A young woman is haunted by a demon child (or a figment of her imagination); a disgruntled newsman stirs up a youth-led political revolt; a woman uncovers and fights parochial injustice; a downcast former cricketer champions an untested district cricket team; local youths stuck in a rut try to outrun the circle of life; and a man, who like any big-screen anti-terrorist sentinel, is the last hope for Pakistan against home-grown and international villainy: 2013 has been a sudden, and distinct, year for Pakistani cinema.

Before the year began, there was hardly any substantial push for Pakistani cinema. But as the year went ahead, the progress became a mix of gradual, carefully-footed, releases — most of which, despite flashes of brilliance, mixed reviews or big box office numbers, flopped. But this is a happy year as well. Mainstream Urdu language films — a must for any revival — with diverse themes were released in multiplexes.

The audience responded, depending on how vigorously the movie was marketed. Investors noticed. New movies were planned, or those already completed, were released in new strategic alliances. Enthusiasm, and perhaps the thirst for limelight, led new producers to venture into the Pakistani motion picture market (as of now, almost every other man, vaguely into the entertainment field, is looking to make a movie; after all television is too crowded or monopolised right now). This is, of course, the best time to make a Pakistani movie as people always tend to remember those who were in the forefront of a new wave.

When the year started, a friend who worked as the distributor of a movie got in touch with me; a Pakistani horror movie was coming out. Sceptical at first, I didn’t really buy the idea of a mainstream Pakistani movie that I didn’t know about (especially because there was no publicity). The gentleman, Imran Raza Kazmi, a soft-spoken yet enthusiastic first-time producer, told me a story familiar to any producer: he has made a movie, at his own risk, and is fighting to get it out.

Siyaah was eventually released to a lukewarm response and a lack of Pakistan-wide distributor support (one of the reasons for this was that Siyaah was mastered in digital, limiting its release to multiplexes or cinemas set-up with digital projectors). This was in March. Mr Kazmi would eventually take his movie out to private screenings and universities, and make serious money — or so he tells me (according to Mr Kazmi’s estimates, Siyaah ultimately earned Rs 11,691,476).

One month later, Abdullah Kadwani and Shahzad Nawaz’s Chambaili hit around election time. It was a powerful cinematic experience, and despite its timing and encouraging box office returns, the movie was a financial loss.

The next big push would be in August with Ishq Khuda, a Punjabi language release directed by Shahzad Rafique. Shot in 35mm, which is a scarcity in this year’s line-up, the production had quality but didn’t reach out to the right audiences. The film’s biggest drawback: it faced off with Bollywood’s Chennai Express.

Despite Ishq Khuda’s financial losses, August was significant to Pakistani cinema: a partnership was struck between ARY Digital and Mandviwalla Entertainment (who also manage Atrium Cinemas). Two distinct brands met, and created diversity: The Platform, a small budget motion picture initiative was set up, followed by ARY Films’ own rush into the industry. (Just a few weeks ago, ARY Films launched another strategic alliance with Shaan Shahid).

Josh — Against the Grain (via The Platform) and Main Hoon Shahid Afridi (Mandviwalla Entertainment and ARY Films) came out — one an independent-minded, social message based production, previously released worldwide; the other a grand entertainer of lacklustre plot of big production. As per my knowledge, both movies, despite their inspiring numbers, tanked. A month later, Zinda Bhaag, which shifted strategic partners and release dates for wider coverage, was selected to be Pakistan’s official entry into the Oscars. The movie, again, was a financial loss.

Seedlings (aka Lamha), also distributed by ARY Films, and released a week before Zinda Bhaag, was given a limited release in an already busy week. No one knew (including myself) when it came, or went. (This was the case with Hassan Askari’s Dil paray des main, Libas and Kabhi pyar na karna as well).

Then came Waar, a superficially crafted uber-actioner that made history. Still playing in cinemas, Waar is officially the highest grossing Pakistani movie of all time, despite mixed to negative reviews. Like most international hits, the film capitalised in the areas of hype and preconceived notions, asserting the formula of making a blockbuster: make it big, cut the trailer just right, bridge the market gap.

Waar had a clean palette, some worthwhile action, and although severely lacking in plot or narrative coherence, appealed to our nationalistic nature to go and buy a ticket. It is important to note three things in this new wave: cinematic value, release dates and competition, and economics.

Out of the 36 movies released in 2013, 11 were in Urdu language and eight were mainstream releases. Almost all major business came from metropolitan cities and multiplexes. In fact, the multiplexes are as significant, as say, importing Bollywood movies, which despite constant hate-mail, were fundamental in bringing our cinema culture back on track.

Right now, several multiplex projects, including CineStar’s first IMAX in Lahore (due out in mid-2014), are either being pondered upon or being set up. According to Hammad Chaudhry of HKC Entertainment, the number of total screens (of around 10-12 multiplexes) is likely to increase from 25–30 in 2014.

A point to note is that three movies with noteworthy earnings — Chambaili, Main hoon Shahid Afridi and Waar — were released in off-seasons; April, August and October. These months are generally reserved for small movies that do not fall in the column of summer blockbusters. A movie needs to make three times its budget from the cinemas; by calculation, a 50 per cent stake per ticket goes to the exhibitor (the cinema owner) and the rest returns to the distributor, whose stake, minus publicity costs (or brokered deal), runs to around 15 per cent. The remaining earnings are counted as a producer’s net profit.

As it happens with any industry, fledging or fruitful, the movies need to be evaluated on their aesthetic and technical grounds. Main hoon Shahid Afridi was a lush entertainer with a clichéd plot; Chambaili was outright brilliant, if a tad preachy; Siyaah, left its engrossing first act in favor of dead and tired horror-movie formulas; Josh was agenda-driven, pale and uninspiring; Ishq Khuda was pondering; Zinda Bhaag was gutsy and original and Waar was simply a big summer blockbuster.

The varying opinions, of course, bring room for improvement — which, I believe, is part of a filmmaker’s perpetual learning experience.

While opinions are subjective and divided on tastes, I personally believe that filmmakers shouldn’t start making movies just because they can. Yes, technology is cheaper today and production turn-around may seem fast but experience tells me, it is anything but. Mr Kadwani, who I recently was in a candid conversation with, asserts this view point.

While Pakistani cinema may sound appealing right now, people producing movies need to understand the pitfalls of the trade: There is going to be fierce competition with bigger Bollywood movies (Hollywood, unfortunately, has always been the lesser of two evils to Pakistani producers); there are still a limited number of cinema screens available; productions need to be precisely budgeted and scheduled; for a sustainable revival, our new wave needs to keep a delicate balance between genres and diversity — and let’s not forget the most essential factor: the filmmakers need to work hard on their scripts (if it’s not right on paper, people won’t buy it; flukes are a rarity).

If they plan their movies right, the revival is definitely here to stay.

—By Mohammad Kamran Javaid

The death knell for Pakistani music was sounded once again as it has been for a few years now with musicians begrudging the lack of a viable recording industry to support them. Coke Studio, which has been assuming the mantle for sometime now and in its 6th season this year, lost its charm and became stale with its somewhat predictable sound.

But truth be told, things weren’t as bleak as some prognosticators might suggest. While 2013 wasn’t a stellar year for music, it wasn’t without its standout moments.

Here are the five of the highlights of the year.

5. The prodigal son returns

Kicking off the list is a veteran of Pakistani music Abrar-uI-Haq who made his Coke Studio debut this year with Ishq Di Booti, a folk-and-funk Punjabi number structured around western scales. It’s a song that’s lyrically rooted in a deeply personal spiritual journey and it shows in Abrar’s delivery. The song has an almost enchanting groove that even the most soulless person will be taken in by. On the flip side, a lively brass section provides the requisite balance, making for a perfect marriage of sounds and textures.

4. Star rising

Sanam Marvi has been around for a few years now with her brand of Punjabi folk and Sufi music, especially with some of her performances on Coke Studio. But her performance of Yaar Vekho, based on the poem by Hazrat Sachal Sarmas has been making the rounds on social media feeds of late and has had her being touted as the next Abida Parveen — high praise for a singer who’s only 25.

3. Mooroo goes Sufi

The one-man sound factory Taimoor Salahuddin has made waves in our sparse music scene over the past couple of years. With his eclectic use of pop, hip-hop and rock beats, he churns out cacophonous melodies that end up sounding oddly pleasing to the ear. It’s clear that Mooroo isn’t afraid to push the envelope and it is with that same daring musical sensibility that he took on his rendition of Abida Parveen’s Gharoli.

Purists will bicker about Mooroo’s audacious treatment of this Sufi classic, but he clearly believes that music — even the classics — will remain stagnant unless they are breathed new life into every now and then. Applying his usual dose of quirky beats and idiosyncratic synthesis, Mooroo’s take on Gharoli counts as one of the year’s definite highlights.

2. Fraud 2013 style

The folks over at Nescafe Basement took many of us down memory lane with their refreshing take of Awaz’s classic hit Mr Fraudiye from the ’90s. Vocalist Altamash Sever did a fine job on the tongue-in-cheek tune that took on the establishment, something which is sadly still very much relevant today. While keeping the original spirit of the song alive, the Basement Band replaced the cheesiness of ‘90s pop with a more nuanced jazzy feel. It was more than refreshing to hear the incorporation of a brass section, which added a lively texture to the song and was also pleasing to see the upcoming generation veer away from the me-and-my-axe mentality of the late ’90s music scene.

1. The man with the spectrum eyes

What can be said of Tahir Shah that hasn’t already been said. There’s no question that he caught Pakistan’s imagination with the imitable Eye To Eye. A song that belongs in the so-bad-that-it’s-good category, Eye To Eye was the epitome of the viral genre. Many of us are still reeling from its effect, and those who deny having caught themselves humming it are just flat out lying. It’s still unclear whether this little ditty was a sincere attempt at songwriting or just a virtuosic prank by an ingenious shyster.

Nonetheless, it was by far the single most noteworthy musical moment of 2013, albeit for all the wrong reasons. So without further ado, Tahir Shah take a bow, the year belongs to you!

—By Salman Haqqi

How to get filthy rich in rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid

With a self-help format, a second-person narrative and a nameless protagonist, How to get filthy rich in rising Asia by Mohsin Hamid couldn’t have got more interesting as it tells the story of a cook in a rural village who leaves for the metropolis, falls in love with a girl and sets up an industry. And, he becomes filthy rich in a rising Asia.

Even though the plot is not very convincing at various instances, it makes for a fresh, original read. One, however, wishes that the pace of the book could have been slower as crucial and entire stages of the protagonist’s life pass by in merely a few pages, leaving the reader without a sufficient sense of closure. .

The prose is deft and Hamid does not lose fluidity as he journeys the life of his hero. Considering it was one of the most anticipated books in Pakistan in 2013, it definitely did not let the reader down.

The blind man’s garden by Nadeem Aslam

Set in the aftermath of 9/11, Nadeem Aslam’s latest offering The blind man’s garden begins with two Pakistani men slipping into Afghanistan. Jeo has discreetly offered to treat casualties in the “war against terror” with his adopted brother Mikal, who works at a gun shop, following him there. They are deceived and immediately sold to the Taliban in the throes of war. Struggling to do the right thing while faced with predicaments is integral to the story as Aslam tells it.

And even if the story falters at some instances, Aslam’s prose doesn’t. As a matter of fact, to some extent, his prose redeems any shortcomings the book may be offering — such as grim and terrifying descriptions of atrocities confronted by ordinary people at the hands of the Taliban. Here is a writer who knows his craft like the back of his hand. It’s hard to believe that he taught himself to write English after he moved to Britain from Pakistan. The power of his prose is haunting and lasting.

The shadow of the crescent moon by Fatima Bhutto

It’s not every day that you read a work of fiction with the story based in Waziristan, one of Pakistan’s most volatile regions, off-limits due to drone strikes and militancy. Since Waziristan has mostly gained notoriety for its perils, a reader is only intrigued to pick up Fatima Bhutto’s latest book.

During the course of three fateful hours, it tells the story of three brothers and the women close to them who decide to go to different mosques for security reasons. As the story is set into motion, the characters grapple with issues crucial to them in the face of situations such as sectarianism, terrorism, etc. It’s an exciting book but fails to deliver on some counts as it endeavours to tell too many things within the course of just one morning.

How it Happened by Shazaf Fatima Haider

Debut novel by Shazaf Fatima Haider, How it Happened is a quintessential tale of love, arranged marriages, family quarrels and rivalries. The story is narrated by the 15-year-old Saleha Bandian who tells the reader about how her elder brother Haroon and sister Zeba finally tied the knot. Matters are made worse due to the fact that the Bandian family is Shia and any prospective spouses for its younger generation must be from a similar Shia-Syed background.

Many reviewers and critics have linked Haider’s novel to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, from her witty writing to her characters, of which Dadi bears the most similarities to Austen’s Mrs Bennett. However, despite all of these similarities, How it Happened fits perfectly into the local cultural context and is, therefore, immensely relatable for its readers.

I am Malala: The girl who stood up for education and was shot by the Taliban by Malala Yousufzai with Christina Lamb

One of the most anticipated books of 2013 was Malala Yousufzai’s autobiography I am Malala, which she co-authored with British journalist Christina Lamb. I am Malala starts with the horrifying incident of Oct 12, 2012 when Malala was shot in the head for her stance on education of girls. It then moves backwards in the past where there are many things to be learnt about the young girl whose resistance and support of education won many hearts both in Pakistan and abroad.

Although, it is important to remember that she also gained many critics at home. This has resulted in her book being banned in private schools in Pakistan. There is also the fear, further cemented with the release of her memoir, that Malala has been turned into a tool for certain powerful parties who may be using her in order to realise their own ulterior motives.

—By Soonha Abro and Fatema Imani