M.G.R. fans celebrate the digital re-release of the film Nadodi Mannan (1958), at Egmore’s Albert Theatre in 2018
| Photo Credit: G. SRIBHARATH

Bollywood has long lost the art of song picturisation. It feels like an eternity since any track was filmed with flair, with imagination. It feels like even longer since songs were known for their shot-taking, for what they conveyed visually. Now, only a handful of traditionalists (Karan Johar, Sanjay Leela Bhansali), still hold on to its magic. Some have long surrendered it to narrative potency. Others don’t even pause to grasp the weight of what’s been lost—the way song and dance once breathed life into Bombay cinema, the way they turned emotion into something tangible, something immortal. No wonder they are used, if at all, as afterthoughts: devoid of purpose, robbed of poetry. Even fillers are rare now, as at least some of those once had the grandeur of a music video. Now, songs are shot not to be seen, but to be scrolled past. Today, they are shot only as reels—designed not to live in memory, but to chase algorithms, not to move hearts, but to rank higher on a feed.

All Bow To Algorithm

The algorithm dictates its grammar. The hook line is the heartbeat; the rest dissolves into oblivion. Composers no longer create melodies that linger; they engineer earworms designed to vanish as quickly as they arrive. Verses surrender to viral loops. The picturisation follows suit. The hook step is everywhere, the rest a blur. Long takes are sacrificed at the altar of attention. Slow dissolves give way to jump cuts. Movements are choreographed not for the screen but for the scroll. 

‘Tauba Tauba,’ ‘Lutt Putt Gaya,’ ‘Aayi Nayi’ are a few songs known not for their feeling, their flow, but for a step. Does anyone remember what comes before or after? Similarly, ‘Pehli Bhi Main,’ ‘Aabaad Bardbaad,’ ‘Sajni,’ ‘Mera Dholna’ have their scratches fill the feed in fractured bursts. But does anyone remember them beyond their mukhda? There was a time when a song, if not memorised by heart, was at least known by the soul. Hook steps have always found a place in the mind, but once, the space, the craft, the poetry of how a song was filmed mattered just as much.

Viral Fever

Now, the only thing that matters is how to conquer reels, and in its wake, a new phenomenon has emerged: reelification. Everything is filtered through the lens of a social media reel, designed with its rhythm in mind, shaped to fit its fading frame, measured not by artistry but by virality. And the first, greatest casualty? Song and dance. This isn’t to dismiss the craft of making a reel; it has its own language, its own grammar. But there’s a case to be made about how it has redefined the way spectators consume cinema—nay, ‘content’. Gone are the days when songs were reborn through remakes. Now, they are resurrected on feeds, removed of context, repurposed into trends. Gone are the days when a song belonged to a singular moment. Now, they are plastered over anything and everything, devoid of meaning, detached from memory.

This has also led to moments of ingenuity, flashes of creative flourish. It has opened ears to forgotten melodies and introduced fresh sounds to unfamiliar audiences. After all, it speaks to the potency of reelification when an Iranian dirge of enslavement, ‘Jamal Kudu’, becomes the heartbeat of a thousand edits, or when the ghost of Laxmikant-Pyarelal’s ‘Ek Hasina Thi’ finds an afterlife in the digital cosmos. But the greatest casualty of all is the dwindling attention span of the viewer. Everything must be immediate: sharp, urgent, catchy. There is no room for hesitation, no patience for the slow bloom of meaning. A song, a scene, a film has only one chance to grip, to stun, to seize. It must be packaged in an aesthetic that conforms, because anything else is not arresting enough. Things must be said quickly, or not at all. Slow burn is a crime, subtlety a sin.

Ditch The Slow Burn

This is evident in the kind of stories that find favour in the last half a decade. Whether in long-form storytelling or theatrical releases, patterns emerge in genres that get the green light while others fade into the background. There are, of course, many reasons—star vanity being one—but shrinking attention spans remains the most decisive one. Take, for instance, the OTT space. Since its inception, it is replete with crime thrillers and police procedurals. It isn’t a mere coincidence. These genres thrive on urgency, on the illusion of high stakes. They grip the audience with turns, sustain their hold with twists, and hit them back with a sudden death or two. And if all else fails, there’s always the safety net of a cliffhanger.

Theatrical cinema, too, has narrowed its focus, with only a select few genres gaining traction. One such breed is horror-comedy. It is not simply comedy that captivates. It’s the flashes of horror that keep the audience hooked, leaning forward, ready for whatever’s next. These films thrive on contrasts, where punchlines are often accompanied by the suddenness of a shock. Similarly, mass action films have evolved, distancing themselves from the intricacies of the ‘masala’ tradition. Payoff after payoff, punchline after punchline—strung together like a highlight reel. Filmmakers like Atlee (Jawan, Baby John) and Shankar (Game Changer) now work in a world where tension takes a backseat to the GIF-able moment, where the thrill lies in instant gratification, not in the art of build-up. 

It can be argued that both these filmmakers hail from a South Indian tradition, where mass cinema has long followed its own distinctive identity, far removed from Bollywood’s usual syntax. True as this may be, in recent years, Bollywood, too, has slipped into this very pattern. Films now often resemble reels dressed as cinema: moments of enjoyment come only when everything rushes forward, when chaos is the currency, and everything is hurled at the screen with a hope that something, anything, will connect. 

Embrace The Absurd

Take, for instance, Badass Ravi Kumar, starring Himesh Reshammiya in the titular role. From the outset, it feels like a pastiche that knows exactly how to laugh at itself. Yet, it isn’t that self-aware, that meta enough to mock the trends. Rather, it surrenders to them, wearing its absurdity proudly. The writing, the framing, the acting—all drip with an almost deliberate excess, as though every dialogue is a competition to out-cheese the last, every moment a louder declaration of its own implausibility. Stakes rise relentlessly, timelines blur in an endless loop, and the action is served with the perfect spoonful of corn. It isn’t quite cringe, but something else altogether: a performance for an audience that are in on the joke, laughing both with and at the spectacle, a strange fusion of reel cinema and meme culture.

The recent surge in re-releases, particularly those in Hindi Cinema, owes much of its momentum to the algorithm. Look closely, and you’ll see a pattern: the films that have been re-released, the ones that have drawn massive crowds, are those that have long been favoured by the reels. This isn’t to suggest they lack the weight of icon status, or to dismiss the fact that many of the audiences flocking to these screenings have never experienced them in a packed theater. But it’s undeniable that these films, often propelled by viral scenes and songs, have been resurrected on feeds, feeding the collective nostalgia of the internet. Say, Laila Majnu, or, more recently, Sanam Teri Kasam, barely registered when they first released. But today, they command the attention of thousands of audiences, filling theaters across the country. Their popularity is no longer bound to their original release but reborn through the endless loops of social media. 

Who Will Be Remembered?

Even film promotions, arguably the one arena where Hindi producers used to readily pour their creativity and money, have now been surrendered to the scroll. No more whirlwind city tours, no more interviews where actors could build a lasting connection with their audience. Now, virality is the only currency. A press conference isn’t a conversation; it’s a breeding ground for memes. A song release isn’t about melody or emotion; it’s about the challenge it sparks: who can master the hook step, who can twist it into something clickable.

The Loveyapa title track isn’t being performed by actors but perfected by influencers. Celebrities no longer seek out journalists; they sit across viral podcasters who trade depth for reach. And Veer Pahariya isn’t a name on people’s lips because of his craft—he is a construct shaped by the internet’s endless need to turn anything and everything into conversation. Because, after all, reelification is not just a trend—it is an evolution, an omnipresent force shaping cinema’s contours. It is the new language, the new currency, the new reality. And in this reality, the algorithm reigns supreme, dictating what survives, what fades, and what, if anything, will ever be remembered.

(Anas Arif is a film writer and a media graduate from AJKMCRC, Jamia Millia Islamia)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author

A good year in the movies can mean multiple things. Studios sufficiently bankrolling films, independent projects finding their way to the mainstream, underdogs triumphing over tentpole projects, new faces coming up and old faces rediscovering their voice. In that sense, 2024 fulfilled most of these possibilities. Filmmaker Sriram Raghavan, known for curating gore in his films, conjured a heartbreaking romance in Merry Christmas. Three female actors fronted the commercially viable Crew, a modest-budgeted Munjya won big, Payal Kapadia’s independently-funded All We Imagine As Light got a theatrical release and ensembles like Madgaon Express, Stree 2, and Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3 were triumphs. On paper, we are steadying ahead. But a little probing dismantles this neat narrative.

There can, and should, be different ways of looking at something. But no matter how one sees it, 2024 reveals to be uninspiring for Hindi films. Quantity is no longer the problem. Admittedly, there was a lull during the Covid-19 crisis, but some time has passed and as of now, a steady roster of theatrical and streaming releases is in place. Theatre owners and exhibitors also came up with a ploy to combat infrequent releases: re-releasing old Hindi films. Yet, the quality has been on a steady decline.

The Era Of ‘Genericness’

As of now, the landscape of Hindi films resembles a linear line drawn by a vanishing ink. The multi-crore industry has come to be imbued by such genericness in plot and aesthetics that is hard to locate its identity. In other words, no matter how long the line is—and how expansive the industry is becoming—the growth feels incidental, for the ambition is stunted.

It could have been the post-pandemic uncertainty, the easy availability of other Indian language films through streaming sites during that period, or the gigantic successes of those ventures. In 2022, S.S. Rajamouli’s RRR registered the highest opening by an Indian film; this year, another Telugu language film, Sukumar’s Pushpa 2, became the highest-grossing Indian film in the first week. But evidently, the monopoly of Hindi films and its false equivalence with Indian cinema have considerably weakened. The diversity of the industry has been steamrolled into a prickly homogeneity where any two films look the same, the scale feels identical, the action looks uniformly designed and the style is fashioned in self-reflexive humour.

As is often the case, Shah Rukh Khan paved the way. His 2023 film Pathaan not just marked his return to the screen after a four-year hiatus but was one of the few outings that earned money at a time many others struggled to do so. Its success did three things: it reiterated the supremacy of Khan, legitimised action as a thriving genre, and recognised star cameos in films as the onset of multiverses. 

Spectacle Over Everything Else

This year, most Hindi films can be slotted in these distinct categories. Rohit Shetty’s Singham Again was his version of a (cop) multiverse, and the production house Maddock Films furthered its horror-comedy universe with Stree 2 and Munjya. Sagar Ambre and Pushkar Ojha helmed the action-thriller Yodha, Siddharth Anand directed the aviation (action) thriller Fighter and Ali Abbas Zafar made the abysmal Bade Miyan Chote Miyan (BMCM). There are more examples: Nikkhil Advani leaned on action with Vedaa, Ravi Udyawar did the same with Yudhra and so did Aditya Datt in Crakk. Clubbing them together could be reductive, but it is difficult not to identify the sweeping attempt by the makers to treat plot as an accessory to action.

In the midst, meta references clog the screenplay. Khan’s famous “Bete ko hath lagane se pehle, baap se baat kar” (“Before touching the son, deal with the father”), rooted to the personal turmoil of his son’s arrest in 2021, spawned similar iterations post Jawan (2023). Tiger Shroff repeated his meme-famous “choti bachi ho kya?” (“are you a little girl”) a decade later in BMCM after mouthing them for the first time in Heropanti (2014); Chitrangada Singh briefly appeared in Akshay Kumar’s Khel Khel Mein (2024) and their scenes were scored to the music of Desi Boyz (2011), the last film they did together. The subtext here is actors winking directly at the audience and establishing a connection despite the fourth wall. But Hindi films have never seemed more distant.

Stuck On Repeat

If 2024 proved anything, it is that what works really does, and when it does, it is repeated. The success of Stree 2 and Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3 furthered the accomplishment of sequels, and now, there are multiple in the works. The Ranbir Kapoor-starrer Animal (2023) ended with the announcement of Animal Park, which is supposed to go on floors in 2027. Varun Dhawan is part of No Entry 2, Border 2 and reportedly a sequel to Jugjugg Jeeyo too. Vikas Bahl’s Shaitaan, which minted money this year, has a sequel in the making, and in October, actor Salman Khan and producer Sajid Nadiadwala confirmed working on Kick 2 with a cheeky Instagram post. Meanwhile, Shah Rukh Khan is rumoured to be featuring in Pathaan 2.

Every actor, it appears, is either working in a sequel or wants to be in one. It is a jarring trend that spells a creative crisis in Hindi cinema with a damning pronouncement. As of this moment, filmmakers are more involved in catering to the audience than creating for them. Budgets are being amped up, more investment is tailored for VFX and Hindi films are getting bigger. Yet, one would be hard-pressed to distinguish between the trailers of, say, Baby John and Animal. It is the same story everywhere: overgrown men fighting with an obscure vengeance to prove their manhood rather than seek justice.

Bankruptcy Of Imagination

Perhaps this crystallises the most terrifying symptom of Hindi cinema today where the bankruptcy of imagination has manifested in accentuating machismo. More and more films centre around men who need an excuse to draw out blood from the next person. The face does not matter, nor does the cause. While they thumped about the screens, smaller and more inventive projects, such as Sanjay Tripaathy’s warm Binny And Family, Karan Gour’s whimsical Fairy Folk, Shoojit Sircar’s affecting I Want to Talk battled for more screens and our attention. Even Kiran Rao’s wonderful Laapataa Ladies and Varun Grover’s perceptive All India Rank garnered appreciation once they landed on digital platforms. Once upon a time, they would have been referred to as multiplex films. Today, they are too ambitious for streaming and too atypical for theatres. They reside in a no man’s land, and in their dislocation, they mirror the gradual distortion of Hindi cinema.

(Ishita Sengupta is an independent film critic and culture writer from India. Her writing is informed by gender and pop culture and has appeared in The Indian Express, Hyperallergic, New Lines Magazine, etc.)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author

The recent face-off between Telangana Chief Minister Revanth Reddy and actor Allu Arjun over the stampede at Sandhya Theatre on December 5 has begun to show signs of de-escalation, with conciliatory statements and compensation for the victim’s family.

The outpour of sympathy and support for the family of the 39-year-old mother who tragically died, and her nine-year-old son who survived life-threatening injuries, is heartening. One can only hope that as a society, we take collective responsibility to prevent such stampedes—particularly those caused by the frenzy surrounding film stars and movie releases.

That said, the Arjun vs. Reddy battle mirrors a familiar narrative in southern Indian politics: the clash between a star and a powerful politician. This story has played out numerous times, both in the political arena and in film scripts. In real-world politics, history shows that it is generally unwise for politicians to antagonise stars, especially those at the peak of their popularity.  

MGR vs Karunanidhi

The first notable example from Tamil Nadu where a politician who took on a star lost the battle is the defining story of Dravidian politics. The late Chief Minister and DMK patriarch, M. Karunanidhi, antagonised the enormously popular M.G. Ramachandran (MGR), an actor who had a massive following.

MGR worked closely with Karunanidhi in films and was part of the DMK, which was founded by former Chief Minister C.N. Annadurai, or ‘Anna’. When Anna passed away while in office in 1969, Karunanidhi took over as Chief Minister and president of the DMK. A rift with MGR followed, leading to a split in the party. MGR went on to form his own party, the All India Anna DMK (AIADMK), and not only defeated Karunanidhi’s DMK but also kept him out of power until his death in 1987.

While there were many other factors at play, including the declaration of emergency, it was fundamentally the narrative of MGR’s persecution that fuelled the rise of the AIADMK. This emotional connection helped keep Karunanidhi and his DMK out of power in successive elections, till MGR was alive. 

Rajnikanth vs. Jayalalithaa, 1996

In 1996, the late Chief Minister J. Jayalalithaa—MGR’s successor and a popular actor who took over the AIADMK—had a face-off with superstar Rajnikanth. The friction between the two leaders, who were neighbours in Chennai’s posh Poes Garden area, escalated when Rajnikanth publicly declared that “even God could not save the state if Jayalalithaa came back to power”.

In the 1996 elections, the AIADMK was decisively routed, with even Jayalalithaa losing her seat. There were multiple reasons for this defeat and Rajnikanth’s statement contributed to the atmosphere, but the episode serves as a reminder that a public confrontation with a powerful star is rarely advantageous for a politician in Dravidian politics.

Although Rajnikanth never formally entered politics, he made a film in 1998, Padayappa, where the antagonist was a woman—interpreted by many as a veiled reference to the ousted Jayalalithaa. In the years that followed, there was a reconciliation between the two, with Rajnikanth remaining officially apolitical, though he sporadically made statements in favour of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) until Jayalalithaa’s death.

NTR In Telugu politics, Rajkumar In Karnataka

In the world of Telugu politics, it was the most popular star of the time, NT Rama Rao (NTR), who toppled the Congress in 1983. While there was no narrative of the “persecution of the star” in the assembly battle back then, NTR capitalised on a narrative of the Congress hurting Telugu pride. This political victory still contributes to the stereotype of star power in Southern politics.

Generally, political leaders in Telugu, Tamil and even Kannada politics have treaded carefully when dealing with stars. For example, in Karnataka, Kannada superstar Rajkumar, who stayed away from politics throughout his life, played a significant role in the Gokak agitation for the Kannada language in the early 1980s. This movement contributed to the defeat of the then Congress Chief Minister R. Gundu Rao and the Janata Party’s victory in the 1983 state elections.

While not all stars have been successful in politics, there are enough historical lessons for southern politicians to avoid friction with a star—especially one at the height of his popularity.

What Reddy Can Learn From Stalin

Currently, Tamil Nadu is witnessing the rise of actor Vijay with his political party. Although Vijay has been critical of the ruling DMK, Chief Minister Stalin has refrained from engaging in a war of words. Stalin has even instructed his party, including his son and Deputy Chief Minister Udayanidhi, to avoid getting involved in a public dispute.

Having been a witness to the history of Dravidian politics as the late Karunanidhi’s aide, Stalin understands that politically attacking a star only boosts his or her mass appeal and influence.  

While the Arjun Vs Reddy controversy isn’t electoral in nature—at least not yet—it remains unclear how such a public confrontation erupted in Hyderabad, given the deeply intertwined world of politics and cinema. With close connections, including family linkages, it’s hard to believe this was purely about the stampede. Whatever the reasons, history is a reminder for Revanth Reddy to avoid star-studded confrontations in the future. 

(TM Veeraraghav is Executive Editor, NDTV)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author

The Kerala government has formed a special team to investigate the atrocities faced by women in movie industry. The seven-member team was formed after a high-level meeting of senior police officials was called by Chief Minister Pinarayi Vijayan. The chief minister’s office said the special team will be headed by IG Sparjan Kumar and will include four senior women IPS officers of the state.

Over the last weeks, the Malayalam film industry has been rent by allegations of harassment and sexual abuse on women professionals.

The issue, which has been on the backburner for long, made headlines after the Hema Committee submitted its report after a XX-year investigation.

The 290-page report, commissioned by the Kerala government and headed by retired Justice K Hema in 2017  revealed systemic harassment, abuse, and a “criminal nexus” within the industry.

Shortly after its contents were made public,  director Ranjith Balakrishnan and actor Siddique, have resigned from their positions in the Kerala Chalachitra Academy  and Association of Malayalam Movie Artists (AMMA), amid allegations of misconduct.

Ranjith, a prominent filmmaker and the chairman of the Kerala Chalachitra Academy, had resigned after a Bengal actress accused him of inappropriate behaviour. Ranjith has denied the allegations, claiming that he is the “real victim”.

The Hema Committee report revealed numerous instances of harassment and exploitation of women in the Malayalam film industry, prompting calls for action against the guilty.

What is common to Aavesham, Premalu, Manjummel Boys, Aadujeevitham, Bramayugam, Aranmanai4 and Hanu Man? All these South films were made on budgets ranging from Rs 10 to Rs 40 crore and were blockbusters, with some even collecting over Rs 100 crore. Though South does have big star flicks too, small- and medium-budget films have always been part of the industry’s oeuvre. They form its backbone, and they are what many filmmakers strive for. 

Cut to Bollywood, where after a revival of sorts in 2023, the industry is again seeing itself go kaput this year. Big Hindi films like Maidaan, Bade Miyan Chote Miyan and Chandu Champion fizzled at the box office, stunning filmmakers. On the other hand, medium-budget films like Munjya (Rs 30 crore), Article 370 (Rs 20 crore), Madgaon Express (Rs 30 crore) and Srikanth (Rs 45 crore) turned out to be hits.  Karan Johar and Guneet Monga’s recent release, Kill, made at just Rs 25 crore, is also performing very well at the box office, despite the Kalki 2898 AD juggernaut. 

Also Read | Bollywood Needs To Stop Bleeding Producers Dry. South Has Lessons

Even so, the risk appetite for most producers remains intact as they sign on A-listers and make big-budget, lavish (Rs 80 crore and above) films. But is the box office giving them the desired results? Sadly, no.

What The Audience Wants

It’s no secret that the Hindi film industry has been going through a tough time this year. Many producers and corporates have seriously started introspecting on what needs to change.

In a recent interview, producer and director Karan Johar said that with shifting audience tastes and high filmmaking costs due to inflation, the Hindi film industry and filmmakers must stop chasing trends and write fresh stories that are culturally rooted. “Firstly, the audiences’ tastes have become very definitive. They want a certain kind of cinema. And if you (as a maker) want to do a certain number, then your film has to perform at A, B, and C centres. Multiplexes alone will not suffice. Simultaneously, the cost of filmmaking has increased. There has been inflation. There are about 10 viable actors in Hindi cinema, and they are all asking for the sun, moon, and earth. And then your film doesn’t do the numbers. Those movie stars asking for Rs 35 crore are opening to Rs 3.5 crore. How’s that math working? How do you manage all these? Yet, you have to keep making movies and creating content because you also have to feed your organisation. So, there’s a lot of drama, and the syntax of our cinema has not found its feet,” he said in the interview.

Can’t Just Dismiss Spectacle Cinema

Of the 1,000-odd movies that are released in India each year (across various film industries), most are small- and medium-budget ones. Spectacle movies number just around 12. While they are important for the Hindi film industry and contribute a significant portion to the box office each year, smaller films are also needed to provide a continuous flow of content to distributors and keep the business going. Plus, the risks for the producer are much lower – smaller and mid-budget films are known to give major returns on investment. Thus, a producer needs to be strategic not just in terms of the number of films he finances each year, but also the budgets.

While scale may matter, substance does too. Where the South film industries are scoring sixes after sixes is content. Small and mid-budget flicks give more room to filmmakers and writers to experiment and be more creative with new themes, genres and storylines. Content-driven films do bring the audience to theatres, as seen across states in India.

Also Read | Anurag Kashyap On Actors’ Demands, Entourage Cost: “Car Is Sent Three Hours Away To Get A Five-Star Burger”

This phenomenon was new neither to the South film industry nor to Bollywood. But over the past several decades, Hindi film producers slowly started looking the other way as they felt such films weren’t able to draw enough people to theatres. When the Covid-19 pandemic struck, the burst of OTT platforms changed the game altogether in India.

The Economics Of The Film Industry

Director Gauravv Chawla, who’s known for Adhura and Baazaar, says, “Tentpoles will always be present and should be. As an industry, we need those big films. But these are few and far between because of the time and scale it takes to mount them and the risks of getting them just right. What has been heartening this year is the number of medium-budget films that have performed well at the box office. This used to be the case pre-pandemic too. We need to make sure we build on this audience appreciation by creating more films where content is the star, be it comedy, drama, supernatural or romance. The steadier the flow of these films, the better it will be for all – makers, exhibitors, distributors and audiences.”

From a film distributor’s point of view, it can be said that both big films and small films have been doing well at the box office. Akshaye Rathi, a film exhibitor and distributor, says, “I think it’s important for all sorts of movies to be made. As much as Laapataa Ladies and 12th Fail have done well, these are very niche successes in terms of their geographical impact. These are movies that have done well in 15-20 large cities. For the entire exhibition sector of the country to sustain, you need big-ticket films or tentpole blockbusters like Gadar, Animal, Pathaan and Jawan to set the box office on fire across the length and breadth of the country. Only that will allow the exhibition sector of the country to sustain well. Simultaneously, it’s important for mid-segment and small-budget movies to fill the gap and keep the scorecard ticking between the tentpoles.”

A Healthy Mix

Ultimately, filmmakers in the Hindi industry feel that a mix of movies across genres – and across budgets – is what is needed to keep the audience happy. As Rathi puts it, the more the Hindi film industry churns out just large-scale, big-ticket actioners, the more fatigued the audience will get. Badly made films will not help the industry either. “We need all sorts of genres and styles of film-making to coexist so that there’s something in the cinemas at any given point of time for every audience category,” he adds.

The Hollywood in the 2000s had witnessed a similar situation. Studios had been consolidating budgets to make blockbuster films, and consequently, the number of smaller films reduced drastically on studio ledgers. In 2013, predicting the end of this cycle, director Steven Spielberg warned makers of an ‘implosion’. “There’s going to be an implosion where three or four, or maybe even half a dozen mega-budget movies are going to go crashing into the ground, and that’s going to change the paradigm,” he said. Hollywood ultimately went through an upheaval at the time. Of late, that cycle has re-emerged after COVID-19 as Hollywood studios bat for big blockbusters and mid-range films are premiered directly on OTT platforms.

The bottom line is that movie theatres can’t survive on blockbusters alone, whether it is Hollywood or Bollywood. Perhaps, it is time for the Hindi film industry to rethink its model.

(The author is a senior entertainment journalist and film critic)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author