aamir is reflecting in his body of work.
The 29th International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK), held in December 2024, witnessed a record-breaking attendance of 13,000 delegates—arguably the highest for any film festival in India. The book by V. K. Cherian, “Noon Films & Magical Renaissance of Malayalam Cinema” published by Atlantic Publishers & Distributors in 2025, examines the renaissance of Malayalam cinema and sheds light on the cultural ecosystem that fosters Kerala’s vibrant cinema culture. As the author emphasizes, Malayalam cinema has, from its inception, been deeply intertwined with social themes. Unlike the early films in other parts of India, the pioneering Malayalam silent film Vigathakumaran (The Lost Child, 1928) avoided mythological narratives. Subsequent Malayalam films continued in this vein, emphasizing social dramas. Building on this distinctive approach, the book explores the groundwork that catalysed the remarkable renaissance of Malayalam cinema from the 1970s onward.
The library movement in Kerala, spearheaded by P. N. Panicker, transformed the state’s literacy landscape. The author highlights Panicker’s remarkable efforts in establishing countless libraries across Kerala, fostering a culture of reading and intellectual growth, and playing a key role in achieving the state’s high literacy rate and broader development. Examining how left-wing organizations utilized theatre, cinema, and literature for political outreach, the author cites the play “Ningalenne Communistakki” (You Made Me a Communist), which was later adapted into a film. This pivotal moment set the stage for the emergence of three significant figures who became catalysts of the renaissance.
The author identifies the catalysts dubbed the “A Team” by Malayalam poet Dr. Ayyappa Paniker: Adoor Gopalakrishnan, G. Aravindan, and John Abraham. Their contributions to Malayalam cinema are portrayed as cornerstones of Indian New Wave cinema, also known as parallel cinema. Although this movement often centred on social critique, Adoor and Aravindan ventured beyond its boundaries. Even John Abraham, in his final film Amma Ariyan (Report to Mother, 1986), adopted a different approach to modernity, signalling a broader creative scope within the New Wave.
Among the esteemed A Team trio, Adoor Gopalakrishnan emerges as a trailblazer in Kerala’s film society movement, founding the transformative Chitralekha Film Society. This initiative, the author notes, mirrors Satyajit Ray’s profound influence on Bengali cinema. Adoor’s legacy expanded further with the establishment of the Chitralekha Film Studio in Thiruvananthapuram, a bold move during an era when Chennai dominated film production. Significantly, the author emphasizes how this step enabled the Malayalam film industry to shift its base from Chennai, fostering a unique identity free from Chennai’s commercial influences. Following the commercial success of his second film, Kodiyettam (The Ascent, 1978), Adoor challenged industry norms by ensuring his films were screened in three shows daily, rejecting the practice of relegating art films to noon slots—a practice that earned such films the moniker of “noon films,” referenced in the book’s title.
The book pays tribute to General Pictures’ Ravindranathan Nair, who patronized Malayalam art cinema by producing five films by Aravindan, and some of the later works by Adoor and M.T. Vasudevan Nair. The interview with Issac Thomas Kottukapally, who collaborated with Aravindan on three films, highlights Aravindan’s creative genius. The third member of the A Team trio, John Abraham, was also an FTII alumnus like Adoor. His second film, Agraharathil Kazhuthai (Donkey in a Brahmin Village, 1977), is a landmark in Tamil cinema. The author references Abraham’s thoughts on conceiving the idea of a Brahmin raising a donkey within a Brahmin colony. It is worth noting that the scriptwriter Venkat Swaminathan’s knowledge of the Tamil poet Subramania Bharati’s life and work significantly influenced the film. For his swan song, Abraham spearheaded the formation of the Odessa Collective, raising funds through grassroots efforts by traveling to villages and collecting donations from the public.
The final chapter examines the most significant contribution to Malayalam cinema by the eminent author, screenwriter, and film director M.T. Vasudevan Nair, who passed away in December 2024. His film Nirmalyam (Remains/ Yesterday’s Offerings, 1973) stands as a major milestone in Malayalam cinema history, yet it hasn’t received the recognition it truly deserves. It is fitting that Cherian has analysed this film in detail while paying tribute to M.T. as a towering figure. The book raises an important question about the lack of a new generation of filmmakers in Kerala comparable to the legendary A Team trio, though it doesn’t delve deeply into this issue. Despite some photographs in the book appearing elongated, it provides an insightful account of the renaissance of Malayalam cinema. After reading it, Kerala’s vibrant film culture—evident in the overwhelming number of delegates at IFFK 2024—becomes more comprehensible. Cherian’s exploration of this renaissance highlights the heights Kerala has achieved in the seventh art and underscores its enduring cultural significance.
The intense feeling of longing that we call nostalgia puts us in a homely, familiar space, where we tend to feel safe and secure. Nostalgia always elicits happy, positive feelings. Often, festivals bring with them a wave of nostalgia. The Durga Puja, owing to its cultural, traditional, and personal importance in the lives of the Bengali people, has garnered an unsurmountable nostalgic value. The enchanting atmosphere of the Durga Puja season is second to none. Brimming with the smells of the shiuli (coral jasmine) flower, camphor and incense, and the sounds of the dhak (traditional percussion instrument played during Hindu festivals), kashor (cymbal-like instrument) and ghonta (traditional hand-held bell), the air becomes sentient. It comes to life with music. As the aforementioned elements are considered as signifiers of the Durga Puja, the festival itself is considered by many to be the indisputable signifier of the Bengali people — bringing together people of different communities into a space of euphoric nostalgia. In Sujoy Ghosh’s Kahaani (2012), however, these signifiers are changed in their formal essence, and they, along with several other aspects turn a familiar, homely space into something unfamiliar.
Kolkata is famous for its captivating Durga Puja celebrations, attracting thousands of tourists from other parts of India and abroad. But the welcoming, vibrant Kolkata of the Durga Puja season turns into a hostile space in Kahaani; it turns into a macrocosm of the forbidding suburban lanes that shelter unknown threats and conspiracies.
The overarching symbolic themes of the Durga Puja, such as the celebration of the feminine power, and the war between good and evil, for instance, align with some of the themes of the film. Additionally, the film, through its form, uses the festival for something more than just a plot device, turning it into a narrative device instead. Of course, the conflict in such a backdrop has to be resolved within the timespan of the festivities for achieving closure, but the narrative becomes more engaging through the film’s depiction of the city. Unlike the popular depiction of Kolkata during Durga Puja — enthused with bright colours, smiling faces, and happy melodies — the film presents the city in a different aesthetic. An unsaturated, cold colour palette is used. This gives the city a murky look.
The film contains very few wide shots, making us feel trapped along with the characters. The unstable, shaky aesthetics of the hand-held camera make every moment feel precarious. A particularly different effect is achieved through this in the Bengali audience, more specifically the Bengali people of West Bengal. Through his composition choices, the filmmaker depicts an uncanny version of the Durga-Puja-season-Kolkata in Kahaani. The term “uncanny” is used in psychology to refer to something that seems both familiar and strange at the same time. Encountering the uncanny elicits fear and dread, or at the very least, it puts one in a state of utter mental distress. This uncanniness of the city in Kahaani is bound to make the general Bengali viewer uncomfortable, because it becomes difficult to identify the spaces shown in the film with the mental images that have been preserved for a long time in the collective consciousness of the Bengali people.
The billboards in the city during the puja season fill the people with a kind of joyous anticipation. When I was younger, I used to feel the first thrills of the imminent puja with the arrival of the Anandamela Pujabarshiki (a popular children’s magazine). This would always be followed by the puja-special sales advertisements on the billboards throughout the city. Once I would see the framework of the pandals being made, the countdown would begin. These have always been my personal signals for the season’s arrival. Kahaani employs these same visual cues to establish the time of the year. In the sequence where the protagonist Vidya Bagchi travels from the airport to the police station in a taxi, we see fleeting shots of a billboard, a few pandals and pandal workers, and also the frameworks of some Kali idols. These visuals are recorded through the moving taxi’s window in the style of point-of-view shots, so that the audience gets to share Vidya’s subjectivity. But for someone who has been in the city at this time of the year, these shots feel as homely as they could get.
Presented using what Eisenstein called rhythmic montage, each shot of this sequence matches the beats of the song “Tere Bina Jiya Jaye Na” playing in the taxi’s radio. This song from the 80s reinforces the feeling of nostalgia, and is one of the instances of the director’s cinematic use of sound. The song merges with the surroundings inside and outside the taxi, and mixes with the other dietetic sounds, like the noise of the busy road. The resultant sound takes the form of some kind of an atmospheric background music that seeks to pull memories out of the past. Personally, my memories connected with that particular song were stored in some remote, inaccessible corner of my subconscious. Hearing it at that moment, I pictured my father playing his audio cassettes in the evening when he came back from work. He would play one cassette in the tape recorder, while winding another with a pen, and the whirring sounds of the tape would run in sync with the song. I must have been just two or three years old at the time.
Another instance of the film score consciously or subconsciously addressing the Bengali audience can be found in the scene where a Tagore song “Jodi Tor Daak Shune Keu Na Ashe” plays in the background as Vidya looks at a Durga idol’s arrival procession through a window. The camera captures the procession through the window grates, once again allowing the viewer to share Vidya’s space, while connecting with a Bengali viewer on a more intimate level by making them recollect the memories of gazing out the window and witnessing the arrival of the goddess.
Old Hindi and Bengali songs are used as diegetic sounds throughout Kahaani, setting the tone of the puja season. Songs like “Jete Jete Pothe Holo Deri,” “Amar Shopno Je Shotti Holo Aaj,” “Tu Mera Kya Laage,” “Lekar Hum Deewana Dil,” and “Jani Na Kothay Tumi,” all composed by R.D. Burman, function like ambient sounds, bringing with them waves of nostalgia, but at the same time, alongside the narrative context of the film, they manage to pronounce a foreboding atmosphere.
The cities, towns and villages of West Bengal are adorned with lights during the Durga Puja festivities. Kolkata at this time becomes livelier than ever, but in Kahaani, familiar sights such as the puja crowds and the pandals become alien. They are shown in quick, successive cuts, almost in POV shots, intercut with shots of Vidya wandering amidst the crowd as they stare at her. A pregnant lady walking alone in the streets during a festival becomes an unnatural sight. She looks wary, anxious and lonely, and this seems to grab the attention of the pedestrians. The montage ends with a merging of the diegetic and non-diegetic sounds, as the non-diegetic drumbeats of the background music unites with the diegetic sounds of the dhak being played by the dhakis (dhak-players) in front of a pandal.
Spoiler Alert
The climax of the film takes place on Vijaya Dashami, the last day of the festival. The streets get crowded as the idols get carried away for immolation in processions that always become excessively jubilant. This becomes an obstacle in Vidya’s search for Milan Damji, the man she has been looking for. The rites and celebrations of the Dashami Yatra (Dashami procession) create physical obstacles for Vidya and Satyoki. The camphor and incense smoke blinds and stings their eyes, the frolicking crowd blocks their way, and the sounds of the drums, cymbals and bells limit their hearing — the entire atmosphere turns hostile towards them.
The handheld, shaky, almost tumbling camera movements, and the quick, jarring cuts from one shot to the other highlight the frenzy. Interestingly, these are employed differently for each character. Satyoki is shown with more frantic camera movements and faster cuts — with zooms, blurs, and jump cuts. (Khan is also shown in a similar chaotic way.) Whereas, Vidya is filmed using comparatively smoother camera movements; in fact, a few slow motion shots are used to highlight her emotional state as she tries to stay composed through her ordeal. Sometimes the camera, for a fleeting second, focuses on a random face, similar to how one often mistakes an unknown face in a crowd for a known one. A sudden whisper or two can be heard as Vidya feels like she is also being followed. Each character has the same goal but unique motivations: Vidya is seemingly looking for closure (or as we later get to learn, vengeance); Satyoki wants to solve the case, while also feeling an additional responsibility for Vidya’s wellbeing; Khan is fuelled by his duty of protecting the nation.
The iconic representation of the Durga idol symbolises the victory of good over evil. Similar to Durga stabbing the demon Mahishasura with the pointed end of the trishul (trident), Vidya stabs Damji with her hair bodkin. As she stands over the fatally wounded Damji, she is framed in a low-angle shot. Low-angle shots are typically used to show a character in a position of power or a state of dominance, but this particular one serves an additional purpose. Vidya is seen by the audience in the same way that people see Durga idols in pandals — looking up, from a lower ground level. Placing her at the centre of the frame in shallow focus makes the red bulbs behind her appear like streaks of red, which complement the colours of her red blouse and white saree. Her open locks, her angry (yet composed and resolute) facial expression, and her posture, become a re-enactment of the Durga idol’s iconic representation.
The final sequence of the film — a montage of the events following Vidya’s adventure — directly addresses the story’s connection with the legend of the Goddess Durga. The final shot of the film shows a partially immersed Durga murti (idol) slowly disappearing, sinking in water. Completing her mission, Vidya, too, disappears from the city. In this way, Ghosh uses Durga Puja as not only a thematic metaphor but also a visual metaphor.
Taking Stock of Seven Decades of Fostering Film Culture: Musings on V. K. Cherian’s book “Celluloid to Digital — India’s Film Society Movement”
India’s film society movement mirrors the nation’s own journey, as captured in V. K. Cherian’s comprehensive 2016 book, “India’s Film Society Movement: The Journey and its Impact.” A revised edition by Atlantic Publishers & Distributors (2023) expands on the pandemic’s impact. Spanning seven decades, the book chronicles the movement’s history with fascinating, meticulously collected anecdotes. Exploring the interplay of technological shifts, economic changes, and government policies, it unveils their influence on this significant movement.
A film society activist himself, the author brings firsthand experience to the subject. He explores how Jawaharlal Nehru prioritized cinema alongside other cultural fields in his nation-building efforts. The central government’s 1951 S. K. Patil committee on films led to the creation of the International Film Festival of India (IFFI), the Film and Television Institute of India (FTII), the Film Finance Corporation (FFC), and the National Film Archive of India (NFAI). However, the author poignantly highlights Nehru’s unrealized vision for a “Chalachitra Akademi.”
The book meticulously details the pioneers of the movement and the emergence of various film societies. While the Calcutta Film Society (founded 1947 by Satyajit Ray, Chidananda Das Gupta, and others) is often hailed as the first, the author sheds light on an earlier Mumbai society from the 1940s. Crucially, the Calcutta Film Society ignited the cinematic passion of Ray, Mrinal Sen, and Ritwik Ghatak, shaping them into filmmakers. Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955) further revolutionized the movement, fostering appreciation of cinema as an art form.
While Pather Panchali’s success likely paved the way for a national film society organization, the book highlights Marie Seton’s crucial role. This British critic’s multi-city lectures spurred the 1959 formation of the Federation of Film Societies of India (FFSI). The author compares Adoor Gopalakrishnan’s efforts in Kerala to Satyajit Ray’s in Bengal, illustrating how budding filmmakers cultivate audiences through film education. In neighboring Karnataka, the Suchitra Film Society emerged in Bangalore in 1971 under the leadership of H. N. Narahari Rao (who edited a book on the film society movement published in 2009) and his associates. Suchitra’s unique model, with a dedicated cultural complex, has enabled it to endure through present times. However, replicating this model elsewhere may prove challenging.
The granting of censorship exemption to the Federation of Film Societies of India (FFSI) from 1966 facilitated access to films from consulates. However, as noted by the author, this positive step had its drawbacks in the 1970s and 1980s. During this period, there was a surge in people joining film societies, primarily attracted by uncensored films. Unfortunately, this trend deviated from the movement’s original purpose. A lack of critical rigor in appreciating films was evident among a significant portion of film society members. While some societies held discussions after screenings, a deeper understanding would necessitate journals with substantial writing on cinema. The author highlights “The Indian Film Quarterly,” a publication by the Calcutta Film Society. Other noteworthy publications include Bangalore Film Society’s “Deep Focus,” founded by George Kutty, M. K. Raghavendra, M. U. Jayadev, and yours truly.
Technological advancements are often seen as progress, but the shift from 16mm/35mm film to the digital era presented a challenge for film societies. While the transition eliminated the cumbersome process of transporting and projecting film reels, many cineastes still favor traditional film for its distinctive visual and tactile qualities over digital formats. However, a more significant consequence was the decline in audience numbers. The rise of readily available films online eroded the film society’s role as the sole source of alternative cinema.
The pandemic profoundly impacted film societies, much like other facets of society. In this second edition of the book, the author delves into how the pandemic altered film viewing habits. OTT platforms and YouTube brought films and videos directly to home theater screens and smartphones, shifting the communal viewing experience from social gatherings to personal spaces. Most film societies across the country felt the effects. The author gives the example of the online film society Talking Films Online (TFO) which responded to the pandemic by hosting discussions via Zoom every Saturday evening on a pre-announced film. Additionally, several other online forums sprang up during the pandemic.
Rather than lamenting the digital era, film societies can embrace it. One advantage of this era is the democratization of filmmaking, enabling anyone — even with just a smartphone — to create a film. This accessibility has inspired many film enthusiasts to explore filmmaking firsthand. However, the role of film societies extends beyond merely promoting film culture. They should serve as platforms for budding filmmakers and technicians, offering education not only in film appreciation but also in practical filmmaking. Additionally, organizing competitions in film criticism and mobile filmmaking, especially in collaboration with universities, can further nurture young talent.
The transition from a socialistic economy to an increasingly capitalistic one has occurred without adequate safeguards for promoting art cinema. The author delves into this issue, along with recent major policy shifts concerning cinema. As the film society movement faces multifaceted changes, creativity will be essential for its survival. The author suggests exploring avenues such as state units, campus film societies, and digital groups. The book would have benefited from more thorough editing. Despite that it serves as a valuable resource for various stakeholders — policy makers, filmmakers, film educators, film society organizers, and cinema students — to reflect on the history of India’s film society movement, gain perspective, and envision its future.
The choice to focus the lens on a theatrical troupe feels very intentional: it provides a crucible wherein an assortment of characters from varied backgrounds of economic and social strata can accumulate under one roof, sharing a similar interest. The deliberate decision to also include a sole female within the theatrical troupe allows writer-director Anand Ekarshi to showcase the diversity of the male populace agglomerated under the explicit parameter of masculinity.
Aattam delves into the performative aspect of modern masculinity, which is fragile enough to be exposed or challenged by any form of change or provocation. Ekarshi’s writing stands out for its examination of misogyny. From the beginning of the film, male characters maintain a facade of acceptance and camaraderie, concealing underlying misogynistic attitudes that manifest through subtle microaggressions (for most) and blatant aggressions displayed by Vinay (Vinay Forrt). Vinay is engaged in an illicit relationship with Anjali (Zarin Shihab). His aggressive actions stem from feeling displaced from his central role due to newcomer movie star Hari (Kalabhavan Shajohn), whose presence brings attention and success to a theater group that operates independently but is still influenced by capitalism. This realization leaves Vinay disheartened, as he fears losing the spotlight.
However, when the inciting incident occurs (Anjali being groped at night by one of the members while she is sleeping), with Anjali strongly suggesting she knows the responsible party, Vinay decides to bring in the rest of the troupe to make a decision. Through this meeting, he carefully starts to manipulate so that his ends are met in the process. This is the moment where the movie segues into a chamber drama, and Ekarshi’s minimalistic treatment comes to the forefront.
The script showcases nuanced writing and an exploration of intricate relationships across different generations. As more of the true nature of the men is revealed under the garb of logically questioning the nooks and crannies of that incident, Ekarshi’s choice to sideline Anjali for over 40 minutes becomes remarkably intentional. He effectively makes the viewer feel uneasy as they witness a group of men determining the credibility of a traumatized woman’s account.
Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957; English) can be defined as the gold standard of how a chamber drama is constructed: multiple characters are forced to confront moral and existential questions when faced with an important decision. Unlike 12 Angry Men, where Juror No. 8 works as the conscience of the group, here Vinay works as the mirror image, a manipulator defending and trying to steer the conversation towards “justice,” which would ultimately serve his own selfish ends. But that doesn’t mean Ekarshi lets the other men off the hook. The conversations among all members are incisive without being overt or over-the-top, highlighting central characteristics resulting from class and economic divides within society. It manages to elicit moments of black humour amidst the discomfiture of the men, when faced with the decision to choose a better life or their performative self-righteousness.
Ekarshi also manages to write the character of Anjali and her strength and vulnerability with astonishing depth. Here is a woman severely affected by the events that have occurred, causing her to initially strive to ignore the occurrence. Aattam then delves into her character development, depicting how Anjali gradually lets go of the respect and friendships she had built with her colleagues over 15 years in the troupe. She realizes that male allyship has been replaced by opportunistic tendencies, hiding under a mask of convenience and diplomacy, that push for compromise instead of decisiveness. This depicts Ekarshi’s skillful navigation of societal critique and personal growth within the confines of the narrative. The pressure cooker of the situation threatens to boil over in a breathtaking climax, revealing the inherent flaws of all the men. It exposes all their laughable insecurities and chauvinism in one fell swoop.
Few films can boast of having nearly flawless performances from the entire cast. Aattam is one of those rare films, which also has impressive pacing, effective blocking and staging, and a minimal background score to allow the diegetic score to immerse the audience. One critique of this movie is its slow buildup; however, this deliberate approach ultimately enhances the tension and impact of subsequent dramatic moments. One can legitimately criticize the use of slow motion in some instances of the film, as well as some of the wrinkles introduced for some of the supporting characters, which don’t feed into the overall narrative.
Movies depicting and questioning the perspectives of one single incident and the conflict stemming from this questioning rely heavily on the execution of the climax and its subsequent denouement. The ending of Aattam not only circles back to the theater, where the movie began, but also to the theatrical nature of storytelling itself, where ambiguity could be expressed by the obvious nature of the performance (the white mask shielding all the faces of the men, making them all an agglomeration of the insecurity of masculinity). It allows the film to answer the question being raised without utilizing the obvious method of revelation inherent to a whodunnit.
Ekarshi makes the skillful choice to not dismiss or diminish the woman’s trauma in search of a revelation. It’s this renewed focus on addressing important issues and striving to maintain its complexity that elevates Aattam beyond simply being a product of its obvious 12 Angry Men influences and making it a standout movie of its own—at once modern and yet classical in its temerity.
At the perspective pith of Photo (Kannada, 2023) is an evocative parable of humanism and human foibles. Set in the time of, and shot during, the sudden and unexpected imposition of the nationwide lockdown, it is an ironic, touching tale of a boy in a village who wishes to go and take an up, close and personal view of the State’s seat of power, the magnificent and monumental Vidhana Soudha.
What’s so special one may ask? Especially, the city bred young and the fortunate denizens privileged to have found a home in the sprawling metropolis. After all, they pass by it almost every day in the course of reaching their respective destinations, without as much as a whit of a glance at it, given that it is registered in their psyche and collective memory. For the boy, a visit to the Vidhana Soudha, whose almost life size picture hangs in his classroom, is the equivalent of visiting and soaking in the beauty of that marvelous monument of love, the Taj Mahal in Agra. The film also makes a point about peer pressure/envy: since every other home in the neighbourhood proudly displays a family photo taken at the Vidhana Soudha, the boy too desires to possess one with his father and him in front of it.
Debutant film maker Utsav Gonwar’s locked-down-in-the-pandemic experiment exhibits several thematic tracks. One, of a village boy and his dream, which has a political context. Two, of how skewed development has turned a placid, peaceful city into a monstrous, noisy and noxious metropolis with no soul. And three, of the mass exodus of rural folk to the big cities in search of the elusive El Dorado. Unlike Diwa Shah’s Bahadur – The Brave (Hindi-Nepali, 2023), made in the same genre but which sticks to the core subject of the struggles of the migrant labourers and how they come to terms with their rootless situation, Gonwar’s film is out and out political.
Using a cherubic boy with a curiosity chiseled chimera as the central character, Gonwar dons the hat of a political crusader and takes the audience on a neorealist realty-reality tour of a city with its locked in migrants with nowhere to either go or stay. The seat of power, Vidhana Soudha, itself provides on a platter the pivot to project a searing, searching and reflective prognosis on the absence of political will, and effective governance, to extend the fruits of economic growth and development to the lesser privileged and marginalised sections of society. Gonwar takes up cudgels with the government at the centre, and parodies the janta curfew that was announced in the course of the pandemic.
He focusses his lens on the ‘Government’s Work is God’s Work’ wordings inscribed on the entablature of the stately legislature structure, to drive in the point of the absolute power that the State holds over its powerless migrant population. The camerawork is mostly minimalist and static, despite its eponymous title. However, the long, panoramic, sweeping shots capturing the arid landscape bring back memories of another significant film. Whereas in P. Vinothraj’s Pebbles (Tamil, 2021), the son maintained a reasonable distance from his easily irritable dad, in Photo, the son trudges alongside his migrant labourer dad and sometimes sits on his shoulder as the two make their way in the scorching heat towards the faraway cocoon of safety and semblance of reality called home.
12th Fail: A done to death template elevated such that the cream rises from the crop, due to a distinctive directorial voice and a fantastic lead performance.
12th Fail belongs to a genre of films dealing with the underdog narrative. In a country as populated as ours, the sheer number of aspirants who are after a position in the government or any job that would vault them to the higher strata of society is paramount. Thus, in that regard, it isn’t surprising that the bestselling books in bookstores are preparatory books for competitive exams. The corollary also shows a similar number of stories being dramatized about this narrative in the web series space.
The web series space, especially ones dominated by TVF, has made a cottage industry out of creating these narratives, either based on a true story or based on a template and crafting an original tale. The pattern that arises as a result of the current overpopulation of these stories is stagnation and an apparent lack of heart. The story has become beholden to the formula, rather than the template’s formula serving as the beating heart of the story.
In a structural sense, 12th Fail is a typical underdog story, based on the eponymous non-fiction book about the life of IPS Officer Manoj Kumar Sharma and his struggles from extreme poverty to becoming an IPS officer. The difference in Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s film isn’t only the unique wrinkle of the story, because, truthfully, there isn’t much. It is the storytelling, especially the technical aspects, that stands out.
The camerawork is handheld, for the most part, giving the viewer a feeling of floating between perspectives. When required, it generates a feeling of solipsism such that the viewer is completely invested in the trials and tribulations of Manoj Kumar Sharma, played here with almost flawless sincerity by Vikrant Massey.
Chopra cleverly manages to skew the poverty-porn narrative that could be expected to elicit pity from a lesser film. There are moments where the camera knows how to show the extreme tribulations that Massey’s character undergoes while trying to sustain himself as well as studying for the UPSC. The camera, however, doesn’t luxuriate in these moments. It lingers on them just enough for the viewer to register and empathize before cutting away to the subsequent section of the narrative.
There are generic elements in the story that need to be addressed. The romance plot that Manoj has with Sraddha feels unnecessary and superficial at a glance, injected to satisfy the commercial needs of the audience. Having said that, all these moments exist as tropes because they have been effective in the past. One of the reasons well-worn tropes like these work in 12th fail is because of the sound design employed in this film. There is a complete lack of background score underscoring any emotional sections, choosing only the diegetic score to ground the narrative. There are also moments of sharp cutting and completely removing the sound from one scene to the next to hone the impact of that scene as well as create a jarring dissonance. It is deliberately forcing the viewers to pay attention to the reality of the events occurring on the screen rather than registering them as checkpoints in a template-based narrative.
That is not to say that a background score or song is completely absent. Rather, they are used in montage sequences, utilizing a hagiographic mode of storytelling to move the film along.
12th Fail also has some wrinkles in its screenplay. Chopra being the screenwriter brings a somewhat personal touch to the whole storytelling. Some elements feel almost like his direct commentary, as if he is intentionally trying to remove the romanticism of poverty and being poor. He intentionally crafts the story in a fashion where Manoj’s tenacity and his proclivity to “manage” any situation become his pitfalls in achieving his true potential. He finally has to accept help from his well-wishers to understand his potential. Through this, Chopra also cleverly interweaves the character-arc progression of Shraddha. Her character doesn’t only exist at the service of Manoj’s character arc, but rather her own, which gives the world a lived-in and realistic feel. However, a few more scenes to develop these moments or even focus on Shraddha’s struggles in isolation would have been revealing.
However, that would be antithetical to the overall solipsism of the 12th fail, which is a choice taken by the source material and also by Chopra himself. For narratives with inspirational stories as their backbone, a strong direction needs to work in conjunction with stronger performances. Vikrant Massey, as the titular “12th Fail,” with dreams to live bigger than his circumstances would feasibly allow, brings a sense of belief and determination to his performance. The smile across Massey’s face even when faced with adversity remains consistent, such that when allowed to be vulnerable, the impact hits harder. He is also supported ably by strong supporting performances, giving flesh and blood to characters far more than what the page affords them. The character arc and its resultant study are compelling enough that some of the minute logical fallacies of the plot can be ignored, or contrivances could be taken in stride. Chopra deserves credit for keeping the suspense going throughout the film, even though the climax is unavoidable. “12th Fail” proves that template-based storytelling doesn’t just have similar visual or aural cues. A directorial vision is sometimes the key difference in crafting a story that becomes universal, transcending the formula that has kept these stories consistent.
“Nostalgia is meant to give rise to an emotional connection between artist and consumer. The art itself being the canvas on which this connection can be heightened and explored. Sometimes, an artist will use traditional motifs and themes, as opposed to reinterpreted characters and stories, to communicate a sense of ease and familiarity.” -Mike Burdge, Editor-in-chief /Founder, Story Screen.
“The great art of films does not consist of descriptive movement of face and body but in the movements of thought and soul transmitted in a kind of intense isolation.” -Louise Brooks, Actress
In a film landscape dominated by grim and sensational narratives, Aachar and Co emerges as a purported oasis, offering a respite from mindless machismo. It presents a colourful kaleidoscopic canvas, and cajoles audiences to join in on a much-romanticised reminiscence trip, while vividly recreating the quintessential character of the olden days cosmopolitan Bangalore. Writer-director Sindhu Srinivasa Murthy joins the scroll of women directors of Kannada filmdom. However, the manner in which she attempts to invoke the old-world charm of the 1960s-70s period becomes her Achilles’ heel, and she ends up transforming her directorial debut, in which she also dons the lead role, into a derisive and frivolous production that falls way short of being a thoughtful exploration of the past.
The film tells the tale of domineering and disciplinarian no-nonsense, hide bound patriarch Madhusudhan Aachar, played by Ashok, who never really gets into the skin and psyche of his character. While the narrative ostensibly revolves around him, it inevitably pivots toward Suma, a 10th-grade graduate whose singular focus on matrimony is portrayed with a comedic undertone. Unfortunately, the film’s attempt to extract humor from familial dynamics lacks the necessary emotional depth to actively involve the audience in its proceedings. Every frame attempt to tease out as much mindless mirth in the goings-on between the panoply of characters of the large family that constitutes Aachar and Co. Their quirks, quibbles and idiosyncrasies, notwithstanding, the facetious film is rendered into a discomfiting and disquiet affair to indulgently wallow in.
Instead of an enterprising ensemble that dissects and deliberates on the age gone by, and providing a reflective mirror on how traditions and social etiquettes had a deleterious effect on the young ones in discipline-driven patriarchal households of the past, with men and women strenuously striving to confirm to traditional expectations, the filmmaker rather lampoons these very aspects to keep audiences’ rib tickling non-stop at the awkwardness of Aachar household inhabitant. And the characters are reduced to caricatures devoid of naturalism, and come across as cardboard cut outs.
Attempting to weave a tapestry of nostalgia, humor, and social commentary, the film falters primarily on the scripting level, and struggles to transcend the boundaries of its comfort zone. The visuals and music, though, add embellishments to this otherwise trite and tiresome tale of an era buried in the sands of time and the mind’s recess. Laudable too is the director’s attempt to address pertinent social issues such as domestic violence, patriarchal hegemony, and women’s empowerment, and institutively bring into play the political changes taking place across the state and national landscapes of that period.
The iconic representation of the Durga idol symbolises the victory of good over evil. Similar to Durga stabbing the demon Mahishasura with the pointed end of the trishul (trident), Vidya stabs Damji with her hair bodkin. As she stands over the fatally wounded Damji, she is framed in a low-angle shot. Low-angle shots are typically used to show a character in a position of power or a state of dominance, but this particular one serves an additional purpose. Vidya is seen by the audience in the same way that people see Durga idols in pandals — looking up, from a lower ground level. Placing her at the centre of the frame in shallow focus makes the red bulbs behind her appear like streaks of red, which complement the colours of her red blouse and white saree. Her open locks, her angry (yet composed and resolute) facial expression, and her posture, become a re-enactment of the Durga idol’s iconic representation.
Using a cherubic boy with a curiosity chiseled chimera as the central character, Gonwar dons the hat of a political crusader and takes the audience on a neorealist realty-reality tour of a city with its locked in migrants with nowhere to either go or stay. The seat of power, Vidhana Soudha, itself provides on a platter the pivot to project a searing, searching and reflective prognosis on the absence of political will, and effective governance, to extend the fruits of economic growth and development to the lesser privileged and marginalised sections of society. Gonwar takes up cudgels with the government at the centre, and parodies the janta curfew that was announced in the course of the pandemic.
The film tells the tale of domineering and disciplinarian no-nonsense, hide bound patriarch Madhusudhan Aachar, played by Ashok, who never really gets into the skin and psyche of his character. While the narrative ostensibly revolves around him, it inevitably pivots toward Suma, a 10th-grade graduate whose singular focus on matrimony is portrayed with a comedic undertone. Unfortunately, the film’s attempt to extract humor from familial dynamics lacks the necessary emotional depth to actively involve the audience in its proceedings. Every frame attempt to tease out as much mindless mirth in the goings-on between the panoply of characters of the large family that constitutes Aachar and Co. Their quirks, quibbles and idiosyncrasies, notwithstanding, the facetious film is rendered into a discomfiting and disquiet affair to indulgently wallow in.
Instead of an enterprising ensemble that dissects and deliberates on the age gone by, and providing a reflective mirror on how traditions and social etiquettes had a deleterious effect on the young ones in discipline-driven patriarchal households of the past, with men and women strenuously striving to confirm to traditional expectations, the filmmaker rather lampoons these very aspects to keep audiences’ rib tickling non-stop at the awkwardness of Aachar household inhabitant. And the characters are reduced to caricatures devoid of naturalism, and come across as cardboard cut outs.