Mumbai witnessed a milestone for Indian pop music last night as Spotify hosted its first-ever I-Pop Icons LIVE event, marking the streaming platform's debut on-ground activation for the genre. The November 7 showcase brought together some of the country's most exciting pop voices, signalling a major push for independent music beyond Bollywood's shadow.

From Sanju Rathod who opened the night with

to King who closed the night with an unreleased song and 

from Jonita Gandhi who enthralled the 'Jontourage' to Armaan Malik who serenaded the 'Armaanians,' the event had it all. The line up for the night also included artists like Hansika Pareek (

Spotify's Icons: King, Jonita Gandhi, Armaan Malik And More Bring I-Pop Front and Centre

 in 2025 will come to be defined by its range — of genres, tones, and, most strikingly, performances. From folk-inspired superhero epics and intimate family dramas to unsettling horror and bruising thrillers, the year demanded actors who could stretch beyond familiarity. What emerged was a slate of performances that were anything but ordinary: comic turns pitched to controlled absurdity, villains who radiated moral chaos, heroes weighed down by centuries of grief, and everyday people quietly reclaiming agency.

In no particular order, these 11 performances stood out not just for their craft, but for how deeply they shaped the films around them.

Joemon Jothir (Vyasanasametham Bandhumithradhikal)

 is already a dark comedy that’s pitched several notches higher than the average Malayalam movie, but Joemon Jothir finds a unique meter for his performance that’s beyond outlandish. The movie that he has imagined he is a part of appears to be much wilder than the one we are watching, so when the scenes shift from drama towards his sub-plot in a movie filled with crazy characters, we’re already primed to laugh big. That one sequence in which he valiantly hits on a woman twice his age is comedic gold, the sort that keeps you laughing, even when the film moves on to the next scene.

In an ensemble filled with great performances, the emotion of it all gets tied together by Jaya Kurup’s shocking performance as Elsamma in this year’s horror blockbuster 

. If you look from afar, she gets a role reversal of the mother-son dynamic in Alfred Hitchcock’s 

. In this, she gets to take up the duties left behind by Norman Bates in the classic as she looks after a son who has already left her side several months ago. Despite this revelation, she continues to humanise Elsamma. We feel for her and her struggles to keep a part of the only person she has left in this world. And when Rohan (Pranav Mohanlal) offers her his hand towards the end, we hope she finds peace and the strength to move on… all thanks to how Jaya was able to find a broken person within layers of evil. 

As Yohannan, Dileesh delivers the strongest performance of his career, as a person so jaded by his profession that he has become unrecognisable to himself. It’s a strange and complex character that requires a balance between the naive innocent cub officer he once was, and the corrupt and practical realist he has turned into today. And yet, through his micro-expressions, we see him flicker through both personalities as he finds traces of humanity in him to protect and preserve the goodness within Dinnath (

The villain of the year is an easy guess because of how Prakash Varma chose to play George sir, a man so evil that one has no clue about what he is plotting next. He makes a remarkable debut, one that stands out even amidst Mohanlal’s commanding lead, contributing to the thriller’s enjoyable mix of massy action and grounded emotion. His intensity and screen presence help make his character unforgettable, elevating his scenes to a degree rarely seen in similar films of the genre. George appears to not have a moral compass, and is so broken that there’s no limits to the evil he has already committed.

Maybe the audience was just not ready for a film like Altaf Salim’s 

. It’s a slapstick comedy about a group of manic depressives and their leader seems to be Lal who plays Mathew Thalachirayil, a man still grieving after losing his wife several years ago. When we meet him first, it appears to be a very happy occasion as his son gets ready to get married. And still, the only thing on Mathew’s mind is to use that chance to take his own life, just so he can be with his one true love. It’s a mad film and the pitch of Lal’s performance is so perfect that almost every single scene of his (including the T-shirts he wears in the film) have gone viral, assuming a separate identity that’s as big as the film. 

Joju George (Narayaneente Moonnaanmakkal)

 is not a film that will leave you easily. Even months after you first watch it, you find yourself thinking and then re-thinking the hidden meanings behind certain pauses and the choice to use certain words in what appear to be extremely personal and difficult conversations. Of these, Sethu, the character played by 

, becomes the most difficult to not remember. He’s the youngest of three brothers and you see all the residual dread from having been treated poorly all through his life. And in that scene where he opens up about life to his niece and nephew over a joint, we realise the depths of this man’s understanding and his sensitive perspective towards life. A man with a heart so pure is bound to be torn apart in a world so heartless.

Kalyani Priyadarshan (Lokah Chapter One: Chandra)

It’s not easy to understand the craft that’s gone into 

 One assumes that everything about playing a superhero has to do with pulling off mean action sequences in cool-looking costumes but Chandra needed more layers to make her convincing. The film became the 

 of all time, but Kalyani Priyadarshini needed to pitch her role in a manner in which there’s absolutely nothing heroic about the life she’s leading. She may be all-powerful and immortal, yet you see centuries worth of pain hidden beneath this. But can a superhero ever truly be a character straight of a Greek tragedy? Kalyani seems to have figured it out. 

In a year that belonged almost entirely to Mohanlal, it’s not easy to single out one performance as his best. Benz from 

 may be the most obvious pick for anyone who has grown up watching his films. But I’d make the case for his performance as Sandeep in 

. Firstly, it’s not a film that comes with dramatic moments that require a heavy-lifting performance. And yet he carries the film on his shoulders like its made of feathers. He pours in so much earnestness into the film’s final speech that you forget there’s anything else other than the man on screen holding fort for close to 10 minutes. Even to compose shots like the film’s many lunch/dinner sequences, the ones in which Mohanlal is planted to the far-left corner of the frame, makes sense only because every inch of his being is built to act.

 delivered a powerful, scene-stealing performance that anchors the film’s unpredictable narrative, transforming what could have been a quirky village drama into a stressful, high-stakes character study. His portrayal of the mysterious PP Ajesh (based on a real person who is still missing) is central to the film’s emotional texture, making the audience constantly reassess their allegiance to him as the story unfolds. Initially appearing comical with traits like alcoholism and slapstick behaviour, Ajesh gradually reveals deeper layers of vulnerability, resilience, and moral ambiguity that Joseph conveys with remarkable subtlety.

The man is in more than 400 films in his four decades as a mega star and yet he finds traces to his personality that we’ve not yet discovered. His performance in the riveting serial killer thriller deserves all the praise for making his character the most hateful character of the year. It’s arguably the most unsettling performance of his distinguished career, embracing a role that subverts his traditional star persona with chilling precision and layered menace. 

 anchors the narrative, embodying both the seductive ease of a debonair and the cold ruthlessness of a murderer in a single, fluid performance. Rather than relying on overt backstory or theatrical gestures, the actor lets subtle expressions and an eerie calmness articulate the terrifying duality of his character. This restraint is central to why Mammootty steals the film— making the audience as fascinated by him as they are horrified.

The State award-winning performance of the year deserves all the praise coming her way. It’s a film built on such simple everyday emotions that it’s easy to miss the slow, gradual transformation Fathima has to undergo. It’s almost like she’s being forced to take control of her life after what appears to be something as unusual as her son’s bed wetting habit. It all seems so simple and easy yet so much happens in the backdrop that it’s incredible that Shamla was able to capture the essence of it all even when she has just started out in her career.

The Best Malayalam Film Performances Of 2025

Politely put, it’s been a noisy year for Hindi cinema. And I’m not even talking about the fun soundtracks. It’s slim pickings (most Bollywood year-enders begin like this) in terms of artistic merit, if not box-office glow. But merge it with the streaming calendar, and there’s been no dearth of fine acting. It’s a season of stacked ensembles — where everyone is so good that nobody is better — and gritty indie releases. The range of performances across mediums is always a silver lining, even when the titles themselves stumble in pursuit of popular validation. But for every divisive and button-pushing hit, there’s a 

to normalise the margins. They may not have set the cash registers ringing, but they have the sort of archival value that manufactured blockbusters can only dream of.  

Regardless of templates, who can deny us the diversity of characters? Primary, secondary, third wheels. A dying friend who gets to fly in a film within a film. A guilt-riddled husband playing the fool in Goa to win back his angry wife. A contract killer who works for the honour of his upper-caste peers. A sheltered girl who hears on a phone-call that her homebound soulmate is dead. A Delhi cop, numbed by grief, waiting for the coffin of his Muslim protege. A pragmatic inspector resisting marriage because the kundlis don’t match. An Alzheimer's-afflicted lover leaving to protect her rockstar boyfriend. A swaggy Pakistani gangster whose ego prevents him from detecting a spy in their midst. A woman constable possessed by the trauma of having a drug-addicted son. An orchard-owning patriarch soaring off a mountain ramp with mechanical wings. Say what you will about Bollywood’s funk, it’s been a buffet of humans on screen — the faces are doing what the narratives cannot. On that note, here are 10 of my favourite Hindi-language performances in 2025, across films and shows, ranked in ascending order:

, a child’s emotional crisis sends her dysfunctional adult family to therapy. There are five members, but one of them is cursed with the multitudes of modern womanhood. Girija Oak’s Neeti is the overattentive mom, frustrated wife, bitter daughter-in-law, resentful daughter and overqualified homemaker. All of her identities are forced to co-exist in a Punjabi household of skewed gender dynamics. The actor plays an angry character who is seldom reduced to her ‘theatricality’; there’s a history of sacrifice and unreciprocated promises in every argument she makes, every accusation she absorbs and every tear she sheds. There’s also a sense of continuity between each of her selves; you can tell that Neeti’s mood merely transitions from one space to the next. She misses the person she was, the marriage she had and the future she dreamed of. Yet she is stuck by choice rather than duty: a rare glimpse of surrogate agency in which the person reverse-engineers her feelings to justify her compromise. Oak is especially intense as the partner of a man who thinks he’s the tortured protagonist of his own story. A marital showdown — in which she spits truths with venom and verve — yanks the minor-key series out of its conflict-resolution aesthetic. It almost unfolds as a punchline to Oak’s recent fame as “national crush” in a male-dominated country. 

An arrogant urban guy who ‘learns a lesson’ in a hostile hinterland is Hindi cinema’s version of the eat-the-rich trope. Abhishek Banerjee is this guy in 

-coded survival thriller that smartly milks its own blind spots. His character wants nothing to do with the central premise of a tribal woman who’s lost her baby, but he is quickly sucked into a vortex of prejudice and violence; his armchair privilege is beaten into submission by the time the film ends. Banerjee doesn’t milk the stereotype. He echoes the man’s loss of control and dignity in the most primal ways, almost as if he’s compensating for the camera choosing to follow him instead of the woman whose tragedy it is. It’s a skilled performance, mainly because of how the actor invokes the culpability of his character through the lens of a genre that often glorifies such trial-by-fire journeys. He remains flawed even after he’s battered and enlightened: a tightrope walk that allows the film to be more confessional than others of its ilk. He’s also responsible for one of the great almost-deaths of the year. A scene where a mob tears into him has many social implications, but Banerjee somehow makes us root for neither side in a nation that flaunts its blood instead of treating it.   

 is a difficult and occasionally gentle exploration of the politics of lust in small-town India. Its protagonist is male, lonely, frustrated, self-destructive, and pursues sex as a medicine to cure his repression. He achieves his carnal awakening through a tryst with a polio-afflicted widow named Priti. A formidable Priyanka Bose plays Priti as far more than an enigma and a device in someone else’s story. From the way she looks at him, speaks to him and straddles him in bed, you can tell that she is the driver of her own fate; she sees him as a way out, like he sees her as a way in. During their frantic sexual encounters, her body seems to provide answers to questions he isn’t even asking. It’s a performance full of moral ambiguity and thin lines, one that seldom boxes womanhood into a cage of easy binaries. She is both kind and manipulative, selfish and sincere, lover and loather, outcast and mole, homewrecker and partner. The suspense isn’t in the fact that Priti keeps us guessing; it’s in how she infiltrates her way into a setting that stigmatises ‘complicated’ women like her.  

7) Ahaan Panday and Aneet Padda (Saiyaara)

Given that our love for this love story transcends logic, it’s only fair that the inclusion of both actors as ‘one performance’ defies the rules of such lists. It’s also an appropriately romantic touch — one cannot exist without the other, just as joy cannot exist without sadness, just as art cannot exist without desire and propaganda cannot exist without craft. You could argue that 

 is sprinkled with shinier stardust, but seeing them in isolation defeats the point of 

— a duet resisting the destiny of a solo career. Krish Kapoor and Vaani Batra became the phenomenon of the summer, pitting the microaggressions of modern attachment against the musicality of vintage feelings. It’s almost like they’re daring to be sappy in an age of keypad gratifications. The story of a trendy couple torn between heart and mind — between falling and forgetting — is familiar, but the chemistry between the leads is replete with newness and discovery. The arc of a troubled rockstar softened by the threat of anonymity is personalised, but conventions aside, it’s been a while since a mainstream pair urged viewers to be swept away on vibes alone. I’m almost 40, but being a 

has generated much discourse — from the calibrated caste dynamics, the film’s title and cultural translation to the censor struggles, altered climax and an agency-forward female protagonist. In the process, 

’s performance as a Dalit law student activated by love might have gone under the radar. When his character, Neelesh, falls for upper-caste girl Vidhi, he behaves like the hero of a mainstream romance: apolitical, musical, dreamy, delirious, equal. But the film keeps puncturing his delusions every time he threatens to take off. He remains in denial, head down, the outcast who aims to mind his own business and offend noone — until he realises that silence is his burden, not his privilege. Chaturvedi’s return to form supplies the character’s awakening; his activism becomes a consequence of the humiliation he suffers for daring to feel. There’s an expression that stays with me: Neelesh sympathetically cups Vidhi’s face when they’re exchanging stories of trauma. She speaks of her mother’s death, almost to ‘compete’ with his sadness, but he is genuinely moved — his reaction is anything but patronising, as if he’s just learned that first-world problems are problems too.

I can’t think of an uncannier casting choice this year than 

 — he of the diminutive frame, blue-blooded heritage and movie-star face — playing the role of a fresh-faced Tihar jailer in a 1980s anti-narrative. His real-life character, Sunil Gupta, is fraught with a crisis of Indian masculinity; he is short, soft, unassuming and sensitive in a hostile environment that’s designed to swallow him whole. The image is supplied by Kapoor’s unconventional presence as an artiste in the illustrious Kapoor family. At first, he plays Sunil as someone willing to be molded by the setting and faking authority to fit in; criminals prey on his insecurities and empathy, as do rugged colleagues and bosses. But as the series progresses, it’s Sunil who ends up influencing the job — like the beta-hero of a workspace drama unburdened by the limits of non-fiction. The performer and jailer become indistinguishable from each other, injecting the episodic series with character-based stakes. It’s as much a microcosm of India as a portrait of a dysfunctional ‘family’ in an India that’s wired to neglect its margins. Kapoor’s perceived weakness — like 

What’s an acting list without Radhika Apte? In perhaps the most unhinged and genre-fluid Indian film of the year, Apte delivers a wry and delightfully loose-tongued performance as a woman who satirises the perils of arranged marriage. It’s as if she’s Frankenstein’s Monster and feminist warrior at once, without trivializing either of the tones. As a viewer, one isn’t sure whether to laugh, gasp or gag in horror at her deadpan antics as a famished fable-like figure stalking the night streets of Mumbai. Is she crazy, cannibalistic, eccentric, attention-seeking or just…normal? And that’s the essence of any great turn: it escapes labels and lets the audience live in the unpredictability of a moment, from one scene to another, regardless of how the dots join. The movie itself goes with her flow, tethering the character’s occupation of spaces and spirals with Apte’s scenery-chewing talent. The wild and provocative filmmaking keeps up with her feral ways. After a point, it becomes about the wife’s descent into freedom as well as her shapeless audacity; what doesn’t kill her only makes her stronger — and stranger. Against all the odds, she conveys a linearity of longing. 

’s performance in Neeraj Ghaywan’s drama stands testament to the fact that emotional integrity — not cultural authenticity, not historical accuracy, not even body language — is the key to a film’s relationship with an actor. His depiction of a marginalised young man defined by designations — best friend, Muslim dreamer, son, migrant, aspirant, lockdown struggler, griever — cements the film’s pro-humanity approach in a politically charged setting. It becomes about right and wrong, not left and right, thanks to Khatter’s intuitive embrace of a character who is never reduced to any single trajectory. He is at once an unwitting protagonist of several real-time tragedies, but not once does the toll of existing in a fractured India hijack the covert hope of his journey. There’s a truth to him that allows 

to expand the boundaries of adaptation and commentary; every conflict is inherent, not earned or accumulated. Men like Khatter’s Mohammed Shoaib Ali will continue to live as an act of resistance and resist as an act of living. In keeping with the film’s Oscar ambitions, it’s fair to say that there is simply no other choice for him; it’s one battle after another. 

The remarkable aspect of Ahlawat’s performance as journeyman cop Hathiram Chaudhary is that, across two seasons, the man is humbled by his own moral spine. Being an unlikely hero or a pawn burdened by one’s own conscience is one thing, but Ahlawat plays him as someone who isn’t supposed to be so human. The character has all the traits of a corrupt-inspector stereotype: sloppy, foul-mouthed, unfit, Haryanvi, cynical, even patriarchal. But he knows better. He keeps defying the odds — and his own physicality — to do his job in a system rigged against him; he could be a journalist in a post-truth media landscape, but his untucked uniform searches for his frame. While stumbling through the North-East in Season 2, Ahlawat’s Hathiram is confronted with all the ammo to sell out. It’s easier. But that one scene in the car with former-subordinate-turned-superior Imran Ansari encapsulates the poignant dissonance of the character. Hathiram has discovered that Ansari is gay, there is tension, Ansari expects hostility, and yet in that single moment, the Jatt slob defies decades of regressive conditioning to deliver the most tender ‘advice’ possible. He reacts more like a father who’s disappointed in the fact that he wasn’t trusted enough (reminiscent of Patrick’s coming-out scene in 

). Never before has the sentiment “follow your heart” felt so valid. Never has the finality of a bond been this disarming.  

It’s only fitting that the best Hindi series of the year features the most impressive performance of the year. 

 stars Monika Panwar as a real-world protagonist stranded between identities: the natural and the supernatural, trauma and truth, succumber and survivor. Panwar’s Madhu is a small-town striver who moves into a spooky ladies’ hostel in big bad Delhi, haunted by the scars of sexual abuse and makeshift agency. But the actual horror isn’t the paranormal happenings of her room where a previous occupant once lived; it’s the everyday male gaze, the dark subways, the lecherous bus rides, the late-night walks to the hostel, the suspicion towards a woke man who resembles her abuser, a boyfriend who may or may not have ulterior motives. Panwar is devastatingly present as the fragile and oddly resilient girl in a moody narrative that argues how even the genre of afterlife-revenge stories is no longer the domain of the oppressed. You can tell she’s been through a lot. You assume she is possessed by the spirit of a wronged victim looking for justice, but her body becomes an unconsenting medium for the monster instead. Panwar nails Madhu’s battlefield-like aura, where her womanhood battles an invasive masculine ghost. Her turn is complex, chilling and humane despite the plurality of the premise. She is both the hunted and the hunter, bleeding into the screen even when she can’t be seen.  

Vatsa’s Chhaya Kadam-level year has resulted in two outstanding peripheral performances — as a gruff-but-maternal warden in 

Sanjay Kumar Sahu (Black, White & Grey — Love Kills)

The reason the viewer stays in the dark about the format of this ingeniously mounted show — a “fictional mockumentary” where everything, including reality, is staged — is because of Sanjay Kumar Sahu’s eerily clever performance as a suspect in a piece-to-camera interview. I dare you to tell the difference.  

Playing an ISI chief in an Indian espionage thriller isn't exactly a playground of possibility, but Hinduja sinks his teeth into the role of an edgy Pakistani patriot in a cat-and-mouse chase with his own ideology. It's an enjoyable turn in a merciful-but-uneven spy series.  

Farida Jalal (The Great Shamsuddin Family)

It’s hard to single out a performance in an ensemble, but watching Farida Jalal seamlessly weave between conversations, provocations and moods like a judgey matriarch in a chamber drama is balm for the bruised Bollywood soul.

As a mentally unstable ex-con desperate for the validation of his older brother, Mathew thrives on a heady fusion of innocence, shrewdness and no-rules acting. The show is middling at best, but Mathew humanises the sociopath without exaggerating his tics.

As a dying dreamer in a gang of clashing voices, Arora wears the silence of someone whose unconditional love unlocks the distance of male friendships.

The 10 Best Hindi Performances of 2025, Ranked

Filmmaker James Cameron arrived this Friday with the third instalment of his ambitious 

franchise and the result in India, at least on day one, wasn't as fiery. 

minted an estimated  ₹20 crore net all-India on Friday, which is a solid number for a standalone Hollywood title, but is at least 50 percent less than what 

According to trade, despite being released widely, including in premium formats like IMAX and 4DX, the film was impacted by the 

wave. The Aditya Dhar directorial remained unstoppable even in its third weekend as it minted more than 

 netted over ₹23 crore on its 15th day, showing a historic hold. According to the official collections, the film has now entered the ₹500 crore club as the total so far stands at ₹503 crore. The Ranveer Singh-led spy thriller is on track to break all records for an original Hindi film in the coming weeks and will continue to pose a threat to 

There are tanks, guns, bullets, a battlefield and blood, but Sriram Raghavan, loved for his delicious thrillers, wouldn't have made his maiden 

if he didn't see the "spine of storytelling" in the film.

was an idea that producer Dinesh Vijan approached Raghavan with, before even 

 had released. After the release, the director was toying with either making 

or diving into the adrenaline-pumping, emotional world of 

which chronicles the extraordinary true story of Second Lieutenant Arun Khetarpal, India’s youngest Param Vir Chakra awardee.

started taking shape pre-pandemic, with Varun Dhawan on board to headline it. Raghavan watched war cinema from across the world, revisiting classics like 

The prep was on and the team was ready to go on floors, when the pandemic hit. The film was paused, and then, once it was safe to resume, Dhawan had naturally aged. So then came on board Agastya Nanda, who trained extensively for six months to get the part right.

Raghavan wanted to get the grammar of the genre right, but focus on storytelling, and not just the action-packed part of war epics. The ask was also very specific: to ensure that the tanks didn't look like they were from "Cartoon Network", the team laughs.

The new trailer, sources say, is reflective of the two halves of the film—an emotional anchor which the first visual unit teased and the adrenaline of being inside a tank which the new asset unleashes. "It’s the best film the production house has made," is the sentiment on the ground.

Lights, Camera, Scoop: 'Dhurandhar' Holds 'Avatar: Fire and Ash' at Box-Office; How Sriram Raghavan Prepped For War Film 'Ikkis'

This year marks the birth centenary of Ritwik Ghatak, the Bengali filmmaker whose explorations of Partition trauma, social realities and working-class struggle established him as one of Indian cinema’s great auteurs.

Best known for works such as his trilogy on the Partition — 

(1965) — he influenced everyone from Satyajit Ray to Mani Kaul. To celebrate his centenary, Westland Publications has released 

, edited by sports journalist Shamya Dasgupta, bringing together artistes, academics, actors and journalists writing about their encounters with the director. These 50 essays celebrate Ghatak through reflections and expressions of love.

The following essay — written by Ghatak

in 1968 — outlines his vision for a film about Vietnam that would be shot entirely in Calcutta (now Kolkata), connecting the American War in Southeast Asia to the struggles of Bengal’s impoverished. The film was never made, but the essay remains a document of revolutionary imagination.

The idea of making a film about Vietnam is a particularly difficult — and intensely sacred — one for any film director today. Tossing off a casual remark on the subject without going deep into the matter, or before examining the complete information on Vietnam, is either insanity or travesty. It is this travesty that I have to commit now.

My knowledge of Vietnam runs only as far as newspapers, some photographs and analyses of the news in a few magazines go. Leave alone Vietnam, I haven’t ever been anywhere in Southeast Asia. So, when it comes to the source of Vietnam’s abundant spirit of life, I can only discuss it at my desk, I cannot capture its pulse. Still, somewhere, somehow, I have been given an indication that this is an event that will change the pages of history. In some way, it seems to me, Vietnam will profoundly change something for the world.

One more thing. To make a film, I have to be confined to Calcutta or to Bengal. Not only do I not think of this as a problem, but, on the contrary, it also signals the shining possibility of being a primary condition for creative art.

From the perspective of what little I have perceived of Vietnam, the battle there is also our battle. The same struggle is being waged here. Vietnam is the symbol of resistance against all kinds of oppression in today’s world. Actually, terming it a symbol would be wrong; it is the most extended form of this resistance. The suffering and tears in our own country are extensions of the Vietnam War. American imperialists have not understood this, which is why Vietnam has stunned them. Or, one might say, turned them into mad dogs.

I’m told that some film-makers in a country across the seas are planning films on Vietnam, and some have even made them. I’m not talking here about documentary journalists, who have presented with great power the visible war in Vietnam. I’m referring to those in a distant country, who are trying to participate in Vietnam on the strength of their brains alone. In my opinion, they are bound to fail. I have had the fortune of watching a film on Hiroshima made by someone from this class of directors. This is the film that has led me to such a conclusion.

I recall something else as well. A renowned French director has expressed a desire to make a film on Vietnam. Several years ago, he had been given a proposal to make a film on Napoleon’s life. Not the Napoleon of the battlefield, he had said then, nor the wars themselves—what had appeared more meaningful and artistically inspiring to him was the couch on which Napoleon had sex with women. He would begin his film with this couch. I tremble at the very thought of what might ensue if Vietnam were to fall into the hands of such people.

For, given its involvement with many other things, Vietnam has also turned into something else that’s lethal — fashionable. So-called intellectuals have begun to jump up and down about Vietnam. They will never be able to grasp Vietnam’s tears of blood, and its resolve tempered in fire. Because, just like the American imperialists, they can never place their fingers on Vietnam’s pulse. Like ikebana or terracotta horses, their study of Vietnam allows them to remain ‘ultra-modern’. Even amidst all of this, they might manifest the terrifying tendency of being caught up in so-called human relations. May god bless them.

Now let me consider how I would move forward with my own film. These are, of course, entirely disorganised thoughts.

A mother, with her sick child beside her. A voice outside. The mother pours out some hooch from a pot in the corner and takes it out.

Outside, smoke rises from a freshly lit clay oven. The mother offers the bowl of hooch to a man.

A police whistle drowns the cries of the child. Several people run up and surround them.

Police whistles … the child’s crying …

An American bomber plane. Split into two halves mid-air. About to plunge to the ground. (Seen in a still image, of course, for I always want to present the real war in Vietnam through stills. I will modulate these to the rhythms of living, moving images of the country.)

With this beginning, I want to show the helpless crimes of the impoverished in our country, which we normally avoid when we give the fighting spirit of the common people a stylish appearance for public presentation. I will reveal the entire picture of reality—the causal relationships between these so-called crimes, which are the lowest expression of the harsh realities of our fighting masses. The images of Vietnam will accompany them as explanation.

Then I will move to another episode, where I will depict the dreams of the downtrodden as just that — dreams. These segments will be based entirely on music and partly on dance. I will make no reference to reality here. As punctuation, there will be a succession of images of the brave girls and boys of Vietnam and of Algeria’s National Liberation Front. As though they are determined to ensure that these dreams materialise. I will end this episode with a scene of musical joy and exuberance, with thousands of tender young children dancing. Their dancing and freedom fighters leaping over trenches will be choreographed to the same rhythm.

Now to the final episode. Here I will emphasise the presentation of the people as fighters. There will be full-throated recitations of Ho Chi Minh’s poetry in translation, and scenes of the buoyant accomplishments of the combating and toiling masses will flow past our eyes. This ebullience is the elation of fulfilling the dreams presented in the previous episode.

Here I will try to capture that very pulse of life, which is a mystery to oppressors. The same survival spirit that sends roots into the earth and absorbs nutrition from it, the same survival spirit that is born in hard steel and the sweat of the body, the same survival spirit that exists in the depths of meditation — where there is profound peace — I will try to give it shape in the film.

I do not know if I will succeed, but I will try.

A young man who has been shot. Maybe a student, maybe a peasant. His agonised but elated screams will be borne to us, and he will collapse. Even in the face of death, he will clutch the earth with both his hands. My camera will go beyond his hands to his clotted blood — which the earth sucks in.

Another Vietnam is being born there. A Vietnam that is immortal.

This essay was originally published in Anandabazar Patrika in 1968.

Translated by Arunava Sinha; Introduction text by Prathyush Parasuraman.

Arunava Sinha translates classic, modern and contemporary fiction, non-fiction and poetry from Bengali and Hindi into English, and fiction and poetry from English and Hindi into Bengali. Over ninety-five of his translations have been published globally so far. He teaches at Ashoka University, where he is also the co-director of the Ashoka Centre for Translation, and is the books editor at

To read more exclusive stories from The Hollywood Reporter India's December 2025 print issue, pick up a copy of the magazine from your nearest book store or newspaper stand.

'Unmechanical: Ritwik Ghatak in 50 Fragments': A Document of Revolutionary Imagination

, has pulled off a rare box-office feat. The spy-actioner has recorded the highest collection witnessed in Indian cinema on a film's second Friday, beating the mighty 

, Akshaye Khanna, R Madhavan, Arjun Rampal and Sanjay Dutt,  the film is estimated to have earned ₹33 to 35 crore on its second Friday, comfortably above its opening-day haul of ₹28 crore. The figure surpasses 

’s second-Friday net of approximately ₹28 crore, achieved last December.

which picked up unprecedented momentum despite not setting records on the opening day, is now on track to script newer benchmarks, including registering the highest-grossing second week of all time, estimated to be around ₹120-130 cr.

The film is expected to cross ₹300 cr domestic total by Sunday, after which the stage will be set for its sure-shot entry to the ₹500 cr club (India), and then the film could go higher and chase down records set by films like 

that if the "experiment" works, he will put his might behind more such projects, including feature films as well as season two of the show. And now, things are on track.

Headlined by Gulshan Devaiah, Neha Dhupia, Manoj Pahwa, Seema Pahwa, and Girija Oak, among others, 

launched on YouTube under a structured pay model, with the first two episodes available for free. 

Tripathi had confessed that he came on board to present the show because of its subject, but was curious to know how the series, and specifically the model of viewers unlocking the remaining episodes through a single one-time ₹59 purchase, would pan out.

"It is a risk, because the storytelling and theme of a family going to therapy is what we are confident about, but how will this pan out?  The streaming space is cluttered and we are trying to do something novel with this. If it lands, I will do many more of this," Tripathi had said.

Now, the actor has confirmed that the series, backed by Ajay Rai, will return for a new season, with the cast, script, and production timelines expected to be locked in a month. Talking to 

, Tripathi said he was thrilled to see the audience "embrace the story and its message," and he was "happy to extend" his support for the next season as well. "We look forward to bringing an even more impactful chapter.”

Lights, Camera, Scoop: 'Dhurandhar' Scripts Box-Office History; Pankaj Tripathi Greenlights 'Perfect Family' Sequel

Of the many actors that have found acceptance and acclaim in the OTT space, Huma Qureshi is a name that’s gone under the radar. Post-

 (2014), mainstream Hindi cinema sort of fumbled her, which is why it’s been refreshing to see her have one streaming moment after another over the years.

This last month has been one of those moments; every format has had a 

 release. There have been the films — a scene-stealing role in 

 the headlining of the surprisingly solid 

. And, of course, the very popular shows. Qureshi has grown from strength to strength as the star of the Sony LIV hit 

; it’s not often a female-led political drama is renewed year after year, both on screen and off it.

Her depiction of Bihar Chief Minister Rani Bharti, who now enters the realm of national politics, has slowly become its own entity. What started as a patchy inspired-by-real-events and spot-the-minister journey is now a world driven by Qureshi and her conviction in the flashy material. Her screen presence is an under-appreciated weapon, and she employs it to elevate the show’s mid-budget aesthetic. And then there’s her victim-and-monster-of-system act as a Haryanvi trafficking kingpin in 

. She resists the temptation of overcooking the character, despite the writing that often leans into villain-coded gimmicks.

Qureshi nails the balance between lover and hustler, oppressor and survivor, as if she’s allowing two different versions of the same woman to compete with each other. It’s a smart and culturally interpretative performance, and one of the few bright spots of a crime series that struggles to live up to its own legacy. 

That’s been one of the themes in this streaming year. It’s been an outstanding time for new, original shows and opening salvos — first (and hopefully not the last) seasons of 

, Khauf, The Hunt and Black, White & Gray

 have left an indelible mark in terms of expanding the boundaries of storytelling. And that was just the first half of the year. But it’s the franchises — shows that started with a similar bang — that have yielded mixed results. While 

 Season 3 were crafty and watchable, you can tell that they are creaking under the pressure of their own high bars and templates; it doesn’t help that both seasons have eerily similar settings (North-East India) and plots, and the actor who plays the protagonist of one show is the antagonist in the next. Regardless of the results, this shared-universe syndrome is a sign of how most Indian cop and spy thrillers are finding it difficult to explore new political and social ground in 2025.

They tend to say the same thing in different ways and with different brushes; it’s not the fault of the creators of course. We’re finally seeing a direct effect on originality and expression, given the sensitive and censored times we live in. 

. Season three runs out of ideas before it begins, and there’s a subtle shift in ideology and tone — veering more towards glorification than humanisation of the cops — this time around. In isolation, it’s a middling and functional watch: solid in parts, convoluted in others. But it doesn’t have the advantage that something like 

 does: levity. The relentless intensity and gender expression of 

 is both its strength and weakness. But it has no new things to say, which is why there’s an emphasis on the moral fibre of its characters rather than the ‘adaptation’ of the tragedies it’s inspired by.

, that bittersweet social comedy that’s lost steam and painted itself into a privatised corner. These two were arguably the most anticipated Indian shows of 2025. And it says something that neither would make a year-ender of the finest Hindi web series alone. After all, you either die a hero or live long enough to become intellectual property and content.

Season 2 coming soon, one can only hope for the bucking of this trend. As we head into the new year, it’s not a race against time. It’s still safe to say that the cream of Hindi cinema is found in the long-format space. The movies may be faltering and stuck in a herd-mentality loop, but the shows keep the flag flying — whatever that flag may look like today.

The inversely proportional relationship between the two formats has been the case since 2019. Having seen the landscape evolve, plateau, search, flounder and thrive for the last 10 years, however, I can confirm that Bollywood’s loss is always going to be streaming’s gain.

2025 in Indian Streaming: A Year of Mixed Triumphs, Bold Beginnings and Stalling Sequels

 (swear on bread fritters)” and the lovely piano tune during modern Hindi cinema’s most heartfelt kiss. I hear the bustle of Janakpuri, smell the privilege of Sainik Farms, and sense the chemistry between two newcomers (one newer than the other) on the brink of fame.

That’s the currency of a trendsetting entertainer. It becomes its own cultural lexicon or, as the kids today call it: a vibe. 

And the more formal markers become a quiet resident of this package — Maneesh Sharma’s directorial debut, Ranveer Singh’s acting debut, 

’s breakout role, Salim-Sulaiman’s criminally catchy soundtrack, and editor Namrata Rao’s pre-

 (YRF) gamechanger, or the spiritual ancestor of the wedding-planner template of

. The story of Bittoo Sharma and Shruti Kakkar remains remarkable for its gender balance, the subversion of the slacker-saved-by-selfless-woman trope, the musicality of its energy, and the fluid staging of West Delhi as a character trait. But just as it takes a village to raise a child, it took a genre of community to craft the success of this film. Back then, the cinema of middle-class mobility was at its peak in Bollywood.

 felt like the culmination of a genre that reflected the ambitions of a young India no longer shackled by conventional aspiration and blueprint careers.

Early on, a posh wedding planner calls out for an employee named ‘Dibakar’, a nod to the director that triggered this movement with gems like 

felt like the lovechild of two particular YRF productions: the cultural lineage of writer Habib Faisal’s directorial debut 

 combined with the self-employed grit of 

 While many of these movies had found critical acclaim and a cult following over time, they were far from box-office ringers in the late 2000s. You can tell that 

 is a producer-calibrated version of the titles. That’s not to say it’s compromised in any capacity; it’s just designed to be more commercially accessible. It’s a rare mainstream update that retains the soul of its lesser-watched predecessors.

For instance, the sharp entrepreneurial drama of 

 is custom-fitted with a rom-com angle. Everything is a little more glamorous. An underdog’s coming-of-age conflict is replaced by the more orthodox complications of business partners who grow feelings for each other. There’s a bit of 

 in their friends-with-emotional-benefits dynamic: a go-getter girl and drifter boy course-correcting one another. A Mumbai-based computer company is replaced by a visually diverse profession that offers a license for colour, song-and-dance gigs and multiple class settings. Some of the memorable 

 characters reappear in not-so-different avatars: Neeraj Sood as a veteran vendor, Manish Choudhary as a pompous client. Shruti’s declaration to an ex-boss — “We will meet in the market” — is a direct shoutout to the universe they share.

The biggest sign of this formula expansion emerges right off the bat. One of Bittoo’s first scenes features him crashing a wedding for a freebie dinner with two hostel friends — a moment that immediately invokes 3 Idiots-sized adjustments. It becomes clear that this film is searching for a larger lens to project the smaller stories that YRF was already telling. The love story is turned into the foreground, not the backdrop it usually tends to be in social commentary-driven vehicles and entrepreneurial dramas. For a change, it’s the right kind of evolution. The tense relationship between the two young leads seamlessly informs the challenges of starting and running a scale-driven business. (Their ‘Shaadi Mubarak’ office, at least on the outside, looks like the cyber cafe that Shah Rukh Khan’s Gaurav Chandna runs in Maneesh Sharma’s 

years later.) Even the entitlement of the cute and guileless boy panicking at first — only to want her when he realises she’s planning a future with someone else — is the narrative ancestor of many of the Ranbir Kapoor heroes that followed. 

The decision to base the whole conflict around one night of passion is fascinating. Shruti refuses to be a crossed-connection tragic story after that, instead unleashing her North-flavoured ego to destroy him rather than silently pining for them. (The roles were reversed in 

 where the hero’s tantrum defined the story). The gap between a man’s denial and a woman’s acceptance is cleverly used in a film that finds the sweet spot between two genres. The fate of their company is inextricably linked to their juvenile exploration of love. Neither of them is equipped to deal with the consequences of their personalities beyond the work it inspires.

doesn’t feel like one of those homage-filled, meta-Bollywood odes is because its riffs are internal. It’s not for show. It learns from its elders and still manages to be its own person. If anything, it legitimised their heritage and played a role in the slow-burning popularity of the Dibakar Banerjee movies, the niche 

. So many of the city’s establishment shots — where we see two lives on a collision course in a Raj-and-Simran-styled template — feature the Delhi metro and other modes of transport, literalising the mobility that the story goes on to excavate. In these portions, Bittoo seems to be the guy who’s idolised flimsy campus movies, while Shruti is the one creating her own narrative. That he hitches a ride on her wagon before she begins to respect — and therefore love — him is one of the film’s many little touches that do not get drowned out by the noisy exterior. It resists the temptation of exotic destination weddings, staying rooted in the brackets of a region that equates the spectacle of a wedding with the illusion of prosperity and societal value. It’s no coincidence that Sharma’s 

(2016), his most ambitious film, lost steam the second it left local shores in its second half.

 is also immensely rewatchable, because it introduced the restless stardom of Ranveer Singh at a time when the Bombay industry was more welcoming of outside talent. Most new voices arrived with the hope of being launched by a legacy production house, yet there were directors like Anurag Kashyap, Sriram Raghavan and Vishal Bhardwaj who challenged celebrityhood with the clinicality of craft. As Bittoo, Singh looked shapeless in the best way possible. Before entering the race of next-gen superstars, both Sharma and him manufactured a snappy-Delhi-romcom oeuvre so effective that it sprung several pretenders and lesser imitations over the coming decade. It was as if

was both Frankenstein and the evocative creature brought to life from the debris of previous aspirants.

Fifteen years later, today, I’m certain that a movie like this would be oblivious to its own derived originality. We live in a vastly changed India, one where marriage stories have acquired the artifice of lavish wedding celebrations. Films like these, then, become more than a flashback. They’re a reminder that budget and intent are strong-minded lovers whose compatibility is to be earned. That the mixing of business and pleasure is not a toxic cocktail: a first-time ‘event’ is not possible without florists, caterers and musicians working together to prove a point. Would Bittoo and Shruti have lasted as a couple? Probably not. But their legacy — and work ethic — lives on every time a seemingly formulaic sleeper-hit captures the chaotic heart of a nation. 

15 Years of 'Band Baaja Baaraat': Bollywood’s Bijness-Class Romance

“Don’t quote me on this but I really like crime shows,” says actor Priyamani. And she clearly knows a thing or two about high-stakes investigation. With 

 having just released at the end of November, she’s now spent years inhabiting the world of espionage and danger. Off-screen, she’s just as drawn to the genre — devouring crime series that blend forensic detail with psychological intrigue.

, Priyamani shared her top six crime shows and what makes them — in her eyes — essential viewing.

follows forensic anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan and FBI special agent Seeley Booth as they investigate crimes and decipher clues from human remains. The show employs good old detective work paired with the science of forensics, keeping viewers hooked. Streaming in India on JioHotstar, it draws us into the compelling world of ‘bone analysis’ — how fracture patterns or bone density can lead you to a killer. “I would love to rewatch 

because it is one of those informative shows on a subject that is good to learn about,” says Priyamani.

Centred around a multi-generational family of policemen in New York City, 

 explores duty through the intricacies of relationships and rigid family values. Each of the family members holds distinctive positions in the judicial and law enforcement system: the patriarch (played by Tom Selleck) is the police commissioner, the elder son is a lead detective in the New York Police Department, the younger son is a law graduate who also joins the NYPD, and the daughter is a district attorney. For Priyamani, “What really hooks you is seeing how different types of crime unfold and watch the family decipher the clues together.”

unfolds in modern-day Portland, USA, but is deeply rooted in German folklore. The protagonist, Nick Burkhardt, is a homicide detective who discovers his ancient lineage from a long line of 

— supernatural beings tasked with protecting humanity from mythological creatures known as ‘Wesen’. The series explores Nick’s mental conflict between procedural police work and his supernatural calling. The folklore and drama are carefully threaded in the show, available on Amazon Prime Video. “I absolutely love that when the characters are over-emotional — when they’re angry or sad — the animal in them comes out,” Priyamani says. 

 follows Morgan Gillory, a single mother of three who works as a cleaner to make ends meet. Morgan soon discovers that she is gifted with a high IQ, and her intuitive thinking draws the attention of the Los Angeles Police Department, where she is onboarded as a consultant to help solve complex crimes through unconventional means. “It is her presence of mind that intrigues me the most, and her ability to read the room in the right way,” Priyamani says. 

Season 2 is streaming on Amazon Prime Video and JioHotstar. 

The average human lies at least once a day. So, what about the average criminal? Hailing from the mind of actor, producer and screenwriter, Samuel Baum, Lie to Me is an American psychological crime drama revolving around Dr. Cal Lightman (Tim Roth), a body language expert who assist investigators in detecting deceptions by using psychology. “What intrigues me is the way the show plays with your psyche,” says Priyamani. It explores the subtle art of physical signals, such as facial twitches or eye movement, and how these micro-expressions can be a natural tell to identify if a person is lying. 

, Poppy Montgomery stars as Carrie Wells, a former detective with a rare condition called hyperthymesia. “She solves the crime not always by being in the thick of the action, but because her mind works in mysterious ways,” says Priyamani.  Hyperthymesia gives her a photographic memory — she recalls every instant of her life in perfect detail. Every room she enters, every conversation she has, nothing escapes the meticulous ledger of her mind. The brilliance of her memory aids investigators in solving dead-end cases, making for a compelling watch.

Actor Priyamani Shares Her Favourite Crime Shows: From 'Bones' to 'Unforgettable'

One of the underrated pleasures of being online in 2025 is watching billionaires casually turn their weddings into full-scale 

-coded music videos. Instagram feeds routinely combust when a high-profile 

assembles assorted A-listers, fireworks, drones, and enough bling to cause temporary blindness. But beneath the sparkle lies a simple truth which often gets overlooked: celebrities don’t 

attend weddings because they’re “close to the family.” Bollywood doesn’t do close; it does invoices.

So what does it actually cost to make a star show up, smile at your ceremony, pose with your uncle, charm your aunt, and accidentally photobomb your cousins? 

spoke to industry insiders—including those who’ve attended these Big Fat Wedding Extravaganzas—to piece together a possible wedding rate card. Grab your calculators (and possibly your life savings).

A “wedding appearance” is the most popular package because stars prefer it over full-blown performances. The numbers mentioned below are approximate and differ from case to case.

 sits comfortably at the top, reportedly charging ₹5 to 6 crore just to walk in, charm the room and glide out. 

—gearing up for the release of his mighty spy-actioner 

—comes in at around ₹2 crore. Akshay Kumar, who once joked he’s open to performing even at a children’s 

 reportedly command ₹1.25 to 1.50 crore each, while 

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