When Icon last spoke with Haris Hussain at the beginning of the year (One Swallow Does Not a Spring Make, January 8), he and his friends had finally made up their minds to watch The Legend of Maula Jatt (TLoMJ) at Capri Cinema in Karachi.

Their plan came to fruition days before the cinema temporarily closed shop. Today, nine months later, Capri, after briefly opening to the public, has shuttered its doors semi-permanently (the cinema may or may not open in November), and Haris and his friends have yet to return to the movies.

“It is not about going to Capri,” Haris says, shaking his head at the notion of favouring one particular cinema. “There is little to look forward to. What does one watch when there is so little to watch!” he states in a matter-of-fact tone.

Haris is 40, and works for a multinational company. He should be the primary audience for Pakistani filmmakers, yet isn’t.

Despite the shot in the arm provided by the blockbuster The Legend of Maula Jatt, Pakistan’s film industry seems, once again, to be in the doldrums. Footfall in cinemas has dwindled to a paltry 20 percent. Why are film-goers staying away?

“No, I don’t go to watch Pakistani films,” he adds with disdain. “They look like rip-offs of Indian films — and bad versions of them at that.”

The comparison has been front and centre of articles, reviews and public opinion since 2013, when Pakistani films began winning the audiences’ trust. However, the one exception Haris brings up — and that too quite often — is TLoMJ.

Like the comparison with Bollywood, the constant reference to TLoMJ by the cine-going audience is also a given, since it is the first film in Pakistan’s history to sail past 300 crore rupees worldwide.

When Haris and his friends went to see TLoMJ, it had just crossed into boss-level territory, by grossing 100 crore rupees in Pakistan — a miraculous milestone its distributor, Nadeem Mandviwalla, was yearning to witness in his lifetime, he states.

Last week, the film celebrated another milestone by running in Pakistan’s multiplexes for a year. The domestic gross of the film till October 12 is 1,163,626,238 — or 116.36 crore — rupees.

To put the figure into perspective: the 16 crores TLoMJ made at a snail’s pace from just a handful of screens this year — it was released in October 2022 — is more than that of the highest grossing Pakistani film this year.

That latter title belongs to Money Back Guarantee (MBG), with its 12 crore rupee gross, followed by Teri Meri Kahaniyaan’s (TMK) 10 crores. Both films are separated by their respective eids. Given their budgets, MBG is a box-office failure, while TMK broke even its investment after sales of its television and streaming rights.

Although accurate figures aren’t provided yet (most sources are embarrassed to even say them out loud), the 15 or so titles released in 2023 have only squeezed between seven to 10 crore rupees from cinema-goers in total.

With occupancies per show dropping well below the 20 percent mark for Pakistani and foreign films — and that, too, on a good day, Icon is told by cinema owners — the audience has finally stopped caring, it seems.

So, why have cinema audiences just dried up?

Haris’ complaint echoes far and wide with the diverse group of people Icon spoke to. A poll conducted across private WhatsApp groups — made up of people from all walks of life in Karachi — confirms the opinions of Ayesha Moin, a BBA student, and Tooba Zahid, an event planner. The consensus is that Pakistani films need to up their game by making films that capture the audiences’ attention.

Maham Qasim, a lecturer at a university, says that going to the movies is a rare thought in her head. In fact, she can’t even recall the name of the last Pakistani movie she has seen. “It’s been two years,” she admits, though, one senses, the words come with little remorse.

“I do recall that my dad saw a poster of a movie with a tagline about the Fall of Dhaka, or something related to that, but then we saw the trailer and he said ‘Chhorro yaar [Forget it], why would I spend so much on that?” The film was Huay Tum Ajnabi, written and directed by television host Kamran Shahid.

Maham and her friends were forgiving towards Pakistani titles between 2016 and 2018, when the industry was peaking. The movies had their wallet’s attention every 15 days, back when Millennium Mall had the only multiplex in their vicinity. By the time Nueplex Askari opened up, their movie outings had dropped to once every two to three months.

Still, during the years, she saw Sherdil — “that too, after a lot of research,” she affirms with a laugh that was directed inwards.

Superstar, Karachi Se Lahore, Teefa in Trouble were fine, but she didn’t like the sequels to Wrong No. and Na Maloom Afraad, and Zindagi Kitni Haseen Hai, the toothless version of Kramer Vs. Kramer.

Maham is of the opinion that Pakistani films need to find a balance when it comes to emotions.

“It’s not necessary to over-dramatise the story,” she says — and of course, entertainment value is paramount, the lack of which has led to her recent dismissal of Pakistani films.

Numair Chishti, a procurement manager at a mega mart, whom Icon had also spoken to back in 2020 (Binge Watching Television…But for How Long?, April 12, 2020) is quick to point out that he does indeed go to the movies — just not Pakistani ones.

Numair’s last cinema visit was for Fast X this year, with his wife, Somaya Chishti, a customer care representative. The last Pakistani film they went to see in cinemas was Waar, 10 years ago.

“I don’t think Pakistani movies are worth watching in cinemas,” she says outright. The couple do see local films when they come online, or when they used to be on Netflix, Icon understands.

Her husband, a self-professed admirer of Shoaib Mansoor and Bilal Lashari, it seems, couldn’t convince Somaya to see TLoMJ.

“I heard good reviews of TLoMJ, but it is not my type of genre,” she says.

Somaya’s advice for Pakistani filmmakers is to “learn something new… We are so behind our neighbouring country that even one of their sub-industries, South Indian cinema, is [leagues] better than what we make.”

Numair is of the opinion that Pakistani cinema reeks of rehashed content that doesn’t yet have its own identity. “Even when Bollywood tries to emulate South Indian cinema, the end product’s style and storytelling does not look like an exact copy of the original,” he says.

The couple’s other gripe is technical: particularly about the clarity of sound. Even a subpar film needs good sound to make sense — a basic fact Pakistani filmmakers seem to be forgetting.

The husband and wife prefer Netflix, and the diverse collection of content it offers. Their current picks range from English and Korean productions — The Witcher, Money Heist, Good Doctor (South Korean).

The language barrier, they say, is the least of their worries. They can turn on dubbing options (in Hindi), if they don’t want to read the subtitles.

Speaking of Hindi: Indian films and series, despite being on their watchlist, are not a preference.

The problem with India’s current filmmaking trend, Numair states, is the unwarranted use of foul dialogue and adult content.

Modern touches in narratives are a must for today’s audience, but not if they compromise the cultural, societal and familial morals and values that come naturally to Pakistanis, says Mohammad Mohsin Khan, a food photographer and videographer.

A subscriber of Netflix and Amazon Prime, Mohsin has an appetite for narrative content. He is also a big patron of the cinema, who sees at least three films a month, even in this bad economy. It used to be much more just a few years ago, he states.

Mohsin’s last movie outing made him barf, he says: the film was Exorcist: Believer. The last Pakistani film he saw was — and that too, twice — was TLoMJ. The reveal held no surprise to this writer.

Mohsin would be inclined to go to Pakistani movies, he says, it is just that no film has given him the incentive to spend his hard-earned money.

An exception could have been Kamli but, by the time he learned about the film, it had already outstayed its welcome at the cinemas.

Despite a handful of films’ heavy advertisement campaigns by their media partners, the lack of spending on publicity is a big factor for the bad box-office runs, Icon learns. For the most part, people just don’t know when a film is set to be released in cinemas.

Publicity, however, is just one part of the equation to gain the audience’s attention. The other — and far more important aspect — is the trailer. Like it was for Haris, TLoMJ’s trailer was enough to get Mohsin’s attention. The same does not ring true for other Pakistani productions, he says.

Although Mohsin likes comedies, the trailers are a dead giveaway of the narrative quality of the film.

“The films look like bad versions of excessively commercialised Bollywood films, with their off-putting songs.” The comment, as stated earlier, remains constant in any conversation.

Mohsin, and others whom Icon spoke to, want filmmakers to explore genres other than comedies and drama. The demand for action films takes the top spot, followed by romance, thrillers, fantasy and horror. Drama movies have the least popularity because, one assumes, the genre reigns supreme on television.

Surprisingly, there is also some demand for stories that have themes and messages relevant to contemporary issues — but again, not at the cost of entertainment value.

Unsurprisingly, audiences have great interest in historical films — or fantastical films set in a historical context — that are big in budget and design. One assumes this to be the result of two titles in particular: TLoMJ and the mega-series Dirili: Erturul (the latter was referred to by almost everyone Icon spoke to).

Haris says that he had finished the series before it came to Pakistani television, and saw it once again when it was dubbed into Urdu.

Also, according to most opinions — and quite surprisingly — while the expensive ticket prices are often cited by conventional wisdom as one of the prime reasons for the downturn in cinema attendances, they do not seem to be a decisive deterrent for the masses.

“Forget 1,000, I would spend 5,000 rupees if the film, like Maula Jatt, justifies the amount I am spending,” Haris says.

It seems, all he, and everyone else in Pakistan need, is a good reason to spend their hard-earned money.

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 5th, 2023