Like any feat great or small, worthwhile or inconsequential, this story begins with a conversation, that sparked an idea, that urged an impulse, that led to a minor revolution, of sorts.

It was late one night at Aijazz Aslam’s house, after I folded the notepad with the scribbled details of his interview (Man of Action, published November 8, 2020), when the actor voiced an earnest plea: “Let’s do something,” he said.

By ‘something’, Aijazz meant ‘something different’.

In Pakistan — as it was in India in the ’90s and 2000s — the word ‘different’ often elicits harrumphs and eye-rolls. It’s a cliched term that’s often thrown around but is, by and large, worthless.

That day with Aijazz, however, ‘different’ implied mimicking international standards of formulaic storytelling that appears out of the box when compared to routine Pakistani productions.

Icon’s reviewer Mohammad Kamran Jawaid decided to take up a challenge to make a non-clichéd, film-quality telefilm on a limited budget, only to show that television could do ‘different’. This is how Future Imperfect panned out… in his own words

Everyone — celebrities, corporates, naysayers, would-be filmmakers and amateurs — were (and still are) gunning to get noticed by international streaming platforms, and local productions, be it television or film, but not cutting it.

After all, creative stagnation has made a comfy home in televised and filmed entertainment. Television productions either stick to unlaughable comedies or dramatic portrayals of familial betrayals, with a few trending issues thrown in for good measure.

Films and filmmakers — with very few exceptions — are happy with presumed notions of commercial viability by booming songs and splashing bright primary colours that mask uncolourful, paper-thin romance, comedy or drama plots.

Action, thrillers, supernatural or science fiction genres are on the brink of the endangered list. If made at all, they are handled with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, or the unoriginality of a bad late-night B-movie.

Aghast and exasperated with his or her day job, anyone who is creatively inclined, yet does several productions a year to keep the kitchen running (and then some), is seeking a brief reprieve.

This was not the first time a conversation or an interview with a celebrity had led down this route. A few weeks later, however, Aijazz resumed the conversation as if it had been left on pause. “So, what are we doing…?” he asked earnestly.

Zaid Aziz, a friend who had dabbled in productions in the early 2000s, was also exasperated by the routine of the system.

Years ago, Zaid had produced The Early Days, a coming-of-age college drama that was deemed too risky by the networks; it aired on Geo, nonetheless. His second project, Aurat Aur Mard, a tale of adultery starring Ali Kazmi, Mahnoor Baloch and Shahzad Nawaz, was also initially deemed too edgy for television; it was eventually broadcast on ARY Digital.

Having recently returned to television productions (he has produced several telefilms in the past year for ARY Digital, Urdu1 and Aaj Entertainment), Zaid was done sifting through worn-out scripts and shoddy directors.

A fellowship between the three of us, earnest in conception was born that day, that at the very least, would scratch an irksome itch, record a statement, and deliver on an oft-debated challenge. The idea was to push the envelope as far as possible within the constraints of the system.

A brief revolt against the machine came about that day, if only for the span of one project…but it doesn’t have to be that way.

Before jumping into the fray, there were a few stipulations from this writer: the story would tackle a genre not usually done in film — a supernatural thriller with action set-pieces that would look and feel like a movie (ie. no conventional camera set-ups and scenes); it would star Aijazz in a non-conformist role of a flawed hero; that the narrative would not adhere to the format or clichés usually practised on television; and that, as the writer-director of the film, there would be no compromise on the creative and technical aspects of production.

In turn, the producer Zaid also had his own terms: the budget would be only half of a routine telefilm (a comedy telefilm with a celebrity cast costs around 2.5 million rupees; you do the math); and the production would have to be wrapped up within four days, as is the norm in television production.

Challenge accepted…despite common sense screaming otherwise.

Inspired by supernatural anthologies with moral overtones — ala The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, Amazing Stories and, of late, Black Mirror — Future Imperfect, a thriller, with action and supernatural and time-loop elements, was reverse-engineered to incorporate elements that would make it stand apart from usual productions.

In the film, Aijazz would star as Zahid, a self-conflicted medical sales rep who finds a diary written in his own handwriting. A diary he doesn’t remember writing, and whose entries, bewildering to him, chart out his next 24 hours in explicit detail. The diary has one rule for him: don’t question anything, just follow along.

With orders from the diary propelling him on a frantic journey to fulfill his own pre-ordained destiny, Zahid ignites a chain reaction that will change his own future. A future that needs to come to pass, without his consent or volition.

Along with Aijazz — probably the most underrated big-name actor today (the man has a razor-sharp memory, and flawless muscle memory of his body posture during dialogues) — Future Imperfect starred Khaled Anam, Khalid Zafar, Ibrahem Kushtiwala (a former kickboxer who trains MMAs; he also choreographed the action sequences), Hassam Khan and Mashal Khan.

With exception to Mashal and Ibrahem, who were very late additions to the cast, the actors were already in mind when the story was being written. Let’s just say everyone brought their A-game to the set, with Aijazz working 20-hour days to see the project through.

Future Imperfect plays out in four chapters, each with their own headings that linearly expand the subplots, character backstories and motivations. Originally thought up as a miniseries — or at the very least, a two-hour film — key events were drastically condensed to accommodate a 70-minute run time.

Frankly speaking, in hindsight, the production was too ambitious for its own good; it aimed too big, and fell short in parts.

Aesthetically speaking, the story had weighty overtones for a television production. Characters were deliberately written with flaws and self-righteous convictions. In every other scene, personal dilemmas and inner conflicts weighed heavily on their choices, beliefs and eventual actions.

To justify their sense of conviction, the screenplay relied heavily on exposition — a necessary tool given the complex nature of the story (exposition is predominately used in international television, when characters spell out or exchange critical information that needs to be shared with the audience).

The mystery of the diary is explained before the end of the first chapter — though it could have been better elaborated.

The diary is considered a temporal singularity — an artefact that exists both in the present and the future, where it is written by Zahid — now an old man — who knows how his destiny would unfold.

Since the old Zahid has already lived the same day in his past, he knows that the entries he writes in the future will eventually make their way to the past, triggering a time-loop (the tagline in the trailer literally spells this out: “What you write in the future, becomes your past”).

The diary originally had a diabolical, sentient nature, akin to The Lord of the Rings’ one ring’s influence on the corruption of the soul, but was written out of the narrative. As a simplification measure, the diary was converted into a McGuffin — a plot device that puts the narrative in motion, but doesn’t have its own standing or worth in the story (think: the rabbit’s foot from Mission: Impossible 3).

Stepping up in the occult’s stead were questions of belief, free will and divinity. For example: if one obtains Divine knowledge of their destiny, and if they choose to blindly follow that preset path, are they not infringing on God’s domain and his all-knowing plan? And, in a deeper perspective, how does free will factor into one’s actions if they always lead to an inevitable future?

Contrary to popular belief that such grave subtexts and genres aren’t entertained by networks, the film was picked up at its conceptual stage, because of the producer’s push.

By the time Future Imperfect went on set, it had tremendous goodwill from the industry. Satish Anand, Irfan Malik, Abdullah Kadwani (of Eveready, ARY Films and 7th Sky), rallied behind the notion of making a film-level production within the constraints of television; their moral support helped the project when things got rough during the shoot.

Jamil Baig, owner of Nueplex Cinemas, graciously opened the doors of his own office, and The Place (where several key scenes were shot) for a whole day’s shoot, without charge.

These wins, however, were the least of the problems the production would encounter.

The screenplay, written without time for a rewrite, had 90 scenes in 22 locations, which were to be shot in five days (the film originally had a four-day schedule, but a day was added to accommodate an actor’s health issues).

Sixty percent of the shoot was outdoors in heavily trafficked areas of Saddar and Clifton (the film was shot around Shaheen Complex, I.I. Chundrigar Road, Zaibunnisa Street, locations between Regal Chowk and Empress Market). The film had a car chase, a kidnapping and two fight sequences.

These specs intentionally mimic the logistics of a theatrically released motion picture. In comparison, a 70-minute telefilm with double the budget usually has 35 scenes in roughly five to seven locations.

Despite the logistical nightmare, the production crew — mostly from television — enthusiastic as they were, weren’t prepared for the task. Had the shoot not been broken down into exact shots with character and camera movements, the five-day production schedule (with some 30-odd scenes being shot every day) wouldn’t have been possible. It took the crew two days to pick up the rhythm.

Back in the edit, there were a multitude of problems, from missing dialogue to post-production issues (the first rough edit from the editor had the wrong shots). Initially commissioned to work as a writer-director, 14 additional duties (from editing, grading, VFX and sound work) were taken upon by yours truly, for the sake of making a statement.

And the statement is this: Future Imperfect might have been a reprieve for its actors, and it may very well be an exception to the rule, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Excuses about budgets, lack of originality in stories and profound messages are just that: excuses.

Pakistani productions, contrary to our understanding, need to adhere to international production workflows. Pre-production and planning are non-existent, post-production pipelines and broadcast workflows are arcane. The thing is, in today’s world, when film education is but a click away (most of it is free on YouTube), why are creatives and the industry still being held captive by age-old standards and egos?

Irrespective of whether the film we made is good, bad or flawed (as the title, I personally believe it is an “imperfect” endeavour with its share of things lacking), if a film critic can go out of his way to make a risky venture in the most difficult of mediums (ie. television), in the bare minimum of budgets and pull off action sequences, pseudo-supernatural thriller themes, why can’t professional filmmakers making films for cinema do the same? Isn’t it time we diversify?

At the end of the day it all comes down to persistence, will and preparation. I hope someone is listening.

Future Imperfect aired on August 7 on Aaj Entertainment. It is available on YouTube

Published in Dawn, ICON, August 29th, 2021