Tamil filmmaker and producer Vetri Maaran

 has approached the Madras High Court after 

the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC)

 denied a censor certificate to his latest production, 

, a political drama starring Andrea Jeremiah and directed by Gopi Nainar.

The legal challenge, filed as a writ petition, was scheduled to be heard by Justice N. Anand Venkatesh on Monday, June 2. However, due to scheduling delays, the case was not taken up until 6 p.m., prompting the judge to direct the court registry to list the matter again on Wednesday, June 4, 2025.

Vetri Maaran Approaches Madras High Court Challenging Denial of Censor Certificate for 'Manushi'

Acclaimed Malayalam actor, writer and filmmaker Sreenivasan, who has been a stalwart of the industry for decades now, passed away in Kochi on Saturday (December 20, 2025) at the age of 69.

Sreenivasan had been suffering from cardiac ailments earlier, and he breathed his last on Saturday. His cremation will be held at 10 a.m on Sunday at his residence in Kandanadu near Thripunitura.

The icon had acted in over 220 films in five decades, and is survived by 

his wife, Vimala Sreenivasan, and sons, Vineeth Sreenivasan and Dhyan Sreenivasan, who are also part of the film industry. 

Sreenivasan often shared screen space with the likes of Mammootty and Mohanlal. Apart from his acting roles, his

 the National Film Award for Best Film on Other Social Issues) 

were acclaimed critically and commercially. As a writer, his collaborations with notable directors like Priyadarshan, Kamal and Sathyan Anthikad changed the landscape of the Malayalam industry with films such as 

. His last film written for Anthikad was 

(2018) starring Fahadh Faasil in the lead role. 

Sreenivasan also won numerous awards, including a National Film Award and six Kerala State Film Awards. He was last seen as an actor in the Malayalam films 

His passing away prompted reactions from several members of the film fraternity. 

Singer K.S. Chithra took to X and wrote, “I am deeply saddened to hear about Sreenivas sir’s passing. I was fortunate enough to sing for so many of his movies. My thoughts and prayers are with his family during this difficult time.”

Actor-director Basil Joseph posted on Instagram, “Srini sir, thank you for all the laughter and warmth you gave us. You were a big part of our childhood and our happiest memories. You may be gone, but you will always live on through your work. Rest in peace, legend.”

ilmmaker Sathyan Anthikad, who was one of Sreenivasan's closest collaborators, reacted to the news and told reporters, “I’m in a situation where I can’t respond. We have had a strong bond with each other. I used to visit him once in two weeks (since he became ill). I never thought he would leave this soon."

Sreenivasan, Acclaimed Malayalam Actor-Writer, Passes Away

 can articulate what bothers him most about film discourse today. “This perception that a good film is the one that does good numbers at the box office, that perception is very hard to fight,” he says.

According to Ghaywan, even within the industry, the obsession with numbers has become inescapable. “We may all talk about it and feel good about it, but people out there are thinking only in terms of numbers,” he says. The fixation, he adds, isn’t casual or occasional. “Everybody I talk to is talking about numbers. They’re ferociously looking at them every day.”

What troubles him most is how that fixation has shifted influence. “I think our country is probably the only one where trade analysts are more famous than critics. Their word is taken more seriously than critics. That is the sad part,” Ghaywan says. 

The consequence, he believes, is a narrowing of the cultural conversation around cinema. Instead of discussing feeling or intent, the industry and its audience increasingly measure films by opening weekends and lifetime totals. “We’re constantly trying to find where we stand with numbers,” he says, questioning what those figures actually represent beyond scale.

Ghaywan argues that this constant score-keeping has changed behaviour as well as perception. “We should start a culture of not talking so much about numbers. Not obsessing about them. Not making big banners about 100 crores, 500 crores,” he adds.

Still, he is realistic about how entrenched this mindset has become. “There’s just no solution for it,” he admits. For the 

director, the real loss lies in what gets sidelined when figures take over the conversation. Films stop being talked about as films. They turn into tallies. And in that shift, the idea of what makes a film meaningful quietly slips out of focus.

Neeraj Ghaywan on India's Box-Office Obsession: ‘Only Country Where Trade Analysts are More Famous Than Critics’

doesn’t shy away from the word failure. Asked about the box-office fate of 

, the filmmaker speaks with a mix of candour and acceptance. “I think you can cook a blockbuster. You put in a few formulas,” she says. Making a good film, she believes, is harder. “That has to come from inside. You can’t reverse engineer a good film. Reverse engineered films sometimes work, but will those films last for 10, 15, 25 years? I don’t know,” she says.

For Kagti, the real lessons have come from the films that didn’t work commercially. “Failure has taught me more than any success. I think I’m the most successful failure,” she says with a laugh.  

 failed to find an audience in theatres, the disappointment was real. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. I believe it was one of the lowest openers or enders,” she admits. At the same time, she points to the affection the film continues to receive. “I also got the most amount of love for it. So you kind of need to balance things out.”

That balance, she says, comes from knowing the kind of filmmaker she is. “I don’t see myself making a film that’s engineered just to do well. I’m just not that kind of writer or director,” she says. What she is willing to do is consistently make films she feels deeply connected to. “I’ll always do something I have a strong connection to and hope for the best.”

Kagti also stresses the importance of the process itself. “It’s really important to enjoy writing it, making it and putting it out there. Because sometimes that’s all you get,” she says. 

Moving on from failure is never instant. “You’re not okay the next day. It does take time,” she says. Experience helps, but the feeling never fully disappears. “It never goes,” she admits. What stays, though, are the moments of recognition. “If someone comes to you even after ten years and says that film of yours was very good, that really matters,” she says.

Reema Kagti on Box-Office Performance of 'Superboys of Malegaon: ‘I’m The Most Successful Failure'

 made a choice that runs counter to almost every instinct of Indian cinema. The film has no songs. It does not even have background music. And he never doubted it. “No. Not at all,” he says, when asked if the decision ever made him second-guess himself. “Because most of the decisions happen even before I write the script. After that, no. This is how I’ve written it,” he adds.

The resistance, however, began early. “We were about fifteen days into the shoot and one of the executive producers said, ‘I think we need a song in the film,’” he recalls. The suggestions only got more specific. “Someone even said we at least need a flute. I said no, nothing,” he says with a laugh.

For Kanawade, the absence of music was not an aesthetic experiment. It was baked into the writing and the way the film was shot. “Thinking that there’s not going to be any background music, you shoot it that way. You have those silences. You create those moments. You incorporate sound design. After that, you cannot have background music in it,” he explains.

Even the end credits were not spared. “People thought maybe at least there will be music there. Nothing happened there either,” he adds. The only concession came through sound design. Anirban Borthakur

and Naren Chandavarkar, who worked on the film’s sound, suggested leaning into what was already present. “They came up with the idea of using bird sounds and tree rustling. We already had it in the film. We just started using it slowly and gently,” Kanawade says.

That decision, too, came from an emotional place rather than a technical one. “I wanted to create a feeling of how it sounds when you’re really with your lover, just sitting and talking. Or when you’re talking to your mother on the veranda. How does the world sound then? Maybe they’ve lived a moment like this. With their mother, father, anyone,” he says.

“It was a difficult decision. Not to make, but to explain,” he admits. What made it possible, finally, was trust. “Thankfully, my producers were okay with it.”

Rohan Kanawade on Making a Love Story Without Music in ‘Sabar Bonda’: ‘It was a Difficult Decision — Not to Make, but to Explain’

, music has never been an add-on. It is not something sprinkled over a finished film. He does not use music as garnish, but as screenplay.

Suri traces this belief back to his very first film in 

, when he was still figuring out how to tell stories on screen. He recalls writing about a couple going through a rough phase in their relationship, travelling together while working on a case. “It was a simple crime film. But I couldn’t crack it in the script. I was so young, I didn’t know how the actors would carry it,” he says.

 “That one song over five minutes said so much more than how many scenes I could have written between them. So subtly, but so effectively. That was the eureka moment,” he says.

From then on, music became part of his writing process. “Wherever I get stuck, I realise, okay, this is a song. I actually work on my music while I’m writing the film.” Suri explains. He adds that he does not move ahead in the script until he has at least a scratch version of the song in place. “It’s literally like a scene. It’s part of the writing process. It’s a key thing.”

Ironically, he says, this approach now creates a different kind of problem. “People tell me, make it a little less like a scene and more like a song. But it’s a good problem to have,” he says. 

Suri is also clear about what he does not chase. “I’ve never put pressure on a music director saying, give me a super hit song. I’ve always asked for a song that works for the situation,” he says. He pushes back against the assumption that he goes hunting for chartbusters. “Everyone thinks I do that; I honestly don’t.”

 as an example. “People kept saying, why are you talking about a song where someone’s crying and dying? But it just worked for my film,” he recalls. 

. When he heard a rough version sung by Kashmiri musicians, he knew it belonged in the film, even if others were unsure. “I told the Yash Raj people, this is the song. They probably thought I was mad,” he smiles.

'Zeher,' 'Saiyaara' and More: Mohit Suri Explains How He Uses Music As A Storytelling Tool


If directing often looks like the hardest part of making a film, 

 is quick to disagree. “I think writing is the most difficult process while making a film. For me, writing was a big struggle,” he says.

That struggle stretched across years. Arun reveals that 

 went through nearly two dozen drafts before it reached the version that was finally shot. “We had written around 23 drafts before we shot the film. And that took at least three years of time,” he adds.

The long writing process, he explains, was about finding clarity. “It was just about getting everything right, at least what we believe is the film that we want to make,” he says. Having the right collaborators was crucial to surviving that phase. Arun credits Santhy Balachandran as a key creative partner during the screenplay stage. “I had a great collaborator in Santhy to help me with the screenplay of the film,” he says.

Once the writing was locked, the rest of the process felt lighter by comparison. “Directing is much more easier,” Arun admits. The reason, he says, was the team around him. “I had a great team, I think one of the best teams in our industry.” 

Writing, however, remained emotionally taxing till the very end. “There are days that you feel like this is something that you cannot do,” he says, describing the familiar paralysis that sets in during long development phases. The self-doubt, he adds, is relentless. “And then there are good days as well.”

That cycle of doubt and small breakthroughs is something Arun believes every writer experiences. 

 needed time because the story needed time to settle. It demanded patience and the willingness to stay with uncertainty for years before the answers became clear. Looking back, the 23 drafts do not feel excessive to him. For Arun, writing was not just one step before directing began; it was where the film truly took shape

Dominic Arun on 'Lokah': ‘We Wrote Around 23 Drafts Before We Shot the Film’

 says he knew would be difficult the moment he wrote it. “The toughest scene, which was pretty gut-wrenching for both Rashmika and me, was the door sequence. That was the seed of the film. It was something I had seen in my own life,” he says.

 character encounters abuse written across her dorm room door. For Ravindran, it wasn’t something that could be performed at a distance. During prep, he made a conscious choice. “For this one scene, I told her I’m not going to ask you to think like Bhooma, I’m going to ask you to think like Rashmika,” he recalls.

What followed was a conversation that went far beyond the script. “I asked her to remember every single time someone’s abused you, even random strangers coming and throwing abuses at you,” he says.

Ravindran speaks about Mandanna’s instinct to mask hurt with optimism. “I know you’re the kind of person who’ll take all of it in and it manifests somehow, miraculously, as a smile,” he had told her. For this moment, he asked her to put that aside. “I told her to set that aside, take all that in and let it come out.”

To preserve the rawness of the reaction, Mandanna wasn’t shown the door beforehand. “The first time she actually saw the door was on camera,” Ravindran says. They spoke for nearly half an hour before the take. When the shot ended, he immediately sensed something was wrong. “I didn’t even say ‘Take Okay’. I just went to the door and went inside,” he recalls.

Inside, Mandanna had collapsed. “She was a mess. She was broken. She was sobbing uncontrollably. For about 20 minutes, she just kept sobbing,” he says. What surfaced, he believes, was long-buried. “Something very deep seated came out because I asked her to let go. Something she’d been burying for years.”

Rahul Ravindran Recalls Scene in ‘The Girlfriend’ That Shook Rashmika Mandanna: ‘She was Broken, She was Sobbing Uncontrollably’

In this business, desire is a suspicious currency. We are professionally (and defensively) trained to keep it at arm’s length. To interrogate the screenplay, to question narrative worth, to ask whether the feeling is “earned.” What if the writing collapses? What if the character exists only as a mood board? What if the story itself is not something you’d publicly endorse?

Crushes are gloriously unbothered by logic. Desire sneaks in through the fissures. It ambushes even the most disciplined critic, settling somewhere near the collarbone, lighting up the parts of us that don’t usually get column inches.

We spend so much time celebrating excellence that we forget to make space for softness — irrational, persistent, deeply unserious softness. So at 

, we decided to suspend good behaviour. Briefly. Tenderness, after all, deserves a seat at the table.

Here are our screen crushes of 2025 (be still, my beating heart):

Dev arrived early in the year and refused to leave — a volatile cop with partial memory loss, a permanently clenched jaw, and tight, 

khaki pants doing far more narrative work than strictly required. Kapoor wears the uniform like a second skin, the fit precise enough to feel almost aggressive in its own right (stop. Focus). It is, regrettably, impossible not to notice how perfectly those trousers hold their shape, and his. Okay. I’ll stop. Kapoor plays him as a walking contradiction. He leans fully into the greys with such ease that you’re convinced you’ve met this man before, probably to your own detriment. Dev is very much a red flag, but one rendered with such tactile specificity that resistance feels pointless. After 

, there was a solemn vow to retire any affection for men with violent streaks. That vow did not survive 

. It may be the posture. It may be the haunted eyes. It may, frankly, still be the pants. Those perfect — okay, I said I’d stop. 

Motion capture has rarely carried this much charge. Oona Chaplin infuses Varang — the ferocious leader of the Ash People — with a magnetism so potent it cuts straight through pixels. Her sensuality is a threat, her power is dangerously alluring. She is ruthless, commanding, and unapologetically violent — okay, 

 I have a problem. But Varang is fluent in dark arts and she is spellbinding. The film is fully aware of the erotic undercurrent it’s playing with, letting Varang exist as a figure of dominance. You have to submit to her. Eyes locked. Brain off. Respectfully undone. 

A generational crush, ala Hrithik Roshan, aka Rajesh Khanna, Ahaan Pandey and his green-flag boyfriend—who lets go of his career to nurse his girlfriend whom he doesn’t mind marrying, really, it is just a formality—in 

set a blueprint for desire at a time when masculinity was coming undone, with rage and restlessness becoming the image in which most men want to be made. Pandey's yearning performance in that deep and confident voice, and his physicality —a small mouth and searching eyes, a body that isn’t shredded but one that tries—came together to etch a paw-licking character that made yearning and brooding sexy, but also, tender. No woman was harmed in the making of this man. 

He definitely isn't your standard definition of hot. On-screen, he looks anywhere between 35 and 65, which is honestly part of the appeal — mysterious and tax-bracket-fluid. The man can act, obviously. But damn, Jaideep Ahlawat can dance too? The better-forgotten 

on Netflix this year thrust him into the limelight as a gangster with smooth moves. The movie tanked harder than our annual New Year's resolutions, but Ahlawat definitely did some "Jaadu"— on us and our unsuspecting hearts. He closed out the year in 

, playing another gangster, this time with a ponytail. Which somehow made him hotter? We don't make the rules. There's just something about a man who can threaten someone's life and nail a complicated dance sequence in the same year. The confidence, the rhythm, the vague danger — we love it all. 

We fell in love with the father, and now we love the son. Nope, it isn't Saif Ali Khan and Ibrahim. It's Steve Irwin's son, Robert. He's a wildlife photographer, an actor, he loves animals, and literally has his own zoo. You know, normal guy stuff. He broke the internet back in April when he posed with spiders, snakes and lizards for underwear brand Bondi, proving that the real danger is how good he looked doing it. Oh, and he won the latest season of 

. So what if he's a little young? After all, what's not to love about a man from Down Under who loves being shirtless, wrestles crocodiles and has better hair than us? Crikey, indeed. 

There’s something timeless about Bhagyashri’s beauty. When you see her, you feel like her beauty can only be fully contained on CinemaScope. The vertical frames of Instagram, struggle to capture the essence of her smile and a set of eyes, backlighting seems to have been invented for. In monochrome, her allure feels like the result of subtlety rather than spectacle. You may search for newer words to describe this quality, but you keep falling back on one we seldom use to describe actors today: graceful. And as Kumari in 

, you understand why the country’s biggest superstar would lose it all for her and why her mentor puts everything at stake, trusting almost entirely her beauty. 

It takes a certain type of whimsy and security to make a character like Chaathan

work, and Tovino, in just a tight runtime, displays luscious possession of both. Chaathan isn’t just a harmless trickster; he's someone with the ability to take down half the world, buried within him. A blend of Quicksilver and 

’s Loki, his modus operandi might be bubble guns, smokescreens and a hall of mirrors, but he cautions us not to be fooled by the tomfoolery. His gold-toothed smile hides a wickedness we don’t know anything about (and will probably be familiar with in his standalone movie in the universe). The man has a god complex and courts the wrong woman. But he chivalrously backs off. Well, after a tight slap. — 

Ishaan Khatter has always had 'rizz', but 2025 is the year it finally developed teeth. Ever since he first showed up in

, he’s been filed under “cute, talented, will probably break out any minute.” This year, he did. Could anyone forget a shirtless Ishaan Khatter riding a horse in his opening shot in 

? He played the role of the brattish, young Price Aviraaj 'Fizzy' Singh with every bit the conviction he did Mohammed Shoib Ali in 

 — a heart-wrenching portrayal that had everyone reaching for tissues. The charm is effortless, the chemistry criminal, and the screen presence? Let’s just say that if 2025 needed a new heartthrob to destabilise the crowd, Khatter understood the assignment and turned it in early.— 

 might have been a damn squib overall, but Nagarjuna sashayed into everyone's hearts (again) with the same arrogance and ease he's been brandishing for five decades. Simon's characterisation was undeniably short-charged, but the 66-year-old's moves in the 

theme (Ani with another banger) had a new generation of fans swooning over him - and then some. If only some of that swag had rubbed off on Dahaa too. — 

Kannada film duology a couple of years ago, Rukmini endeared to Tamil audiences this year not just with her roles in 

, but also her witty, funny and charming press tour in which she was an absolute delight. Then came her regal turn as Kanakavathi in 

, and there was no looking back for the RADA-trained star. If you thought she couldn't get more captivating, she's turning Mani Ratnam heroine next… — 

Painfully self-aware, self-deprecating and self-indulgent, Rachel Sennott's new comedy 

 (which she's created, written and starred in) is as much about her as it is a zillennial commentary. Much has been expected from Sennott after the likes of 

, and the comedian-turned-actor charts a hilarious humdinger of a performance as Maia; it's ironic, sexual and deadpan all at once. It remains to be seen if 

 of the 2020s, but Sennott is already a more than worthy successor to 

Lena Dunham's faltering throne. She really is

 promotions an event. Those saree looks? Unreal. Every appearance felt like a masterclass in looking ethereal without even trying. She was flawless, graceful and glowing, the kind of beauty that makes you go, “Okay finee, I’ll watch the film.” And that's exactly what I did. Bought a ticket, powered by her sheer presence. But that wasn't it. When she was done being divine, she turned up in 

’s 'Monica' song and set the screen on fire, with that smoking hot red dress! The dance was sharp, and the confidence was chef’s kiss. And of course, there was also 

, where she looked absolutely pretty and effortlessly charming. Pooja’s eyes, her style, her ease in front of the camera, everything just clicks. She doesn’t overdo it, she doesn’t force it, she simply shows up, looks stunning, and leaves you crushing hard. How is this even fair? — 

was pure screen magic. From her very first frame, she looked luminous, soft, radiant and instantly arresting in a way that felt natural and not manufactured. Like the camera just happens to love her (who wouldn’t?). What really elevated the crush factor was also how she held her ground in the film opposite a screen legend (Mohanlal). No shrinking, no overplaying, just calm assurance and sparkling ease. She looked completely at home, which somehow made her even more attractive. Her styling in the film was tasteful and flattering, enhancing that fresh, girl-next-door-meets-movie-star vibe. There’s something irresistibly attractive about that kind of ease, which translates even in her off-screen promotional appearances. Malavika, this year, was in major heart-eyes territory! — 

The thing about Cate Blanchett is that she can be the subject of anyone’s desire, regardless of what they identify as, or whether they even love her or not (but have you ever encountered a Cate Blanchett hater? Yeah, me neither). I first met her on screen as the wispy, ethereal elven queen Galadriel in 

 movies, gliding through the world like nothing could ever touch that impossible beauty she was born into. That vision holds your senses hostage and jackhammers your speech. Or at least she did mine. 

Nearly three decades on, I find myself feeling the exact same way about this femme fatale like no other. You watch her seduce Michael Fassbender in 

 and be timorous as the daughter of an overbearing matriarch in 

 — and look like a goddess who you would allow to step on you in a heartbeat all along, even when she’s not brought out her big sexy guns. The thing is, she doesn’t have to — the lust for her feels so forbidden that you 

For years, Rohit Saraf lived comfortably in the ‘sweet, shy, soft-spoken’ corner of our collective memory, ever since 

. Cute, comforting, pure boy-next-door energy. Then 

arrived and flipped everything. That opening shot of Vikram stepping off a helicopter, pure K3G SRK energy, is the exact moment you know it’s over. Now let’s talk about the kurtas — the many, many Indian kurtas, all leading up to the silver sherwani that closes the film and truly seals the deal. Crisp, romantic, perfectly tailored, each look lands harder than the last. And then there’s the Panwadi dance number, which didn’t just go viral, it did something irreversible for the girlies. The blushing starts early and honestly never lets up across the full two hours and fifteen minutes. It’s Rohit Saraf stepping into his leading man era, and us willingly falling in line. — 

with that cynical smirk and the loose tie, our brain chemistry was permanently altered. He’s got undeniable real-life Ryan Reynolds energy, amplified by Jason Bateman’s criminally hot voice, which frankly feels like cheating. Cute, witty, smug, secretly soft and dangerously charming, he’s the bad boy who comes with a golden heart and just enough emotional damage to keep things…. interesting. The sarcasm is armour, the cynicism is a decoy, and beneath it all is a kindness that hits when you least expect it. That cocktail of intelligence, vulnerability and redeemable chaos is pure catnip. And yes, the dreamy green eyes absolutely help. No, you don’t have to be a furry. You just have elite taste, sweetheart! 

2025 Screen Crushes: Ahaan Pandey, Rukmini Vasanth, Jaideep Ahlawat — and Others Who Made Us Lose the Plot (Briefly)

, the upcoming comedy marking Vir Das’s directorial debut, was released on Tuesday. The film, co-produced by Das and Aamir Khan, is slated to arrive in theatres on 16 January 2026.

The short preview introduces its central character, Happy Patel, an aspiring intelligence operative whose career is defined less by competence than by persistence. When he is finally assigned a mission, it comes with an added complication: he appears unaware of his own Indian identity and is dispatched to India as part of an undercover operation.

What follows is a series of comic missteps as Happy attempts to “blend in”, with the trailer leaning into slapstick situations and social awkwardness rather than traditional spy-film spectacle. The humour draws on inversion, presenting espionage not as a realm of suave efficiency but as one of confusion, cultural dislocation and repeated failure.

Alongside Das, the film features an ensemble cast including Mithila Palkar, Mona Singh, Sharib Hashmi, Srushti Tawade, Imran Khan and Aamir Khan. At a recent public appearance, Khan revealed that he plays the role of Mona Singh’s father in the film, marking another collaboration between the two actors following 

 (2022). In the latter, Singh portrayed Khan’s mother.

The film is co-directed by Kavi Shastri, who also serves as a producer along with Aparna Purohit, Khan and Das. The screenplay has been written by Amogh Ranadive and Vir Das.

While spy comedies are not new to Hindi cinema, the trailer suggests that 

 is less interested in parodying specific franchises than in using the genre as a framework for character-driven humour. The emphasis remains on the protagonist’s ineptitude rather than any broader geopolitical stakes.

Further details about the film’s plot and tone are expected closer to its release early next year.

'Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos' Trailer: Vir Das Plays an Unlikely Spy in Debut Directorial 

Roshan Meka is a football prodigy caught in the midst of intense political turbulence in the trailer of 

. Written and directed by Pradeep Advaitham, the upcoming Telugu film is set in 1948, in Hyderabad State, when Razakars ruled the streets and an inhumane massacre unfolded in Bhairanpally, a village in present-day Telangana.

In the period action film, Roshan plays Michael, a footballer who dreams of travelling to London. His life takes a decisive turn when he is drafted off to Bhairanpally, becoming an unlikely saviour of the oppressed populace. The film blends large-scale action sequences with elements of political intrigue and romance. Malayalam actor Anaswara Rajan makes her Telugu debut with 

. Meanwhile, Hindi cinema’s Kay Kay Menon appears in a key role.

Roshan Meka, the son of veteran Telugu actor Meka Srikanth, has previously acted in 

The trailer launch of Champion was graced by the likes of Ram Charan and Nag Ashwin. Ashwin’s wife, Priyanka Dutt, is a producer on 

. The film is backed by Swapna Cinema, Zee Studios, Anandi Art Creations, and Concept Films. Mickey J Meyer has composed the film's music. 

Meanwhile, Ram Charan, one of Telugu cinema’s biggest stars, is currently filming for Peddi, which will wrap up production by January. 

is being produced by Venkata Satish Kilaru under the banner of Vriddhi Cinemas and is proudly presented by Mythri Movie Makers in association with Sukumar Writings. The film commenced a new shooting schedule from December 12 in Hyderabad. This schedule will feature several pivotal sequences, some of which will be canned in Delhi. Filming will continue until the end of January, by which time the entire talkie part of the movie is expected to be wrapped up. 

"As planned, all aspects of production are progressing smoothly, with post-production work moving ahead at a good pace," a note from the makers had read.

'Champion' Trailer: Roshan Meka Leads a Historical Action Epic 

Indian cinema, for all its swagger, still feels a little breathless. Films like 

 have reaffirmed the star system, and juggernauts such as 

successfully continue to cross borders. Theatres are awake again, but just barely; streaming has gone from a haven to a symptom of a larger problem. Between the spectacle and the fatigue lies a deeper anxiety: can the stories keep up with the screens?

The box office jolts, the platforms surge, the algorithms hum — but sustained attention is harder to earn. Audiences are restless; loyalty is a relic. What the industry seeks is not merely another hit, but a way to hold attention across platforms and time.

That search has led, curiously, to the joystick.

Video games have consistently outpaced both film and music in global revenue. The numbers tell the story: 

 has earned over $7 billion since 2013, compared to the highest-grossing film ever,

, which peaked at $2.7 billion. Games don’t just make money differently — they make it longer, through content updates, in-game purchases, and sustained player engagement.

For Indian storytellers, long schooled in emotion and scale, that shift represents both opportunity and inevitability. The line between cinema and play has begun to blur, and Indian developers are starting to bet on the convergence.

Under PlayStation’s India Hero Project, Mumbai-based studio underDOGS is developing 

— India’s first narrative-driven video game that stitches live-action performances into playable architecture. Set inside a museum and built around the theme of human trafficking, it represents a test case for whether Indian storytelling can translate to interactive formats without losing its cinematic texture.

Director and developer Vaibhav Chavan, a self-described film buff currently bingeing Malayalam cinema, wanted the game to feel “raw, authentic, regional.” His influences range from 

 — atmospherics, mythmaking and the intensity of single-locations. At the centre of 

) playing a protagonist who resists the conventional hero mould. 

For Bamroo, the appeal lay in the medium’s depth. “The narratives in games are often far richer than what we see in mainstream films,” she says. “You’re able to engage with it in a way that is more immersive than cinema.”

That interactivity challenged screenwriter Ankita Narang, who adapted her writing process to a player’s perspective. “This is not a journey to be just seen,” she says. “It’s going to be lived by the player. The flow must come from action, not dialogue. It is storytelling by discovery.”

signal something larger than a single release.

Rohit Agarwal, founder and director of Alpha Zegus, sees it as “a compelling evolution in Indian gaming — melding cinematic narrative, live-action ethos and interactive mechanics into a single experience.”

Sony’s investment through the India Hero Project reflects a broader shift: the world’s biggest console brand now sees Indian talent and stories as sources of fresh IP and global appeal, not just localisation outposts.

It’s a turning point for an ecosystem that has long been defined by outsourced service work and mobile-first games. “For the Indian ecosystem, it signals that the market has matured: developers, gamers, infrastructure and ecosystem partners are all aligned for high-quality, global-grade output,” Agarwal says.

are positioning the project as transmedia — spanning game, live-action, and digital narrative. In India, that term often exists more in theory than practice, but Agarwal suggests the audience may already be primed. “Indian audiences are increasingly comfortable with this: we’ve seen it in OTT series, influencer-led extensions, mobile games spun out of films. For gaming, this is the natural next hill to climb,” he says.

Still, execution will matter. “The challenge will be synchronising release timing, maintaining quality across formats and ensuring the world feels unified rather than fragmented.”

Akash Menon, head of gaming and strategy at Tulsea, a talent agency bridging game developers and film producers, says, “Games don’t have a shelf life. You can keep adding content. The upside is limitless.”

Streaming saw a boom during the pandemic, but so did video games — because you can play them for hours, even years.

For a film industry caught between theatrical fragility and streaming fatigue, transmedia may offer a third path by building loyalty through IP, immersion, and interactivity.

The bet is both creative and commercial. On paper, a premium console title with an Indian setting, narrative depth, and Sony backing ticks a lot of boxes. The risk, naturally, lies in execution — quality, marketing reach, and post-launch support.

But the broader principle still holds: when 

does well abroad, it’s not because of spectacle alone. It’s because those films are rooted in authentic storytelling. Games are already immersive because the audience is inside the world. That makes hyperlocal stories instantly global.

Menon distils the logic simply: “Movie makers make movies; game makers make games. Together, they make IPs that travel across mediums. And everyone makes money.”

The question Indian entertainment has been circling for years may be reframing itself: what if the next great cinematic universe doesn’t begin in a theatre — or on OTT — but on a console?

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.

Lights, Camera... Gameplay: Is India Ready for The Magic of Transmedia?

y, was released offering a look at a contemporary romance that leans on humour, conflict and emotional uncertainty. The film is scheduled to release in theatres on 25 December.

Directed by Sameer Vidwans, the romantic drama centres on Ray and Rumi, two sharply different individuals who meet during what appears to be an impulsive holiday abroad. The trailer suggests a relationship shaped as much by friction as by attraction, with the pair repeatedly clashing over temperament, expectations and intimacy. Much of the film unfolds against the backdrop of a coastal European setting, with Croatia serving as a visual counterpoint to the characters’ internal turbulence.

The trailer was released today, with Panday sharing it on her social media alongside a caption that reads, "Kisse, kahabiya, charche, Dastaan...Adhoore ishq ke hi hote hai." In tone and structure, the trailer alternates between light banter and more reflective moments, hinting at a narrative that moves beyond the conventions of a breezy holiday romance.

 and Namah Pictures, the film features music by Vishal and Shekhar. While the trailer foregrounds the central pairing, it also introduces a supporting cast that includes Jackie Shroff and Neena Gupta, whose appearances suggest parallel emotional arcs that extend beyond the protagonists.

The film’s tagline frames a story concerned with immediacy and impermanence. Rather than positioning love as a simple destination, the trailer points to a narrative interested in uncertainty, vulnerability and the negotiations that underpin modern relationships.

was originally slated for a later release but has been advanced to Christmas Day 2025, placing it among the year’s major festive releases. 

which was set to clash with this film, has been postponed.

'Tu Meri Main Tera Main Tera Tu Meri' Trailer: Kartik Aaryan and Ananya Panday's Romance-Comedy Is All About Modern Relationships

was plagiarised from screenwriter Reji Mathew’s work, ruled the Commercial Court in Kottayam, ordering the makers to pay the writer ₹30 lakh as compensation.

, the court upheld a suit filed by Mathew claiming authorship over the film’s story, screenplay and dialogues. Released in 2012, 

was a Malayalam-language action thriller starring Mohanlal in the lead role. The film, directed by Major Ravi, followed an unhinged cop investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl.

was produced and positioned as a mainstream release and later sold across multiple platforms and formats. However, Reji Mathew was not credited as the film’s writer. 

As per reports, the dispute dates back to 2010–11, when the writer was approached to develop a screenplay for a proposed project. He submitted a complete story, screenplay and dialogues, handed over drafts, and remained in discussions about revisions, title options and remuneration. A token payment was made, and the writer claimed the work was accepted in principle, pending producer approval. However, communication later ceased.

In 2012, Mathew came across reports of a film being made and released with a storyline substantially similar to his script, without credit to him. He alleged infringement of his authorship rights and damage to his professional reputation. The filmmakers, however, denied the allegations. Following a prolonged trial, the court rejected the defence version.

The court also prohibited the screening or broadcast of 

, or any films made in other languages using the same story, screenplay or dialogues, without Mathew’s consent and credit.

Earlier this year, Mohanlal and Major Ravi were reported to reunite for a film based on Operation Sindoor. The announcement drew criticism on social media over the filmmaker’s poor track record as well as for capitalising on the aftermath of a national tragedy.

Court Rules Mohanlal’s 'Karmayodha' Script As Plagiarised, Orders ₹30 Lakh Compensation for Writer 

"They messed with you, so what's wrong with messing with them?" This is how 

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