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Hindi Cinema In 2024: All We Imagine As... Bollywood?
Bollywood had everything going for it this year: the lows, the highs, the creative bankruptcy and thematic swings, the commercial trends and artistic risks, the heartbreaking failures and toxic successes, long-form streaming and feature-length escapism, loud nationalism and soft feminism.
There’s no easy way to say it: 2024 has been a bleak year across parameters for Hindi storytelling — or “Bollywood,” the term we pretend to be above. 2023 had the numbers if nothing else; box-office records were broken by superstar comebacks and dangerous animals. A post-pandemic industry came off the ventilator. Even those relentless lockdown anthologies vanished. But 2024 had neither the scale nor the quality. The diagnosis is serious. If Bollywood were a character in a 1970s potboiler, imagine the red bulb going off over the ‘Operation Theater’ door and a pensive doctor in an ill-fitting white coat walking up to the audience and fumbling those famous lines: “I am sorry…”.
But nobody is weeping. This isn’t an investigation into what ails Hindi cinema, even if every opinion is now an investigation about why Hindi cinema is ailing. It’s unfair to reduce a 12-month period to a few easy adjectives, of course. So this is a more forensic summary of the parts that made up the whole: the lows, the highs, the creative bankruptcy and thematic swings, the commercial trends and artistic risks, the heartbreaking failures and toxic successes, long-form streaming and feature-length escapism, loud nationalism and soft feminism.
When the Cats Are Away…
A consolidatory 2024 felt inevitable the moment we realised that Shah Rukh Khan, Sunny Deol, Salman Khan, Ranbir Kapoor and Ranveer Singh ransacked the box-office together last year. But forget collections, this was a chance for everyone else to be visible again. Yet Hrithik Roshan gave us Fighter; Akshay Kumar hit us with the awful Bade Miyan Chotte Miyan, the middling Sarfira and Khel Khel Mein; Ajay Devgn led the questionable Shaitaan, Maidaan, Auron Mein Kahan Dum Tha and the lazy Singham Again; Kartik Aaryan blew hot and cold with Chandu Champion and Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3. Some made a dent, but it’s the kind of dent that sends the vehicle to the garage.
The Mice Will Play
In a reversal of last year’s big-ticket fortunes, the actual success came from Rajkummar Rao, Shraddha Kapoor, Kriti Sanon, Sharvari, Triptii Dimri, Yami Gautam and Shahid Kapoor. But in an era where the Hindi dubs of Telugu and Tamil blockbusters regularly out-earn native Hindi productions, the yardstick is no longer the same. The real question revolves around the ambition, vision and quality of these films. The answer is difficult. Stree 2 aside (on a good day), you’d be hard-pressed to put a Munjya, Crew, Srikanth, Article 370, Vicky Vidya Ka Woh Wala Video or a Teri Baaton Mein Aisa Uljha Liya on a best-of list.
Mad-dock Or What?
The Hindi horror comedy (or as I like to call it: Homedy) bubble — just like the sex comedy and the buddy comedy and the small-town comedy and the ensemble comedy — is destined to burst. But Dinesh Vijan’s Maddock Films deserves first-mover credit for capitalising on the social novelty of Stree (2018) and doubling down with an assortment of other surprise hits. This, after the lukewarm response to the pioneering Bhediya in 2022. However, their best film this year was a dark and well-acted Netflix title that not many watched: Sector 36. That’s hardly an irony anymore.
Nayak(s): The Real Heroes
While we were busy debating and mourning the fate of mass and class entertainers, little gems like Laapataa Ladies, Madgaon Express and Raat Jawaan Hai crept up on us in a 12th Fail-coded manner. Expressive indies like Gaurav Madan’s Barah by Barah and Karan Gour’s Fairy Folk went unnoticed during minor theatrical runs, but they activated the sort of critical acclaim and curiosity that used to define pre-streaming crowd-funded productions. Atul Sabharwal’s Delhi-based Cold War spy drama, Berlin, expanded the geopolitical boundaries of Hindi storytelling. Shuchi Talati’s Sundance-winning Girls Will Be Girls, which comes to streaming on December 18th, explores girlhood, sexual adolescence and motherhood like few Indian — or non-Indian — films have done before. While trade analysts and producers spoke in the parlance of holiday and non-holiday weekends, continuing to equate words with numbers, these were reminders of a time when cinema was still about sharing art and joy like warm conversations on a winter night. After all, is there a better feeling than watching something good and immediately dying to tell someone about it?
Unsung Melodies
Some actors are so consistently solid that we often take them for granted. Be it Pratik Gandhi in his second coming after 2020 — as an accidental Gujarati cokehead of Madgaon Express, a complicated Bengali husband in Do Aur Do Pyaar, and a scrappy Marathi dad in Agni. Be it Chhaya Kadam — as a badass tea-stall owner in Laapataa Ladies, a badass-er Konkani gangster in Madgaon Express, and a defiant Mumbai spirit in All We Imagine As Light (it’s a Malayalam-language film, but language is its point). Be it Manoj Bajpayee — as a subaltern tragedy in Killer Soup, the messy crime journalist of Despatch, a patriarch who flies in festival darling The Fable, or even a single-screen mass hero of Bhaiyya Ji. Be it Manoj Pahwa — as the uncle-shaped heart of Jigra or the sardonic state negotiator of IC 814: The Kandahar Hijack. Be it Kani Kusruti — as the conflicted lover in Killer Soup, the tough forest officer of Poacher, the cruel-tender mother of Girls Will Be Girls or the most celebrated of them all, the wistful Malayali nurse in All We Imagine As Light.
Be it the prolific Sanjay Mishra — as the seasoned journo-fixer in Bhakshak and the goofy ‘Bada Pandit’ of Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3. Be it Divyenndu — as the sheepish middle friend of Madgaon Express and the cocky celebrity cop in Agni. Be it Vivek Gomber — as a Somalian-Indian hustler in Lootere and a vile Singaporean-Indian prison guard in Jigra. Be it Ravi Kishan — as the corrupt-but-compassionate cop of Laapataa Ladies and the all-in-one lawyer of Maamla Legal Hai. Be it Deepak Dobriyal as the transformed Noida inspector in Sector 36, and Barun Sobti as the green flag in Raat Jawaan Hai. Or be it Chirag Vohra — as the star-crossed apprentice in Lootere and a pained Mahatma Gandhi in Freedom At Midnight.
The P word
Speaking of historicals, we know the drill: Pakistan, propaganda, patriotism and politics. Article 370, Bastar: The Naxal Story, Swatantriya Veer Savarkar and The Sabarmati Report shared much more than inflammatory stances. They shared an inherent belief that people are wired to trust what they watch, just like people are wired to believe what they read. In an age where news channels unfold like movies and movies unfold like news channels, perhaps there’s something to be said about the expensive and underperforming hostility of Singham Again and Fighter.
D Company
Some of the more striking and unvarnished stories emerged from debut film-makers. Shirsha Guha Thakurta did wonders with the extramarital and marital tensions between Pratik Gandhi and Vidya Balan in Do Aur Do Pyaar. Kunal Kemmu renewed the Bollywood buddy movie license by going behind the camera for Madgaon Express. TVF star Sumeet Vyas put on the director’s hat for the charming parenthood-meets-friendship series, Raat Jawaan Hai. Former Vishal Bhardwaj assistant Aditya Nimbalkar killed with the chilling Sector 36. Some weren’t debuts, but they felt like a rebirth of sorts: Nikhil Nagesh Bhat reinvented the action thriller with Kill, and Ssanjay Tripaathy fine-tuned the basics of the feel-good Baghban-shaped tearjerker with Binny and Family. In front of the camera, first-time actor Preeti Panigrahi delivered the best performance of 2024 in Girls Will Be Girls. Raghav Juyal broke free as the wonky villains of Kill and Yudhra. Anjali Anand won the slice-of-life game in Raat Jawaan Hai.
Why this Kolaveri Franchise?
Film and show titles had more numbers in them than their box office and viewership figures did (untrue, but too fun a pun to resist). The vast amount of franchises, sequels and remakes are an indicator of Hindi cinema’s originality crisis. The list is endless: Singham 3, Bhool Bhulaiyaa 3, Taaza Khabar 2, Silence 2, Mithya 2, Gullak 4, Panchayat 3, The Broken News 2, Silence 2, Mirzapur 3, Kota Factory 3, Yeh Meri Family 3. The few standouts built upon novel bases (Stree 2, Yeh Kaali Kaali Ankhein 2), but they were exceptions in a norm that inspired audiences to throng theatres for nostalgic reasons. The biggest indictment of this formula lies in the fact that the most memorable Bollywood big-screen experiences this year featured Laila Majnu (2018), Veer-Zaara (2004), Tumbbad (2018), Baazigar (1993), Rockstar (2011) and Sholay (1975). Given the blandness of modern offerings, moviegoers became human franchises by meeting previous versions of themselves through these re-releases.
Streaming and Tears
A difficult reckoning concerns the long-form OTT space — which had a couple of world-class years — now lacking intent and calibre. In terms of cinema alone, 2024 has been a far cry from the giddy heights of Paatal Lok, Kohhra, Scam 1992: The Harshad Mehta Story, Tabbar, The Family Man, Sacred Games, Jubilee and Delhi Crime. Apart from Richie Mehta’s Kerala-coded Poacher, Raat Jawaan Hai and Lootere to an extent, it’s hard to name a single clutter-breaking series. In a tragic reflection of the mainstream movie space, the popular titles — like Heeramandi, Mirzapur 3, Maamla Legal Hai, Panchayat 3, Tribhuvan Mishra CA Topper, Taaza Khabar 2, IC 814, Showtime and others — have coasted along on legacy, vibes and fandoms. None of them are long-term head turners. Even streaming superstars Raj & DK had a lukewarm franchise (Citadel) entry, while Abhishek Chaubey’s Killer Soup pushed the needle but fell short of permanence.
Box-of-chocolates Feminism
Women-led stories often crumble under the obligation to flaunt a you-go-girl, patriarchy-smashing brand of empowerment. Cases in point: Crew, the Kanika Dhillon-fashioned Do Patti, Mr. & Mrs. Mahi, Bad Newz, The Broken News 2, even boarding-school drama Big Girls Don’t Cry. It’s less feminism and more a female version of male-centric stories — a semi-corporate and tit-for-tat response to Hindi cinema’s masculinity problem. But for every “unapologetic” cigarette-smoking woman, there’s the gentle feminism-as-a-consequence-of-womanhood devices of Laapataa Ladies, Girls Will Be Girls, Poacher, CTRL and Jigra. The characters in them transcend labels and exhibit a flawed but fiery sense of agency that leaves room for improvement. The transformation is never complete. They’re too busy surviving to promote their strength. They’re too busy living to advertise life.
Action Rewind
The big fat Bollywood action movie made a comeback last year, but 2024 saw conventional actioners — whose sub-genre is violent nationalism — failing to register. Think Fighter, Bade Miyan Chotte Miyan, Singham Again, Yodha, Yudhra. Sports-themed biopics like Maidaan and Chandu Champion came close. The fantasy-period spectacles from the South (Devara: Part 1, Kalki 2898 AD and Pushpa 2) — though not great movies in isolation — captured the Hindi imagination far more. But the finer moments of this genre came from minor-key titles that grappled with the enemy (and demons) within. For instance, dissent and disillusionment with the system were the key ingredients behind the slick kinetic energy of Kill, and the desperate everyman set pieces of Despatch. The sight of Manoj Bajpayee fumbling his way through an undercover reporting job or trying to stop a crook with his camera (akin to him being chased through a train in Joram) — now that’s action. Ditto for Jigra, where the style of a one-woman rampage relied on the substance of anti-establishment and pro-humanity rage.
Heartbreak Central
Form is temporary, pedigree is permanent. Imtiaz Ali returned with the formally poignant Amar Singh Chamkila, while Vikramaditya Motwane infused life into the screenlife of CTRL. The directors’ ability to reframe narrative norms aside, a streaming release allowed these titles to be judged through the ambiguous lens of eyeballs and social media acclaim; it also allowed these movies to exist, breathe and craft their own shelf-life. But the big screen might have been a parameter too far for four other masters. Sriram Raghavan’s Merry Christmas — a cunningly staged and impossibly romantic crime thriller — succumbed to the image of post-Andhadhun blues. Vasan Bala’s Jigra — a throbbing and alt-love sibling story — ached beyond its divisive reviews and petty online discourse. Dibakar Banerjee’s Love Sex Aur Dhokha 2 — a wilder, angrier and clumsier sibling of CTRL — was swallowed by the shadow of its predecessor. And Shoojit Sircar’s monument to stillness and suffering, I Want To Talk, sank without swimming. Perhaps a direct-to-digital route might have not only shielded these films from commercial scrutiny but also altered the lens through which we judged them. One can only wonder. Add to this Kabir Khan’s Chandu Champion, an eerily effective anti-war story disguised as a sports biography. The heart breaks when purpose and purism aren’t rewarded, but it heals to know that failure lies in the eyes of the beholder.
Between Bombay, Bambai and Mumbai
Most of us are conditioned to admire the metropolis as the protagonist. Take the culturally specific Mahim-Colaba vagueness of Merry Christmas reflecting the vague identities of the humans within. Or the fire-brigade-centered Parel and Byculla oddities of Agni. But this year, one has learned to appreciate the more ‘generic’ depictions of the city. The settings we often interpret as location-agnostic can be a lived-in statement on how we — much like the fictional characters — don’t always notice the surroundings we occupy. Some of these urban spaces look like real-world antidotes to the colourful class blindness of Karan Johar movies. Take Ananya Panday’s posh influencer pad in CTRL. Take the mid-to-upscale Mumbai of Do Aur Do Pyaar, where a distant couple simply co-inhabit a pricey high-rise apartment. Take the pleasantly untethered flats, late-night streets, promenades, parks and living rooms of Raat Jawaan Hai. The city is almost intangible — more felt than seen — because its people aren’t entirely determined by it. Mumbai becomes a passing reality rather than an aspiration, the friend we left on read rather than the mythical lover we strived to rationalise.