The film, written and directed by Abu Aleeha, focuses on the historic Karachi neighbourhood of Lyari, its girls and their love for football. It will release in Pakistan on May 8 after premiering at the UK Asian Film Festival.

The film stars Ayesha Omar as a football coach who suffered a debilitating injury, ostensibly a result of domestic abuse. Having escaped Lyari, she returns to teach girls in the area how to play.

There, Afsana (Dananeer Mobeen) and Kashmala (Trinette Lucas) train with the coach in secret, using the game to escape troubles at home.

The trailer shows how, while her mother is supportive of her activities, Afsana’s father subjects her to abuse similar to what Omar’s character faced when he finds out his daughter is “wearing pants and playing football”.

Omar, who also serves as the film’s executive producer under her production house Hawks Bay Studios, said it was more than a movie for her and the team. “It’s a story we truly believe in.” She called it “a story of resilience, identity and the courage to rise, even when the odds are stacked against you”.

She said the film was “extremely close to our hearts” and she was glad to share a glimpse of that journey with everyone.

Earlier, the film’s director said its greatest strength was its authenticity, having been shot in Lyari by people who knew the area. He said “80 per cent of the cast — including supporting actors, members of the local football teams and even our hero Shoaib Hassan — are actual Lyari inhabitants”.

Sindh Minister of Information Sharjeel Memon hailed the film in December as Pakistan hitting back at “negative propaganda” pushed by India. The province’s information department, which operates under his ministry, was also involved in making this film.

In an interview with the BBC Asian Network, the director of her project Haq, Suparn Verma, said he had her learn the Holy Quran and understand the Quranic dialect of Arabic for four months for her role in the movie.

The film follows the story of Shazia Bano, the wife of a lawyer in 1970s India whose husband marries another woman and refuses to pay her agreed upon maintenance. When Bano takes her husband to court, he divorces her.

Verma told host Haroon Rashid the research for the movie was extensive. “We spent almost a year and a half understanding Islamic law.”

He said we lived in an “age of misinformation” where people like Andrew Tate had followers among men and women. “Everybody has information, you don’t know whether it’s right or wrong. In that space, I wanted Haq to be a voice of reason.”

The director said he had spent his whole life with Muslim friends and felt he had a certain responsibility to them “as an Indian”.

Aside from his goal of correcting “misnomers when it comes to Islam,” Verma said the idea was to show just how little the world had changed for women since the 1970s. “They lived in a man’s world then, they live in a man’s world now. They fight the same glass ceiling, the same biases.”

Haq is based on the true story of Shah Bano Begum, who won a Supreme Court of India case against her husband in 1985 and secured her right to maintenance. The case is considered a watershed moment for the rights of Muslim women in India.

The filmmaker said he was overwhelmed by how many people the story resonated with. “Honestly, you hope for a wave of love. You never expect a tsunami of connection the way Haq has [received].”

The film’s first teaser dropped on Wednesday and it looks like we’re about to see some action-infused romance in the narrow lanes of old Lahore.

A description provided by the studio says while some love stories are gentle, this one isn’t, it’s “explosive”. It describes the film’s romance as “caught in the middle of chaos, choices, and consequences” and that it promises “emotion, intensity and edge-of-your-seat action”.

The teaser itself is no different, with Saeed narrating some of the contradictions of his story. “They say love changes a man, mine destroyed me. This is a story of love and a story of war, where the heart beats and breath stops. I have decided, I will neither stop, nor will I surrender.”

The visuals in the clip include Saeed facing off against a heavyset wrestler, leaping off rooftops and riding a vintage motorcycle with his love interest.

There is also a scene where his scream stops a goon mid-strike and makes him hand over his bat to the hero, suggesting there might be a little bit of comic relief to ease the tension in the movie.

The film is a brainchild of Imran Malik, who wrote and directed it. It stars Mehrunnisa Iqbal, Rana Ejaz, Babar Ali and Tabrez Khan alongside Shajaffar and Saeed.

Luv Di Saun will be joined in theatres by the thriller Psycho, starring Meera and Shaan Shahid over Eid. Fahad Mustafa and Mehwish Hayat’s horror flick Zombied will also be competing for cinemas patronage during the holidays.

The film, which was set to release on Eidul Azha, has been deferred until further notice, according to a post on Instagram from Hum Films.

The company appreciated fans for their “patience and unwavering support” and said they “remain committed to bringing this story to the big screen very soon”. They said a new release date would be announced “at the earliest”.

The film, starring Bilal Ashraf and Maya Ali in its lead roles, was due to be an epic of heroism with helpings of guns, guts and glory on the side. Its teaser was packed with adrenaline; it began in icy terrain, with a narrator speaking of a perilous path full of struggles and oppression.

“The pharaohs of our time wear but a single face, a face I am sworn to recognise. I will find them and I will rise up. And I will talk the sacred line decreed by God. My name is Yusuf Khan, this is my story,” he said, with Ashraf’s character on screen.

There’s a scene where an iconic black and yellow taxi drifts through a roundabout and another where Ali’s character is setting up a shot with a sniper rifle.

Variety reported that the production employed multiple international crew members for its action sequences, with Nick Khan of Eternals and Hussain Abdullah of Skyfall leading the team. The crew travelled to Pakistan to shoot the action sequences and train local crew members for several months, after which it took around 70 days to shoot the action scenes alone.

The publication reported that Ashraf performed his own stunts, without body doubles, sustaining multiple injuries during filming.

The release of Khan Tumhara is the latest in a line of major entertainment events to have been postponed after unprovoked US-Israeli attacks on Iran plunged the region into chaos.

Earlier, the ARY Entertainment Awards suffered a similar fate due to security concerns regarding their Dubai venue. The grand finale of Pakistan Idol was also pushed forward in view of austerity measures and a change in the national sentiment.

Well, allow me to introduce you to three more: MC Affo, MC Bablay and MC Shobi. Restaurant workers by day, the three Gizri natives are part of Karachi’s underground rap scene. They’re also the focus of Saba Karim Khan’s documentary We Really Are Pakistan (W.R.A.P).

Intrigued by the trailer, I got in touch with Khan — a filmmaker, author and university instructor based in Abu Dhabi — to ask what inspired her to make the film and how she came across her protagonists.

She told me she had seen the Indian film Gully Boy — a fictional account of street rappers in Mumbai — and felt there had to be something similar in Pakistan. When she brought the idea up to a friend, he had just the men for the task.

“I was in Karachi, sitting with an old school friend in his play café, telling him about the film I wanted to make. He opened the kitchen door, called out a few names — and Affo, Bablay, and Shobi walked in and performed an impromptu audition… That was it. I was in.”

The second question, naturally, was about the rappers themselves, who were they and what made them do what they do.

The filmmaker told me Affo was the café’s head chef and had been through a messy divorce where he lost custody of his daughter. He raps to fulfil a dream to someday hear his daughter say, “My papa is the best artist.”

Bablay is Affo’s sous chef and Shobi is a server; both have been through hard times and work to support their families.

“Their rap repertoire is wide-ranging,” Khan told me. “There’s pride about their neighbourhood, class divides, Karachi — the city, human relationships and loss. They talk about being self-starters and conquering pessimism, of prevailing despite the circumstances.”

Expanding on those circumstances, the filmmaker said, “These rappers are taught, throughout their early years, to downsize their dreams to fit their reality. What they’re doing instead is expanding that reality to meet those dreams. I find that message glowing with hope, resistance, a refusal to ‘settle’ for the hand they’ve been dealt.”

I asked Khan if the rap scene springing up in Gizri was an isolated occurrence or if this was something she found elsewhere too.

“There definitely seems to be a wider movement happening with rap in Pakistan — Lyari, for instance, has a long-standing relationship with music and performance,” she said. “What’s particularly exciting is seeing more women enter the space, often in very public, visible ways. It suggests a scene that’s expanding both creatively and socially.”

She also said this movement was part of a much larger, global sphere. “There’s a shared language to hip-hop, that transcends physical borders, the colour of your skin, socio-economic class,” she said.

“Rap music travels,” Khan told me. “Human stories, music and emotions have a way of overcoming constructed boundaries.”

It’s also much older than most people would think. She referred to a talk given by oncology professor and Urdu poetry enthusiast Azra Raza, who said the poetic style now identified as rap had existed in Urdu for over 150 years as bahr-i-taweel.

True to the international relevance of its subject, W.R.A.P has received acclaim across borders, playing at film festivals in Paris, Cologne, Sweden, Montreal, Florida and Jaipur. The next stop for the film is the British Asian Film Festival in London, where it will stand alongside Pakistani films Ghost School and Mera Lyari next month.

One screening the filmmaker had to mention though, was the film’s first. “We were in a room full of Karachiites, ranging from so many different neighbourhoods, united through music and film. By the end, when the boys did a rap performance, the atmosphere was electric. You rarely get to see class collapse in such a powerful way.”

She said she hoped to get the film streaming in Pakistan after it completed its festival run and is even in talks with some platforms to host it. Khan said she wanted to screen it in cities apart from Karachi as well.

As for her own future, the filmmaker is already working on a number of projects. Last year, she worked on an experimental short, Dealing in Desire, with Sarmad Khoosat. She also has a couple of ideas for documentaries and has been experimenting with short films of her own.

Several episodes of Mirza Ki Heer — IDream Entertainment’s new drama, which has just started airing on ARY Digital — are currently being shot here and they revolve around a ‘shaadi ka ghar’ [wedding home], which means that the mayun décor will stay put until the scenes are wrapped up.

A seating area is set up in one corner, a bright yellow sheet laid over it and yellow and orange cushions strewn across it. There are marigold garlands bordering the stairs, the window sills and the pillars. They keep falling every now and then, and one of the spot-boys patiently tapes them back on.

A house that tells a story

There are little details in the various nooks and corners of the house, quietly reinforcing that this is, indeed, our hero, Mirza’s (played by actor Ali Raza) home. Family portraits hang on the walls, an old TV set has been placed inside the room belonging to the grandparents, bowls and vases are scattered on ageing tables, old crockery can be seen in a cupboard with dusty glass doors and there are bags, carelessly propped on chairs, symbolising the hotchpotch, not very affluent lifestyle of the residents of ‘Mirza House.’

With meticulous world-building, young, new leads and a formidable antagonist, director Aehsun Talish’s Mirza Ki Heer is betting on grand romance — the verdict on how well it will do remains to be seen

Evidently, the staircase snaking its way up from the courtyard to the upper floor has been specially constructed for the drama. When you go up it, you realise how makeshift it is, with some of the planks slightly rickety and creaking as you step on them. However, Mirza prances up them quite adeptly in the drama’s first episode, thus proving his acting mettle.

The cast can be found in one of the rooms on the first floor. Around the time that I arrive, Ali is about to have lunch with some of the cast and crew while the titular Heer — actress Hina Afridi — is getting her hair and make-up done.

Ali Safina, who plays Mirza’s happy-go-lucky uncle, walks in a few hours later. Zahid Ahmed, the villainous Dilnawaz, hell-bent on thwarting the two young lovers, is going to arrive at night for his scenes. Perpetually pacing up and down the courtyard are director Aehsun Talish and his right hand, his son Raza Talish, ironing out the nitty-gritties before the camera rolls.

Detailing the everyday

“Details are very important,” Aehsun says, once I have navigated the entire location and peered into all the rooms.

“In a lot of dramas, you see rooms that look completely artificial. They usually have a bed, two lamps, a very proper curtain, and then the hero puts on a tie, the heroine gets her hair curled, and they are both filmed there. It doesn’t connect because it’s all so perfect and manicured. TV audiences are very sharp and notice such things.”

He explains that, since Mirza’s family has been living in the house for 70 years, the team ensured the space looked lived-in. Simply placing portraits on the walls wasn’t enough; clutter was deliberately added — including plastic bags strewn around on a sofa — as such homes sometimes lack adequate storage space — to reflect the reality of such households. These personal touches, he emphasises, are essential.

The drama’s producer, Abdullah Seja, observes, “Hundreds of dramas have been shot in this very house, but we went the extra mile, restructuring it, so that the audience would not recognise it from previous dramas. I think it’s important to make these efforts in order to improve the visual experience and keep the story fresh.”

He further reveals that the courtyard was originally a covered area; the roof was removed, the staircase built, and the interiors redesigned to make the setting believable as Mirza’s home.

There’s more: “We have been experimenting a lot with Artificial Intelligence [AI] and, in this drama, we have utilised it to create most of the background music,” says Seja. “This is just the beginning. I am hopeful that soon we will be implementing AI into many more aspects of production.”

A shift to grand romance

Mirza Ki Heer, according to its makers, is a ‘grand romantic drama’, a genre that iDream Entertainment and Aehsun Talish hadn’t explored extensively before, both having focused instead on social commentaries in Sharpasand, the painful family tug-of-war in Bismil and the heightened filminess in Sher.

While shooting these earlier dramas, I had met Aehsun on various occasions and he had been very enthusiastic every time, excited about what was to come and discussing the nuances of the scripts at length. Today, he is similarly energised for Mirza Ki Heer.

“It’s very important to be excited,” he says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

A fresh new romantic ‘jorri’ (pair) has been cast in the drama. Why Ali Raza and Hina Afridi?

“They are both young and there is a freshness to them,” says the director. “Young actors have a lot of energy and both Ali and Hina are very enthusiastic, offering new ideas, owning the project and promoting it. It helps that they are both friends and so they are comfortable with each other and are able to perform without any inhibitions. They have both acted very well.”

I later get to talk to these two young actors, who agree that they are very comfortable acting out romantic scenes, though they end up laughing through most of them.

“We do laugh a lot but, then, it’s work and we have to try and get the scenes right,” says Ali. “It’s a good thing that we’re friends. Hina is like family to me and so we are very comfortable with each other. We improvise a lot and we react well to each other, so that the flow of the scene does not get disturbed.”

Hina adds, “We often discuss a scene beforehand, suggesting how he could act and, then, what I would do and running our ideas by Aehsun sahib.” She laughs and continues, “Aehsun sahib doesn’t say cut very loudly. We will be acting out a scene, looking into each other’s eyes, not realising that he has softly said ‘cut’ and the shooting has wrapped up!

“It’s very important to be excited,” director Aehsun Talish says. “You need to be convinced that there is something special about the script and then figure out ways of storytelling that will keep the audience engaged. Most stories are more or less the same. It is the way they are translated visually that makes them stand out.”

“There was this one time when I had to cry in a scene and for three-and-a-half minutes, I was crying, giving different expressions. Then, I heard Aehsun sahib’s voice behind me, asking: ‘Why is she still crying? Why are you crying, Hina?’ I hadn’t realised that the scene had already been completed,” she grins.

Both Ali and Hina’s initial acting trysts have been promising and both young actors have built up considerable fan followings. What attracted them to Mirza Ki Heer?

“It’s a very romantic drama, and I wanted to act in one. And in all the scripts that have been offered to me recently, this was the best one,” says Hina. “Ali’s mother is actually a very good friend of mine. She helps him decide what project to do, and she helped me out, too. She read this script, and we would be WhatsApping long voice notes back and forth, discussing the story.

“I was excited to be working with Aehsun sahib,” she adds. “I have been his fan ever since he directed Suno Chanda. By then, I had made my acting debut with this production house, in Pehli Si Mohabbat. This is my second project with them.”

Hina continues: “This drama was offered to me around the time that I was getting married and my manager told me that, if I signed up for it, I would be giving up the 15 days that I had taken off after my wedding. I said that I did not care and I was on the set just five days after getting married. That’s how excited I was!”

And what about you, I ask Ali. “I wanted to work with Aehsun Talish and I was excited to be working with iDream Entertainment for the first time. The last drama I had acted in was for Hum TV, while this one was for ARY Digital — I like switching channels with each project.

“I also really liked my character. He is an athlete and, to some extent, I got to show my comedic side in some of the scenes. Later in the story, the character undergoes a complete transition, which also struck me as very interesting.”

Ali, in his short career, has often been linked to his co-stars, with fans conjecturing whether there is a real or reel romance on screen. Why does he think this happens?

“Yes, why?” he questions with a grin. “I think I am able to build chemistry well on-screen which is why people just start assuming things. It has never made me or my co-actors uncomfortable, because we’re just doing our jobs. And it’s good for the project.”

Hina adds, “That’s how it should be. We’re doing our job and trying to do it right.”

Here, Ali decides to offer some acting tricks, “Not just with dialogues and your actions, I think that it is important to emote with your eyes in a romantic scene. Position the lighting towards our eyes so they sparkle.”

They both burst into laughter.

Enter the antagonist

Putting a spanner in the works of this romance, sparkling eyes and all, is Zahid Ahmed’s Dilnawaz. The drama’s teaser introduces him as someone with ‘fear in his shadow’ and the initial episodes depict him as the nefarious villain, stalking about predatorily, speaking in a deep, sinister drawl, intent on seizing anything that captures his interest.

Just as expected, the unassuming Heer, reeling from the shock of her father’s suicide and trying to repay his debts, catches Dilnawaz’s attention.

Zahid, of course, is a veteran actor with a slew of exceptional performances to his credit. His trajectory has never leaned towards being a generic ‘hero’ or ‘villain’. Instead, he has always professed an interest in a role that is meaty. “That’s me, always in search of meat. The perpetually malnourished actor!” he quips.

So, there’s meat to Dilnawaz?

“Yes, the villain plays a prominent role in this story,” says Zahid. “He’s a central character and so, I put my faith in the producer and director and signed on.”

For producer Abdullah Seja, Mirza Ki Heer is a “high-octane love story” in which the villain is actually more powerful than the hero.

“Zahid is a brilliant actor, which made him a great choice for this role,” says Seja. “This villain is scary and crime is an everyday part of his life. In the drama, the hero actually gets created because of circumstances. He is originally a happy-go-lucky young boy, and it is because of the villain and what happens with Heer that he changes. And then, how the hero goes on to defeat the villain is going to be interesting.”

Aehsun Talish agrees. “We needed a powerful antagonist and Zahid is a wonderful actor. He has a voice that commands attention and an immense screen presence. It is only when the villain is formidable that it becomes enjoyable seeing how the hero will beat him.”

While the drama has already started airing, the shooting is still ongoing. “I think we’ll be shooting for the next few months,” says Ali.

Waiting for the verdict

Do they get encouraged or discouraged by the audience’s reviews of a drama that they are still shooting?

“You can get influenced and this has its advantages and disadvantages,” says Ali. “If they like the drama, there is a chance that you might get overconfident, thinking that what you’re doing is good enough and not trying to do even better. Your 110 per cent doesn’t come through because you decide that you’re doing very well and just keep working at that pace. As long as you don’t become overconfident, positive responses from the audience keep you motivated.”

And what if the response is negative? “Then, we just keep working. We are actors and we have to do our job,” he says.

Hina adds, “You can’t let negativity affect your work. There are so many good projects that just don’t become commercial successes. You never know.”

“But this drama has been shot very well,” says Ali. “New technologies have been used and a lot of details have been added in. It is a story with commercial appeal and, as long as it is executed in a compelling way, I think that people will enjoy it.”

It’s early days yet for Mirza Ki Heer, with only the first few episodes having aired so far. Will the audience like it and pronounce it an all-out hit? You never know. But the cast and crew are certainly putting in their all, investing long hours into the shoot, discussing scenes at length, traversing Mirza House in Karachi and, before that, Dilnawaz’s ancestral haveli at a location in Wazirabad, their smart watches clocking in more than 20,000 steps daily (as revealed by Aehsun Talish).

Perhaps some of that passion, that excitement, that belief in this grand, romantic rollercoaster of a story will ultimately filter through on screen.

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, April 19th, 2026

The latest television drama to join the list of storylines with implausible informational ‘gaps’ in content is BJ Production’s Humrahi (2026) on Geo TV, written by Zanjabeel Asim Shah, directed (and story penned) by Babar Javaid and starring Danish Taimoor (Sayhaan Ghazi) and Hiba Bukhari (Elif).

Currently being hailed as “the biggest love story of the new year”, the much-anticipated serial has opened on a note of excitement witnessed in the high numbers of its YouTube viewership. Much of the reason for this initial positive reception is Taimoor and Bukhari’s onscreen chemistry in previous hit series such as Deewangi (2020) and Jaan Nisar (2024) as well as Taimoor’s enthusiastic fan following, which allows him to pull off repetitive, at times mediocre, drama scripts.

And certainly, in episode 1, an introductory shot of Sayhaan places focus on Taimoor’s biceps and a later swimming pool scene on his upper torso to tap into the actor’s powerful screen presence and popularity among female viewers.

Yet, in spite of its attractive features: the Taimoor-Bukhari pairing, the burgeoning, ever popular, romantic love story and the promise of being shot on location abroad (the OST reveals wonderfully shot foreign settings indicating both the production’s generous budget and attention paid to cinematography), Humrahi’s initial storyline makes the narrative a bit unconvincing. The opening episodes present us with gaps in information that do not manage the delicate balance between suspense and incongruity.

As a result, for the viewer, it is not curiosity that manifests but frustration to make sense of what has transpired. Accompanying this sentiment is a feeling of déjà vu: character roles and situations we have seen all too often in Pakistani television dramas. A quick comparison with Taimoor’s recent dramas will suffice to draw parallels. In Sher (2025), the male protagonist Sher’s (Taimoor’s role) love interest is Dr Fajar (Sarah Khan) and so is the case in Humrahi where the male protagonist is cast opposite a female doctor protagonist. The male lead returns home from abroad to face family enmity and business rivalry in Sher, Mann Mast Malang (2025) and Humrahi. A question that arises, then, is that are such repetitive creative choices due to a shortage of ideas for Pakistani television drama scripts? Or are they a manifestation of a well-worked formula?

Eight episodes into Humrahi, the plot seems to be the more or less formulaic rich boy meets the not-so-rich girl who, after a series of coincidental meetings, and sufficient number of obstacles, fall in love, and presumably, live happily ever after. Taimoor as Sayhaan is presented in a role that we have come to identify him: a ‘sultanat ka jan nisheen’ who is living a charmed yet emotionally deprived life as (Humrahi, ep. 1). He is the only son of Ghazi Yusuf (Shahzad Nawaz), the chairman of the GYT group, a character whose portrayal — threatening unsuspecting individuals into selling or giving up their properties, sporting and firing guns while moving around with a small band of weapon-laden guards — takes him closer to a criminal don than a business magnate.

Surrounded by the usual accessories (the palatial home, SUVs, threatening armed guards) that depict the lifestyle of the very wealthy in Pakistani dramas, Sayhaan is also presented as generous and compassionate to individuals who are less privileged — a macho male figure with a sensitive side. Bukhari is the assertive doctor daughter of a lady with links to Turkey who owns and manages a restaurant.

The impetus for later action is an accidental road encounter (with a powerfully depicted moment of impact) between the two protagonists in the drama’s first episode where Sayhaan drives his car into Elif’s, putting them at loggerheads right from the start, and in subsequent meetings where Elif asserts her right to compensation for injuries incurred to her vehicle.

Also witnessed in these early episodes is how the motherless hero with father issues finds solace in two motherly figures, the maid Nishat aka Chanda (Salma Zafar) who brought him up in the absence of a mother and Mariyam (Laila Wasti), the restauranteur friend of his deceased mother who is now his dear friend and with whom he seems to spend an extraordinary amount of time. So far, so good. 

But several incongruities of dialogue, action and storyline plunge the viewer into a state of dissatisfaction. Most notable among the jarring elements in the drama’s narrative is the presentation of relationships. In spite of the suggested bond between Mariyam and Sayhaan, viewers are expected to believe that he does not know Mariyam’s daughter Elif, even by sight, and Mariyam has no idea that her former friend’s husband, and Sayhaan’s father, is Ghazi Yusuf, or presumably, anything about Sayhaan’s family background.

Ghazi also does not seem to know that the lady he is sending his henchmen to harass for the forced purchase of her restaurant was once his wife’s friend. It is only in episode 5, when Sayhaan turns up at Elif’s house to find her mourning her mother’s death, that he discovers that Mariyam was her mother. The absence of rationale behind the presentation of relationships means that the viewer has to engage in a certain amount of suspension of disbelief to continue watching comfortably.

In its initial episodes, the show also reminds us that medical scenes are another area that can be improved in Pakistan’s television dramas. Lapses of knowledge related to the medical field and the monotone, at times rushed, and far from empathetic, responses to distressed family members that do not match expectations of the clinical detachment necessary to maintain professionalism, are common in Pakistani television dramas. In the case of Humrahi, however, while Mariyam’s doctor is more compassionate than other medical professionals in Pakistani dramas, the serial errs in the presentation of his professionalism.

During a moment in episode 5, a highly emotional Elif, wanting to save a mother with a deteriorating heart condition, tells the doctor that had her blood group matched her mother’s she would have donated her heart to save her mother’s life. But what are we supposed to make of the doctor’s rather absurd response “Kash aisa ho sakta beta”, meaning “if only that were possible”?

Is he suggesting that had the blood groups matched, he would have let Elif die to save the mother? Afterall, the organ in question is a heart not a kidney. The dialogue given to the doctor is surely enough to make any responsible doctor cringe. And in spite of another doctor’s insistence, it remains unconvincing that Chanda needs to be admitted to the hospital for a fractured foot.

Later hospital scenes after Elif is shot with a bullet intended for Sayhaan further demolish doctor depictions in the show. The barging into the ICU by a group of the heroine’s doctor friends and their subsequent inquisitive interrogation of the hero, followed by his reminder that they need to observe hospital protocols, is one such painful moment. Added to the affronts against hospitals and doctors is how the hospital management and security are effectively disabled in the drama: Ghazi is able to stride into hospital premises with his thugs in black; Sayhaan is able to position guards in hospital corridors and bully (with and without the help of a gun) both hospital personnel and doctors into meek compliance. In a drama with clear emphasis on the medical field, and a doctor protagonist, it is disappointing that more careful thought has not been put into its medical moments.

The good news, however, is that the series does offer signs of interesting plot development. It hints at a possible double role for Bukhari with the inclusion of details that suggest a twin sister and Elif’s imminent death. In particular, the emphasis laid on her decision to register her heart for donation upon her death, which also has a philanthropic message. Ghazi’s business rivalry and historic enmity with another mafia don-like figure Lala (Ayub Khoso) is another plot development waiting to unfold.

In addition to this, episode 8 closes with the possibility of further entanglements in the love story with the entry of a new male character, Aurangzeb (Azfar Rehman). The moment Sayhaan is ready to pop the big question to Elif, his hopes are dashed by her exuberant greeting of who now appears to be a potential rival in love. 

While there is much to anticipate in the show’s upcoming episodes, we can only hope that plausible reasons for the omission of early factual details will be incorporated into the script and there will be less reliance on hard-to-digest elements simply to further the plot. If so, later episodes will prove less taxing for viewers. In the meantime, viewers will have to fend for themselves, with consolation provided by Taimoor’s magnetic charm.

One of the production companies involved in the show, Israel’s Keshet International, is back with another over-the-top spy show. Unconditional, a series revolving around the arrest and rescue of an Israeli soldier in Russia, begins streaming on Apple TV from May 8.

The in-your-face propaganda being pushed in the show would have put off audiences under normal circumstances but releasing such a show when Israel has only just paused its open wars on Iran and Lebanon, while tacitly continuing its slaughter in Gaza has attracted the ire of netizens who couldn’t understand how this was ever green-lit.

Someone pointed out how one of the show’s actors had served in the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) and posted a screenshot of one of her Instagram posts with a caption allegedly reading, “Whoever messes with us gets tear-gassed.” The post’s caption was edited on Friday and now says “The girls”.

X users pointed out that Apple is a repeat offender when it came to supporting Zionism, hosting the Israeli series Tehran on their streaming service and facing allegations of matching donations to organisations working in occupied Israeli territories.

Netizens knew there was only one way to deal with this issue — a boycott of Apple TV. Some even considered boycotting Apple products entirely.

Homeland, the earlier US series that showed Islamabad as overrun with terrorists and their sympathisers, also had a much deeper Israeli connection. The series was adapted from the Israeli show Khatufim (Prisoners of War), which itself revolved around the IDF and its activities in Lebanon and Syria.

The original series also had another adaptation in India, focusing on two prisoners of war who were captured by Pakistan during the Kargil War of 1999. Both the Israeli show and the Indian adaptation were made by Keshet.

With a panel featuring comedian Ali Gul Pir, Miss Universe Pakistan Roma Riaz, fitness instructor Muhammad ‘Maddy’ Ahmed and actor Naina Black, the show began with a discussion on Gul Pir’s latest song ‘Brown & Black’.

The song is an unabashed celebration of everything dark and the singer was quick to point out that it was his attempt to take on prejudice in society.

He said he had seen his fair share of bullying in school where children would say it was bad luck if he crossed their path and called him andhera (darkness) or an after-market copy of Indian actor Prabhu Deva.

Gul Pir regretted how the discrimination persisted even after he entered the entertainment industry, with makeup artists insisting on caking up his face whenever he was going to appear alongside fairer skinned co-stars.

Riaz said the discrimination in Pakistan’s entertainment industry was significantly more pronounced than it was elsewhere in the world. She said she had grown up watching foreign media where people of all skin tones and body types were shown, so she never felt out of place in the world. In Pakistan, however, she felt out of place.

Black, who acted in Kabuli Pulao, shared her own experiences with colourism, saying she was darker and skinnier than her sisters because she played a lot of sports as a kid, which meant she was treated differently too.

She said she took on the name Naina Black in the eighth grade as a way to own her dark skin and that it wasn’t just a stage name. Rana Hira, a psychologist who was also on the panel, commended the actor for not letting people affect her self esteem with their criticism.

When Yasir asked how she tackled colourism as a mental health professional, Hira said her clients didn’t come to her complaining of colourism, they instead came to her about depression, social anxiety and issues with their self-esteem. Only upon further examination would colourism rear its ugly head.

She said the issue often starts at home and leads to serious psychological issues later in life. Gul Pir agreed, adding that home is supposed to be a safe space and the world is far more cruel. He said if parents couldn’t provide children with a safe environment at home, they were crushing the child’s spirit even before they faced the horrors of the world.

Maddy took a lighter approach to the subject, telling Yasir how the first thing he’d often have to do when a fan asked for a selfie was ask them to remove the beauty filters on their phone because they lightened his skin.

The fitness instructor also recalled an incident when a mother pointed to him on the street and told her son, “If you play in the sun too long, you’ll end up like him.” He said he didn’t say much then, but he’s confident enough now to take on such remarks, Yasir joked that he could just flash his abs at them and call it a day.

The last part of the show involved three guests. Farzana and her 20-year-old daughter Ayesha were up first, with Farzana worried about the girl not receiving marriage proposals because of her skin colour.

Riaz told the girl she had her whole life ahead of her and Black said she should instead focus on her education. Yasir said women today needed to build themselves up to stand on their own two feet in case they were abandoned by their husbands.

The third guest was Anzilah, a seventh grader who, despite being at the top of her class, felt left out because of her skin tone. She said she was the only dark-skinned girl in her house, which invited harsh comments from her relatives and her mother insisted her complexion would get “cleaner” later in life.

The panelists told her she should be proud of her academic achievements instead of worrying about what people said about her skin. Black went further, telling her that complexion “isn’t clean or dirty”, but hearts can be. The actor told the girl that her heart was so much cleaner than everyone who made her feel bad for who she is.

Producer Jerry Bruckheimer is also set to return.

The film, sequel to 2022’s Top Gun: Maverick, was first said to be in the works back in 2024 and written by Ehren Kruger, who co-wrote the 2022 film.

Top Gun: Maverick grossed $1.5 billion at the global box office from a $170 million budget.

The movie itself was a sequel to the 1986 classic starring Cruise as the hotshot pilot Lt. Pete Mitchell, code named Maverick. The film, that arrived 36 years after the first, saw Cruise returning to the flight school to teach a new batch of pilots.

The film also starred Miles Teller as Rooster, son of Cruise’s co-pilot in the first movie, Glen Powell, Lewis Pullman, Monica Barbaro, Danny Ramirez, Jay Ellis, Greg Tarzan Davis, Manny Jacinto, Jennifer Connelly, Jon Hamm, Charles Parnell, Ed Harris and Bashir Salahuddin. Val Kilmer, who starred opposite Cruise in the 1986 film as Tom Iceman Kazansky, also made a cameo. it was his final film role.

The director of the upcoming film has not been revealed yet. Maverick was directed by Joe Kosinski, while the late Tony Scott directed Top Gun.

It stars Sehar Khan and Nameer Khan in the lead roles as Pakeezah and Faraz. Pakeezah is a lawyer; Faraz, an engineer. They are not engaged, but fate brings them together in a private space where a villain abuses and records them. That video then goes viral and they’re left suffering the repercussions.

This is a show everyone should watch. It has multiple messages — some subtle, others direct — but all of them serve as stark reminders of reality and how to navigate the challenges that come with living in this society. The drama doesn’t attempt to sugarcoat anything — it doesn’t romanticise suffering, nor does it rely on melodrama for effect. In fact, it is anything but conventional entertainment.

Instead, it stands as a lesson — on women’s rights, on the cost of fighting for them, and equally, the cost of remaining silent. It portrays, quite realistically, that neither path is easy; both come with their own discomfort and consequences.

Masterfully written by Bee Gul and directed by Kashif Nisar, Aik Aur Pakeezah concluded this week, leaving audiences with a mix of tears and quiet satisfaction. It reflected on everything that went right, everything that went wrong before that, and the emotional weight carried through the journey.

Pakeezah and Faraz ultimately pursue — and secure — justice for the crime committed against them. The court rules in their favour, but only after a long and emotionally exhausting process for everyone involved. The writing captures human emotion with striking authenticity; messy, conflicted, and often uncertain. The characters hesitate, question themselves, and wrestle with difficult decisions, mirroring the reality that conviction isn’t always innate, and often arrives after navigating doubt and uncertainty.

Needless to say, the entire team performed flawlessly, although a personal favourite would undoubtedly have to be Nadia Afghan who was an absolute star. She outshone everyone, commanding attention in every scene she appeared in. Her screen presence was powerful, her delivery controlled yet deeply expressive. There was a quiet authority to her performance that was hard to overlook. Despite not being the main character, she left the most lasting impression — proof of an actor who elevates every role she takes on.

That said, even a show as impactful as this is not without its shortcomings. The middle, in particular, suffered from repetition, especially in dialogue that was not always supported by corresponding visuals. For instance, multiple conversations between Pakeezah and Faraz revolved around the impending media trial and character assassination they were likely to face. The audience did not get to see any of that until the last episode, whereas the warning began much before that. Repetition implying importance without its depiction felt like a part of the story is missing.

The courtroom scenes, another personal favourite, were something to look forward to. However, they appeared much later than expected, with the first substantial hearing only shown around episode 21. This may have been a deliberate choice — to focus more on the emotional toll of seeking justice rather than the legal process itself — but it did leave a noticeable gap for viewers anticipating that dimension of the story.

In terms of performances, Sehar Khan as Pakeezah and Nameer Khan as Faraz were compelling both at the beginning and at the end of the series. However, the middle stretch felt less dynamic; their delivery slipped into monotony, like they had only one expression to offer, especially when contrasted with consistently strong performances throughout the show by Namra Shahid and Muhammad Ali Jan.

The latter, despite limited screen time, left a strong impact, particularly in a scene where he walked out of the courtroom in handcuffs, visibly shaken. Shahid, on the other hand, was a remarkable addition to the cast. From her accent to her body language, she fully embraced the character effortlessly — which is, unfortunately, a rarity in most actors in the entertainment industry. Her performances were a lesson in art itself.

A special shoutout goes to Bee Gul and Kashir Nisar for their restrained yet effective use of symbolism. It appears sparingly, but always lands with purpose. Two moments, in particular, stood out. The first was Pakeezah wearing teapink in the final scene — a quiet but powerful callback to an earlier moment when she spoke excitedly about wanting a teapink lehenga for her wedding. The second was when she finally used the key to her home. It was a small gesture, but loaded with meaning, suggesting return, acceptance, and perhaps, a reclaiming of space that was once denied to her.

Perhaps the only real complaint in this otherwise thoughtfully-crafted journey was the resolution of multiple narrative threads in the final episode. The middle of the drama occasionally felt stretched, even stagnant, as though the story was holding back, waiting for everything to fall into place at the very end. That said, given the intent and gravity of the subject matter, this is a flaw one can overlook — especially since it remains a recurring pattern across the industry, rather than an isolated misstep.

The Legend of Aang: The Last Airbender had longtime fans excited for its theatrical release on October 9 of this year when Paramount pulled the plug on the idea in December, opting instead to release the film exclusively on their streaming service Paramount+.

The animated film, which wrapped up production in March, was posted in its entirety on X in a now-removed post, according to IGN.

The Hollywood Reporter noted that the source of the leak is still unclear — whether it was a disgruntled employee at Nickelodeon or a hacker. The version of the film that was ultimately pirated across the internet was a high quality file, the publication reported, potentially indicating a breach of systems maintained by those that worked on the movie.

Fans, disgruntled with the studio for not screening the movie in cinemas, celebrated the leak. Ayesha, a Pakistani fan of the franchise, told Images she had rushed to download the film off X as soon as she heard about it.

She said pirating was the only way for her to watch the movie anyway as Paramount+ was not available in Pakistan. When asked if she’d have seen the film in theatres, she said she would still go to a screening even now, after having watched the leaked version.

The team behind the film did not share the enthusiasm, as animator Julia Schoel was quick to tell fans on X.

“We worked on the Aang movie for years with the expectation that we’d get to celebrate all of our hard work in theatres… just to see people unceremoniously leak the film and pass our shots around on Twitter like candy,” she said, adding that it would have been better if people pirated the film after it was released and had gotten its full marketing exposure.

Tessa Bright, the animation director at Flying Bark Studios — which was involved in making the film — quoted Schoel’s post, saying everyone was free to have their own opinions on the issue, “but it breaks my heart to see the way some fans are treating the hard-working artists who dedicated years of their lives to bring you the best possible work they can with this film.”

She said the effort put in by the animators was evident in the final product and hoped fans could find it in themselves to be respectful to the artists who were understandably frustrated.

Anna Gong, another artist who worked on the movie, said she felt “pretty awful” about the leak in response to a question on X.

She said, “The only reason the movie looks so good is because there was so much passion directed toward making a truly special moment for ATLA.” Gong hoped fans would support the film’s actual release so artists like her could continue to work on movies.

The film, which has been shot in the UAE, is slated for release some time this year and is packed with Pakistani star power.

Omair Rana will be playing titular role of the film’s protagonist and will be joined by child stars Ahmed Harkous, Ravel Imran and Aline Harkous playing the inspector’s kids and trusty sidekicks.

Ahad Raza Mir has been cast as Behzaad, though his exact role in the film remains a mystery. Ahad’s father, Asif Raza Mir, is both a co-producer on the project and playing the role of Inspector Jamshed’s friend Khan Rehman. Faran Tahir will be playing the role of Zafar Burki.

In a promo video, Ahad and Tahir said the project was very special to them because they “grew up” reading books from the series. Rana said the undertaking was like “the whole world coming together” owing to its diverse cast and crew, which includes people from over 13 nationalities.

Executive producer Adnan Butt said the project had the potential to be a “benchmark for global kids’ fiction” and their ultimate success with it would be to inspire “the next Ishtiaq Ahmed”. Butt had earlier worked on a web series based on the novels.

For the uninitiated, the Inspector Jamshed series are some of the most popular works from prolific Urdu novel writer Ishtiaq Ahmed. The books follow the adventures of a crime-fighting super spy and his three kids as they foil high stakes plots.

The writer, who passed away in 2015, began writing in 1973 and wrote almost 800 books in his lifetime. His other popular work includes the Inspector Kamran Mirza and Shoki Brothers series.

One contender is Maharaja in Denims, based on a popular 2014 novel by Khushwant Singh and set for cinematic release this summer.

“There is no actor fee, there is no fuss over them coming late or causing delays. There are no sets,” Singh told AFP.

“It is sheer creativity of mind and the machine,” said the author, who co-founded the startup Intelliflicks Studios with a former Microsoft executive to realise the project.

Indian studios, which churn out more than 2,000 movies a year, have embraced AI — unlike in Hollywood, where it has sparked huge strikes and strict union conditions around its use.

Separate projects in the country, such as the mythological Chiranjeevi Hanuman: The Eternal and the Kannada‑language Love You, have also been marketed as pioneering AI productions.

Another challenger, Naisha, had to postpone its May 2025 release date over unspecified technical issues, according to a social media post from its production studio.

Lightspeed advances in AI image generation capabilities also kept delaying the final cut of Maharaja in Denims, the story of a privileged teenager who is a victim of the 1984 anti‑Sikh riots in Punjab.

“You are tempted to use the latest technology, so what was made before didn’t look as appealing,” Singh said.

“But then it also burns cash, because you are spending again for the software.”

Toughest path

In 2024, Singh and Intelliflicks co-founder Gurdeep Singh Pall, once head of business AI and product incubations at Microsoft, hired a team of six people, including a director and cinematographer, to make Maharaja in Denims.

Pall “wanted to experiment with my book”, explained Singh, who is based in the northern city of Chandigarh.

The film’s protagonist believes he is the reincarnation of the 19th century Sikh ruler Maharaja Ranjit Singh — and traditionally, the movie’s layered timelines and historical settings would demand a massive budget.

But Singh said AI had slashed costs to roughly a tenth.

While the startup has “cracked” the process of AI filmmaking, mythological and science‑fiction films, where characters’ faces are less defined, are far easier to generate than realistic cinema, he argued.

“We chose the toughest… path of realism,” Singh said.

AI models were poorly trained for Indian faces and Sikh historical figures, forcing the team to repeatedly troubleshoot.

A Western movie would be “much easier to generate, because the models are trained for that”, he said.

“Had we known the challenges, we would have picked a different script.”

Human music

ChatGPT maker OpenAI has backed the production of a feature-length animation called Critterz, created largely with AI tools.

It is aiming for a premiere at this year’s Cannes Film Festival in May ahead of a global release.

To retain a human touch in Maharaja in Denims, the soundtrack will feature traditional music, with a title song by Indian singer Sukhwinder Singh.

“People in India watch music rather than just listen to it, so it’s best to have it,” Singh said.

Interest is already spreading beyond the film industry, and Singh says he has received emails from wealthy temple trusts keen to commission AI‑generated mythological films.

Despite the hurdles, Singh believes AI will disrupt — and democratise — cinema.

“The way technology is making progress, you will have an 18-year-old sitting somewhere in a village who would be challenging the big guys,” he said.

A clip from the April 13 episode making the rounds on social media shows the host Fiza Ali being picked up by her husband Ejaz Khan — who was also a guest on the show — and briefly slung over his shoulder.

A day after the clip went viral, Ali maintained it was a “lighthearted spontaneous gesture that did not have any bad meaning behind it”, but the moment drew sharp criticism online, including from the chairperson of the Punjab Women Protection Authority, Hina Parvez Butt.

Butt termed the incident as “regrettable”, adding that adults should “demonstrate good morals and decorum so that children and the younger generation can learn something better.”

Pemra took notice of the clip and issued a notice on Monday, saying that the episode included “highly inappropriate comments” and an “obnoxious gesture” by a guest that were “aired without any editorial oversight”.

The authority said the programme was in violation of Pemra rules and directed the network’s CEO to appear before the regulatory body in Islamabad on April 27 to submit a written reply as to why legal action should not be initiated.

Additionally, the CEO was ordered to “stop telecasting such inappropriate content”.

The notice added that ex-parte proceedings and legal action would be initiated in case of non-compliance under the relevant Pemra regulations.

With additional reporting by Kalbe Ali

It made you want to know more, not just about the story, but about how it would represent us.

Stories of diaspora are not new. Films like Monsoon Wedding and Bend It Like Beckham have explored South Asian identities abroad for decades. But Bait hinted at something less familiar: a story rooted specifically in Pakistani identity; its tensions, its emotional inheritances and its complicated relationship with migration.

Watching the series from Dubai, one moment in particular felt strikingly personal. A charged exchange between husband and wife where migration becomes a site of blame echoed a sentiment many quietly recognise. The line between choice and sacrifice blurs easily when distance and belonging are constantly negotiated. It is in these small, uncomfortable truths that Bait finds its emotional weight.

And it was this very weight and Hasan’s presence within it that led to this conversation.

Hasan has been a constant presence in Pakistan’s entertainment industry since the 80s, building a career that spans television, theatre, and film. He was the first Pakistani actor to appear in an Indian television drama — Tanha — and later in the international film A Mighty Heart. With Bait, Hasan once again becomes part of a global production; this time in a story that explores migration, identity and family through a contemporary lens.

But if Bait feels like a new chapter, Hasan is quick to frame it within a much longer journey, one shaped as much by creative passion as by frustration.

When asked about his early cross-border experiences, he traced his story back to a very different Pakistan. The early days of his career unfolded during the era of Gen Ziaul Haq, when creative expression existed alongside constraint. Yet, within those limits, there was also a thriving culture of theatre and collaboration.

He recalled working alongside some of the industry’s most influential figures, including writer Haseena Moin, whose work, he said, shaped generations. “We are all a product of her audiences,” he mused.

Those years, filled with experimentation and mentorship, stand in contrast to what is happening today, something he described as a gradual creative stagnation within mainstream television. Repetitive narratives, formula-driven storytelling, and a reluctance to take risks began to dominate.

“At one point, you give up,” he said plainly. “And I had given up, really.”

It is in this context that Bait became more than just another project.

The opportunity itself arrived unexpectedly. Initially approached to sign a non-disclosure agreement without much context, Hasan hesitated. It wasn’t until later, through a formal audition process, that things began to take shape. What followed was a Zoom call that took him by surprise: sitting on the other side was Riz Ahmed.

“I told him I was a big fan,” Hasan recalled. What began as a brief interaction turned into a second meeting, and shortly after, confirmation. Within days, he was on a flight to London.

There was a certain understated disbelief in the way he narrated the experience, but also clarity. At this stage in his career, he said, expectations are no longer the driving force. “You take everything in strides,” he noted.

What mattered more was the story itself.

For Hasan, Bait stood out because it centred a Pakistani family, not as a backdrop, but as the emotional core of the narrative. In a landscape where South Asian representation has often leaned heavily towards Indian stories, this felt significant.

“Indians have shown themselves so many times,” he said. “But this was finally a representation of a Pakistani family.”

It is a point he returned to more than once; that even a small role, within the right narrative, can feel meaningful not just personally, but collectively. For Hasan, being part of a story like this carried a sense of quiet validation. It wasn’t just another role; it was “a thinking representation of Pakistan,” something layered and reflective, in its own way.

He spoke with visible gratitude about the moment, but also towards the people who made it possible. Ahmed, in particular, remains central to that acknowledgment. Hasan credited him not just as a collaborator, but as someone who recognised where he could fit into the story. There was a warmth in the way he recalled their interaction. “I keep telling him,” he laughed, “I told him on the day, if you don’t keep me, God will punish you.”

That sense of ease, however, didn’t take away from the seriousness of the work itself especially when it came to building the emotional world of the series. Playing the father of Ahmed’s character meant stepping into a relationship that sits at the centre of the narrative’s tensions. For Hasan, approaching that dynamic was less about overthinking and more about trusting the process.

Working with what he described as a deeply professional cast, the groundwork was laid early on through readings and long brainstorming sessions. Director Bassam Tariq, he noted, played an active role in shaping these interactions, even spending individual time with actors to understand their rhythm. There was, initially, a sense of unfamiliarity — new collaborators, new expectations — but it quickly gave way to something more organic.

Respect, Hasan said, became the defining factor. On a set where everyone understood their craft, hierarchy seemed to dissolve into collaboration. The rehearsals created a foundation, but the real work began once the cameras rolled. That shift from preparation to performance is something Hasan described as something akin to muscle memory. Years of repetition, of doing the work over and over again, suddenly finding purpose in a different space, for a different audience.

Yet, even within that structure, there was room to discover. Moments weren’t just performed; they were built in real time, shaped by instinct and interaction. When asked how one of the more charged scenes in the series that came towards the end of the show was rehearsed, he explained that that interestingly, when the script was given to all of them, it wasn’t part of it. Its eventual inclusion speaks to the fluidity of the process, to a set that allowed space for evolution.

That collaborative spirit extended beyond the immediate cast. Working alongside actors like Soni Razdan and Sheeba Chadda, Hasan found himself in an environment where learning never quite stopped. Their discipline, attention to detail and the way they approached each moment all added to the texture of the experience. Watching performers transform the instant a scene began, he said, felt like witnessing “magic”.

At the centre of it all was Ahmed, whose presence, Hasan observed, carried both focus and evolution. “He just keeps getting better with every take,” he said, likening the process to an athlete refining their form in real time.

Yet even as Bait opens a window to global collaboration, Hasan remained candid at times sharply critical about the limitations of Pakistan’s own industry.

From the decline of theatre to the lack of institutional support for artists, he outlined a system that, in his view, discourages experimentation. Gatekeeping, commercial pressure and a resistance to challenging narratives have all contributed to a narrowing creative space.

“Drama is about conflict,” he said. “But we are still deciding whether we’re allowed to talk about conflict.”

It is a struggle he has witnessed and endured over decades.

At the same time, he was refreshingly honest about the differences in working conditions. Comparing local and international productions, he didn’t hold back: the gap in facilities, in structure, in overall work culture is significant. His analogy of it being like a ride in a Rolls Royce versus a bike lands with a mix of humour and truth. “In Pakistan, you’ve got to be crazy to be acting,” he added, half-joking, half-serious.

There were moments of lightness too, though perhaps not as many as one might expect. Hasan laughed while recalling that on a set led by Ahmed, even laughter felt controlled. “Not with Riz,” he joked, “you never laugh too much,” before grounding it again in the discipline of the craft, the need to deliver, to meet the vision of the director, the writer, the producers.

Towards the end of the conversation, when asked if there was still a role he longed to play, Hasan gently moved away from the idea of chasing characters. What emerged instead was something more reflective, almost philosophical. He spoke about youth, about the state of the world, about the need for empathy in an increasingly fractured global landscape. Drawing from both poetry and lived experience, he returned to the idea of hope: the responsibility of younger generations to carve their own path and the urgency of choosing love and peace over division.

“We are all just visiting here,” he said, a line that lingers long after the conversation ends.

In many ways, that sentiment ties back to Bait itself; a story about movement, about temporary and permanent homes, about the spaces in between. And perhaps that is what makes Hasan’s presence in it feel so fitting. In an industry that is constantly shifting, he remains both a witness and a participant, carrying decades of experience into stories that are still trying to find their voice.

The film explores Lyari through its girls and their love of football and will be premiering at the UK Asian Film Festival, executive producer Ayesha Omar announced on Saturday.

It will be screened at the British Film Institute in London’s Southbank on May 2 and tickets are available now. Omar said this was the moment “that brings the spirit of Lyari to a global stage” before it comes home to release in Pakistan later.

Mera Lyari stars Omar alongside Dananeer Mobeen, Samiya Mumtaz, Nayyar Ejaz, Paras Masroor, Adnan Shah Tipu and Shoaib Hassan. It also marks the silver screen debut of model Trinette Lucas, who called the project exciting, nerve-wracking and memorable in a sweet Instagram tribute to her co-stars and crew.

The film follows a disabled football coach (Omar) who returns home to Lyari after a long absence to conduct trials for girls in the area. There, Afsana (Mobeen), in defiance of her strict father and Kushmala (Lucas), running from a forced marriage, find an escape in the beautiful game, training in secret with the coach for a shot at competing on a national level.

Earlier, director Abu Aleeha said the film’s greatest strength was its authenticity, having been shot in Lyari by people who knew the area. He said “80 per cent of the cast — including supporting actors, members of the local football teams and even our hero Shoaib Hassan — are actual Lyari inhabitants”.

Sindh Minister of Information Sharjeel Memon hailed the film in December as Pakistan hitting back at “negative propaganda” pushed by India.

Meanwhile, the film Memon called out — Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar — set a short-lived record for the highest grossing Hindi-language film less than a month into its theatrical run. The record was broken by the film’s sequel on Wednesday after just over two weeks in cinemas, attesting to the popularity of the violent, ultra-nationalist franchise.

“We’ve seen wars, we’ve seen the pandemic, only this was left,” says the deep-voiced narrator, above a montage of zombie snarls. 

Touted as Pakistan’s first-ever zombie thriller, the film is set to release on Eidul Azha.

Created by Nabeel Qureshi and Fizza Ali Meerza, the film appears to involve fighting — there’s a sequence with a shirtless Mustafa in a fighting octagon — and a lot of stunts.

There is also a hint of romance, with a shot of Mustafa and Hayat cuddled up together.

We’re not exactly sure what we have in store for us, but it’s definitely going to be a break from the usual dramas we see on our screens!

The Cannes Film Festival brings together the film industry’s biggest names in the sun-soaked south of France each May to strike deals, pledge their love for cinema and party on yachts.

For directors, winning the festival’s Palme d’Or opens the door to bigger budgets, opportunities and seals their reputation as leading filmmakers.

In announcing this year’s lineup on Thursday, Festival Director Thierry Fremaux noted the absence of big studio films as weak box office revenues force Hollywood to avoid taking risks and to scale back production.

“In the US, it’s a moment of transition. When you have such a transition, they don’t have the projects to produce a lot of films, but I’m sure that it will come back, and we will be there waiting,” he told Reuters.

Former winners compete with newcomers

Two previous Palme winners return to competition, with Japan’s Hirokazu Kore‑eda exploring childhood and artificial intelligence in Sheep in the Box, while Romanian director Cristian Mungiu’s Fjord stars Norwegian actor Renate Reinsve, fresh from her success in Oscar winner Sentimental Value.

Also back in the running are Pawlikowski with Fatherland, a portrait of German novelist Thomas Mann, and Hungarian filmmaker Laszlo Nemes, whose new film focuses on French Resistance figure Jean Moulin.

Other competition veterans include Almodovar, with tragicomedy Bitter Christmas, as well as Iran’s Asghar Farhadi, Japan’s Ryusuke Hamaguchi and France’s Arthur Harari.

Entries featuring big-name actors include U. director Ira Sachs’ 1980s’ AIDS drama The Man I Love, which stars Rami Malek from Bohemian Rhapsody, while Javier Bardem leads The Beloved from Spain’s Rodrigo Sorogoyen.

Five films in competition are directed by women, including first‑time contenders Lea Mysius, with the thriller The Birthday Party, and Jeanne Herry’s drama Another Day starring Adele Exarchopoulos.

Outside the main competition

Outside the main competition, the director of the cult classic Drive, Nicolas Winding Refn, returns after a decade with Her Private Hell, while US directors Steven Soderbergh and Ron Howard premiere documentaries on John Lennon and fashion photographer Richard Avedon, respectively.

John Travolta, whose superstardom as an actor began with Saturday Night Fever and Grease in the 1970s, makes his debut as a director with the out-of-competition Propeller One‑Way Night Coach.

Korean director Park Chan-wook, who took the festival’s best director award in 2022 for Decision to Leave, will preside over the jury.

The 79th Cannes Film Festival runs from May 12 to 23.

Speaking to Nadia Khan and Zohaib Ahmed on their show Rise & Shine, Gul drew contrasts between how her latest TV project was policed for morality and how other popular shows can get away with a whole lot more.

The writer recalled receiving a great many objections to a scene in the first episode of Aik Aur Pakeezah where the male lead Faraz is shirtless — an important detail in the narrative based around sexual coercion and blackmail. “All I asked was that his bare shoulder be shown, even then we had to blur it,” she said

Gul lamented that another Pakistani drama was recently able to show a fully shirtless hero swimming in his pool and billions of people were okay with one depiction but not the other. “It’s very problematic that this is what people want to watch, and perhaps we have brought the viewer to this point… We need to think about where we’re taking our media, what we’re showing, what we aren’t. A crime is censored, but presenting the male body as an object of attraction, that’s glorified.”

She also said that while production houses and channels were now more receptive to unorthodox, even evocative scripts like Aik Aur Pakeezah, there was still a gap between where the media landscape is and where it should be. She said audiences aren’t as open to such stories yet, possibly because they haven’t had the necessary exposure to them.

Attesting to how the industry had changed since she first entered, Gul recalled how she was discouraged when she submitted her first script. “My very first serial was an adaptation of Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things and when I sent in the script I was asked very bluntly if I thought I was writing for European cinema and [told] that nobody would understand what I was trying to do with the script. So, the discouragement was there from the very start, that my writing style was too different and I was saying something nobody else was.”

She said there was a need for Pakistan’s entertainment industry to pay due regard to writers as “the backbone of a project”. To that end, she said she and Kashif Nisar — the director of Aik Aur Pakeezah — were working to launch a new platform where writers could work and be paid their royalties in a fair and transparent way.

The writer was asked about her earlier remarks on never writing for TV again. She said she would, but only if she had the necessary creative freedom, which she said the Kashf Foundation had given her for her latest show.

Cover photo: Bee Gul/Facebook

Riz Ahmed’s new Amazon Prime show Bait released last week to critical acclaim. It tells the story of a young, struggling Pakistani-British actor, Shahjehan, whose name literally translates to ‘king of the world’. Despite the regality of his title, Shahjehan is always ironically one step behind in his goal to play the famous James Bond 007.

His desire to play the glamorous character traditionally essayed by white British actors reflects the longing to assimilate in Hollywood. He is often humorously mistaken for another actor of South Asian descent, Dev Patel.

His pursuit of the role is driven by the trauma of being an immigrant; he carries both psychological and physical wounds by virtue of being in the West. Consequently, his desire alienates him, hinting at the price one has to pay for assimilation in a predominantly white culture. It is only after fixing his relationship with his family and coming to terms with his traumatic past that he gets the role.

However, his eventual win comes with a twist; the hero disavows the archetypal James Bond representation. Bait resists assimilation by inventing a new character and chiseling an alternative text for the traditionally marginalised South Asian diaspora.

Despite having a name that is an unusual mix of a Mughal emperor and a Sufi poet, Shahjehan Latif (often known simply as Shah) is a nobody. He is not white enough to be called British and does not speak good enough Urdu to act with Mahira Khan, as his father, played by Sajid Hasan, takes a jibe at him for.

Once a recipient of the Rising Star Award, Shah is now in debt and feels compelled to sell his award watch. There’s a peculiar method to the madness that is his acting process — he converses with a pig’s head. The severed head is thrown into his house by racist trolls, and Shah carries it around in a bag like a secret badge of honour.

Overall, like the perfect protagonist of spy thriller, he is a flawed, traumatised, morally ambiguous, transgressive yet deeply humane character with a purpose.

When it comes to Hollywood and mainstream British cinema, South Asian representation has been reduced to either romantic or monstrous figures. So far, only two South Asians have bagged small supporting roles in Bond films. British-Indian actor Zaheera played a brief role of an Indian girl in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969), and Lahore-born Indian actor Kabir Bedi played the silent servant of the villain in Octopussy (1983). Shah wants to make a difference by playing the usually white British MI6 agent.

As a British South Asian, the opportunity will allow him to make a statement: this is also what being British looks like. At the same time, it will catapult him into the world of overnight stardom, status, and much-needed financial success. His vision is directed towards encouraging people to look at his community with respect and dignity instead of calling them “Paki”, a common slur hurled at South Asians in the United Kingdom.

Alienation ensues as he seeks to assimilate into white culture. He is dismissed by his family for being much shorter than other actors who have played Bond. His ex-girlfriend mocks him for using a white filter on his IMDb profile picture. He is essentially stranded on an island while he dreams of building bridges between cultures.

Spatially, he exists in liminal spaces of dressing rooms, streets, nightclubs, airports, and garages. At times, he has a ghostly yet comical presence like the mimic men of Naipaul’s London. Other times, he is chased by his stoic James Bond alter ego in the style of a satirical espionage thriller.

As the show progresses, he gets more desperate about his goal, and his estrangement becomes more pronounced. During one episode about Eid, Shah experiences physical and emotional distance from his family. Everyone is busy with the usual celebrations while he searches for an empty room to make an apology video for a fan whose arm he fractured by mistake.

In the fifth episode, after wandering aimlessly all night and failing to reconnect with his ex-girlfriend, he enters his parents’ house and does not find anyone. He concocts a plot about local terrorists kidnapping his family, only to later find them at the hospital.

Following a series of absurd events and eventually overcoming his alienation, Shah aces the audition. He is no longer threatened by his alter ego, as he mends his relationship with his family and comes to terms with his childhood trauma.

In the last scene, he disregards the trademark line: “The name is Bond… James Bond.” He looks at the audience in the final shot, pauses for a moment, and says, “The name is…. Shahjehan.” This gaze, as African American feminist scholar bell hooks would say, is not merely a look of resistance or reaction but a creation of an alternative text in the form of Shahjehan, a desi James Bond.

This offers new possibilities and creates a new avenue of representation and belonging for Shah’s community.

For the South Asian community, this invention is a call to create and celebrate characters and visuals that are not imitations of colonial masters. Imitations demand assimilating and ironing out the wrinkled parts of the self. For instance, ever since Partition, Pakistani cinema has felt the need to catch up with the technical superiority of Hollywood and later the artistic mastery of Iranian cinema. Instead, it should be working on representations that are free of other imitations and focus on its own peculiar realities.

By creating Bait, Ahmed joins a distinctive group of contemporary filmmakers such as Jean Pierre Bekolo (Aristotle’s Plot), Jordan Peele (Get Out and Nope), Boots Riley (Sorry to Bother You), and Cord Jefferson (American Fiction) who engage with the politics of racial representation. These creators empower people of colour by providing new ways of being on screen, resisting assimilation, and defying colonial desires.

Beloved by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the high-octane and violent movie is the second chapter in the tale of an undercover Indian intelligence agent in arch-enemy Pakistan.

Decried as chest-thumping nationalism by critics, it has been lapped up by its many fans.

It is the first Hindi film — and only the third Indian movie — to cross the landmark INR10 billion ($108 million) mark in domestic takings, achieving the feat after 18 days.

It has also become the the highest-grossing Indian film in North America, the first to exceed $25 million in takings.

“Dhurandhar has become a massive cinematic phenomenon,” said veteran film distributor Raj Bansal. “I have been in the film business for about four decades now, and the frenzy for this film has amazed me.”

Starring Ranveer Singh and directed by Aditya Dhar, the sequel to the 2025 blockbuster Dhurandhar — shot simultaneously — jumped to box-office success since its March 19 release.

The nearly four-hour long film has grossed over INR160 billion worldwide, according to its film producer Jio Studios.

Hooting and screaming

Heavily-muscled star Singh has been a particular draw, with Bansal describing wild scenes in the cinema as the long-haired action hero battles his enemies on screen.

“Middle-aged women watched the first day, first show, despite knowing about hardcore violence and brutal action in it,” he said.

“There is a lot of hooting and screaming in theatres.”

French President Emmanuel Macron used the film’s title track in a social media video during his India visit.

But in domestic takings it remains third behind two Telugu-language hits – the 2017 epic Baahubali 2: The Conclusion and 2024 action drama Pushpa 2: The Rule.

It remains well behind the highest-grossing Indian film of all time, the 2016 Hindi-language wrestling drama Dangal, which enjoyed enormous popularity in neighbouring China, pushing its worldwide earnings above INR200 billion.

But while the film continues a strong run, maintaining high daily numbers into its third week, trade analysts suggest it will not overtake Dangal, Baahubali 2 or Pushpa 2.

Still, some producers have pushed their film releases to wait for the box office queues for Dhurandhar to die down.

“Nobody is daring to face the film,” said Bansal.

The crime caper starring Asif Ali, Saagar Shaikh, Tan France, and Poorna Jagannathan has added five new names to its cast. Fred Armisen is set to join as a major character, which was announced back in August, Andrew Rannells and Kumail Nanjiani have been cast as recurring characters, while Robin Thede and Lilly Singh will be joining the show as guest stars.

Created by Abdullah Saeed, the show follows Pakistani-American brothers Mir and Raj Dar (Ali and Sheikh) who have lost everything and are now preparing to take over their father’s criminal empire.

According to Deadline, the show’s second season revolves around their journey after inheriting the enterprise. The brothers, burdened with dirty-cash, work with casino magnate Max Sugar (Armisen) — a legendary gambler with the ability to read people like cards — to launder it.

All the while, Lucky (Jagannathan) develops a crush on the new partner, and District Attorney Andrew Chadwater (Rannells) tries to bust the gang in his quest to become the mayor of Philadelphia.

Nanjiani will play Danyal, a defence attorney hired by Sugar, while Singh will play Aisha, the wife of Shahjahan Khan’s character Maalik Ali who is obsessed with Raj. Thede will play Dr Iverson, a couples’ therapist with questionable ethics.

The show, which received acclaim for its representation of Pakistani Americans and it’s comedic content, was renewed for its second season in August. The 10-episode first season — which includes a cameo by Pakistani fashion designer HSY — can be watched on Hulu and Disney+.

Yasir told the actor as much when she and her sister Urwa Hocane appeared on Monday’s episode of Good Morning Pakistan, where the discussion revolved largely around Mawra’s acting and how she has mastered the art of the tear.

Getting straight to the point when her segment with the Hocane sisters started, the host said, “Mawra came and made herself known for her acting skills, her beauty, her kindness and especially her crying on-screen.” When the actor chuckled a little and thanked her, Yasir posed a question, “Is it true… that nobody looks as beautiful while crying as Mawra does?”

This time, her sister took the question and said that it wasn’t just about looking pretty, she feels the emotions of the scene so deeply that she convinces the audience to empathise with her and feel them too.

Naturally, the next question for the older one of the pair — Urwa — was if Mawra had always been one to shed beautiful tears and she confirmed that her sister would get whatever she wanted as soon as she turned on the waterworks. “She was such a pretty kid and when someone that pretty cries, our mom and I, we’d just give in to whatever she was saying two sentences in… Think about it, teardrops on her cute, doll-like face.”

Urwa, however, has never been one to cry in public, her sister said. “She didn’t need to. Urwa was always such a perfect child, proper, clean, organised, I think she’s more of a secret crier. Obviously, because I am in the ambit of that secrecy, I’ve seen it, but she doesn’t cry in front of people.”

Yasir asked whether Mawra had been coached to cry so beautifully, to which her sister said she didn’t believe beauty was the goal there, “The emotions she feels are just so beautiful that it reflects and shows on screen.”

The host asked Urwa if she could cry like her sister and if she ever asked for any tips, the actor said Mawra is the first person she calls when she needs help with a scene, followed by her husband Farhan Saeed, “I feel so blessed that I can call these two. They pick up right away.”

Then, with guns aimed directly at Mawra, Yasir asked how she had come up with her technique, her “crying secret”.

The actor said she just tries to be honest on screen and portray what the director is asking her to, “I think, when you do things honestly, it’s like that verse: Dil se jo baat nikalti hai, asar rakhti hai. Par nahi, taaqat e parwaz magar rakhti hai (A cry leaving the heart has its impact. It has no wings, but it has the power to fly.)”

She also said there’s a little bit of “magic” in every performance and she prays before every scene to keep it alive.

The host drew from her own experiences as an actor and said she would often think of something unpleasant from her life to get the tears going when she needed to, she asked if Mawra did something similar.

The actor answered, “[That’s a] big question, but yeah, you either think about something unpleasant or, if you haven’t experienced something like that, you make something up in your head. That helps me a lot. I just beg my emotions to please come to me properly.”

Yasir asked the sisters if either of them had experienced a sudden fit of laughter in an otherwise serious scene or if their co-stars ever made them laugh when they weren’t supposed to. The pair answered that it never happened, with Mawra explaining, “It sounds good, to be able to switch your emotions on and off. Actors who do that stay more relaxed, but I don’t have that ability. I feel emotions very deeply, so if I do a very painful script, I feel that pain… You need to feel your scripts honestly.”

The host also appreciated Mawra’s acting when she cried, “Any actor can shed tears on camera, but that quaking in your voice, I feel it in my heart.” The actor said she doesn’t do it deliberately but prays that it keeps happening.

When asked what makes them cry in real life, the sisters said they got very emotional when they saw reels about the bond between siblings. “We don’t see each other as much as we used to and our brother is in Sydney, we hardly ever see him, so we miss one another.”

As for future projects, Mawra quipped, “I want to cry a little less on screen.” Both sisters agreed that starring in a comedy together would be fun, with Mawra suggesting, “We’ve never really done a project together. So, I think if they cast us both, we’ll just start laughing anyway.”

Starring Bilal Abbas and Hania Aamir — two of television’s most bankable stars — the drama definitely had star power in its favour. Combined with Musaddiq Malek’s direction and Radain Shah’s script, it seemed like a guaranteed hit.

However, in many ways, MZHT becomes a case study in how even the best ingredients — stars, solid director, big budgets and hype — cannot make up for weak narrative discipline and ethically dubious storytelling. It also raises questions about what our television industry is choosing to glorify.

The rise and rise of the toxic hero

MZHT continued the trend of toxic male heroes in Pakistani TV.

Radain Shah had earlier bucked the trend for wholesome heroes with Shamsher (Danish Taimoor) in Kaisi Teri Khudgharzi (KTK), a character defined by privilege, entitlement and emotional instability. The drama, despite heavy criticism, became a ratings phenomenon, proving something very important: audiences will watch — obsessively — stories about obsessive men.

With blockbuster ratings and a devoted fanbase, the recently concluded drama should have been a cause for celebration. But behind the glamour and viral moments, it shows how Pakistani television increasingly rewards moral equivocation, sensationalism and toxic masculinity

Some of this rebel-without-a-cause character template was perhaps ‘inspired’ by Indian films such as Arjun Reddy and Kabir Singh. Pakistani television added its own spin to this trope: wealthy, emotionally damaged men whose misdeeds are forgiven because they “love deeply.”

For example, in KTK, Shamsher hounds, threatens and coerces the obviously unwilling female lead, Mehak (Durrefishan Saleem), into a relationship. This would normally have been characterised as villainous or dangerously negative behaviour, but was instead rewarded with blockbuster ratings.

The success of such characters revealed something important about audiences: toxicity sells, not complexity, subtlety or nuance. And once a formula works, it is repeated — and MZHT is no exception; in fact, it takes the formula two steps further.

The problem is not that television shows flawed men. The problem is that television repeatedly rewards these men without demanding genuine accountability and the male protagonist is almost always emotionally unavailable, psychologically damaged, rich, powerful and cruel — until he falls in love. Love then becomes redemption, justification and absolution, all rolled into one.

Wealth, power and no accountability

Another defining feature of this genre is that the hero is almost always wealthy and powerful and consequently, accountable to no one. Wealth is depicted not as earned but as a licence for moral freedom — even moral immunity.

The protagonist Kamyar’s main defence in MZHT is his wealth. It enables him to act carelessly, make disastrous choices and still win over the audience. The degree to which this has become normalised is deeply concerning. The affluent, poisonous hero is now the hero rather than the antagonist. His actions are never questioned, his behaviour is always excused, justified and even romanticised and he is usually redeemed at the end of the drama.

Class snobbery and a lack of consequences seem to attract and excite audiences rather than repulse them, at least when wielded by rich, well-groomed and good-looking young actors, as well as the spirited (but eventually compliant) heroines they chase and usually attain. In a country where arranged marriages are the norm, the idea that a man might want nothing but one woman, without the usual qualifiers, seems to have tapped a nerve.

This new urban fantasy, rooted in materialism, contrasts sharply with traditional South Asian folklore, like Heer Ranjha or Umar Marvi, where love triumphs over power and wealth and earlier Pakistani dramas that celebrated moral, family-oriented heroes.

Kamyar: trauma without responsibility

In MZHT, the male lead, Kamyar (Bilal Abbas), is an emotionally damaged and broken individual shaped by his bickering, unforgiving, bitter parents (Adnan Jaffar and Arjumand Rahim) and a home that is, for the most part, devoid of warmth or connection.

He struggles with alcohol, drugs and an empty social life, using and discarding women without remorse. His only deep connections are his close friend and ex-girlfriend, Fariya (Vardha Aziz), and his grandmother (Shameem Hilaly). His household is modern, materialistic and secular.

For fans of Indian and Turkish serials, this is a familiar pattern: the disconnected young man from an elite family, who is attracted to a strong yet largely conservative girl, who will reconnect him to family life. MZHT follows this formula but also uses trauma as an excuse rather than an explanation.

Violence as romance

Kamyar’s first interaction with the comfortably upper-middle-class Dr Ayra (Hania Aamir) shocks him, as he is not used to getting pushback from anyone.

His next move: setting fire to her brand-new car, a gift from her father (Alyy Khan). The burning car in a respectable, well-lit street, with him casually standing by, making zero attempt to hide, would have chilled a normal woman. However, instead of cowering, Ayra slaps Kamyar and her ridiculous bravery causes him to fall in love with Ayra.

This mirrors what we saw in KTK in which Mehak slaps Shamsher. This “slap and fall in love” moment is increasingly becoming a recognisable trope in many television romances — where conflict and harassment are portrayed as chemistry.

In the real world, setting a car on fire would result in a police report and a psychiatric evaluation, but the makers of MZHT give us an intense visual spectacle, a dopamine hit so high that we forget the danger and inherent violence of Kamyar’s behaviour and begin to root for the romance.

This is perhaps the most revealing moment in the drama, because it shows how dramas are increasingly confusing intensity with love. Grand gestures — even violent ones — are framed as proof of passion. Calm, respectful behaviour, on the other hand, is often depicted as boring.

Television has repeated this formula so often that it has created its own emotional logic: cruelty first, love later; humiliation first, devotion later; violence first, redemption later. The audience is conditioned to expect this pattern — and increasingly, to accept it.

While the sensible Dr Ayra wants nothing to do with him, Kamyar tries everything he can think of to bring her closer to him. His immature mind cannot comprehend how a respectful relationship works and every mind-numbing, foolish attempt he makes is thwarted by his behaviour.

This is where the script takes a turn for the better: Kamyar tries to improve himself. He finally takes an interest in managing the company left to him by his grandfather and takes on a corrupt union. Much to the audience’s joy, Ayra finds this new, subdued Kamyar attractive and, to the team’s credit, we get a beautifully acted and presented, low-key confession of love at a squash court.

This shift should have marked the true turning point of the drama — where growth replaces obsession — but the story soon returns to old habits.

The plot twist: crime without consequences

The roller coaster of romance seemed to have hit an early high, with a wedding planned and a newly reformed Kamyar. However, the path of true love is never easy and the villains play their part in destroying this newfound happiness.

Here, the drama takes a darker turn, exploiting sexual assault and cybercrime in a sensationalised manner, perhaps to drive viewership.

Fariya and Khawar (Ali Rehman) — another aspirant for Ayra’s hand — persuade one of Kamyar’s formerly jilted girlfriends to drug him and film an inappropriate video with him. Through some miracle, the video is released on every guest’s cell phone, moments before the nikaah.

The fallout from this is completely believable, as any woman in her right mind would back out of a wedding after a sexually explicit video of her fiancé with another woman is taken a day before their wedding. Kamyar is publicly disgraced and deeply hurt, but this is where the script takes an off-ramp from reality.

When the truth of his “innocence” comes to light, even though he is upset with the perpetrators, his anger remains focused on Ayra, whom he continues to demean and punish for not believing in him. On the other hand, he spends a lot of time with Fariya, despite learning that she was the brains behind the video and even helps the woman filmed with him relocate to Dubai.

Unfortunately, serious issues such as sexual exploitation and digital blackmail are sensationalised rather than addressed meaningfully. Instead, they are used as shock devices — plot twists designed to trend on social media and generate YouTube views.

The serial Aik Aur Pakeezah, playing concurrently on Geo TV, explores the consequences of a leaked video far more effectively. The protagonist, Pakeezah (Sehar Khan), is forced at gunpoint to record a video with her fiancé, Faraz (Nameer Khan), by Yaseen (Ali Jan). Writer Bee Gul and director Kashif Nisar carefully draw out the victims’ PTSD, their agony at the loss of privacy and their crumbling trust in relationships. Excellent performances capture every trembling nuance.

Ali Jan as Yaseen presents the epitome of banal evil: the average young man next door whose mediocrity masks a cruel disposition. Contrast this with Fariya, who commits the same crime but is portrayed as a jealous, lost soul — another woman excused for her tragic backstory. Yaseen faces no excuses; his choices define him.

Fariya: the other woman trope

However, it is safe to say that Fariya’s character is an essential part of this trope. Despite every advantage in life, she has no self-respect. Ignoring rejection after humiliation after humiliation, she keeps clinging to Kamyar and plotting against his true love.

Similarly, Haya (Sabeen Farooq) from Tere Bin and Sofia (Shehzeen Rahat) from KTK were both intelligent women from well-to-do families who spent their lives chasing a man for a mythical status they already possessed.

This brings us to another new and recurring trope in Pakistani dramas: the educated, wealthy woman who becomes obsessive when rejected. Clearly, obsession is the order of the day.

As mentioned earlier, Kamyar renews his friendship with Fariya even after he finds out she is responsible for the video. This gives her another chance to create another misunderstanding between the lead pair. MZHT did not have to take this route, but once that decision was made, the production team should have balanced ethics and logic with the need to achieve ratings.

Kamyar’s continued association with Fariya after her crime highlights the script’s core weakness. His behaviour makes little emotional or moral sense.

But it makes perfect sense if the goal is to prolong the drama, create more confrontations and keep audiences clicking on to the next episode.

The rise of YouTube-driven metrics has fundamentally changed how Pakistani dramas are written. Episodes are now structured around “moments” — confrontations, reveals, slaps, breakdowns — that can go viral as clips. In this structure, narrative coherence becomes less important than momentary impact. Stories no longer build; they spike. MZHT increasingly feels engineered around viral moments rather than organic storytelling. The result is a drama that moves constantly but evolves very little.

Quite a few writers have spoken out about the changes producers make to their scripts, prioritising viral, commercial moments over the integrity of the story or unnecessarily lengthening the drama to increase advertising revenue. It seems that dramas are now written and edited with “viral moments” in mind — scenes designed to trend on social media rather than serve the story.

The actors save the day

No matter how crazy the plot twist or weak the ending, our actors carry the public’s interest by taking their roles seriously. Bilal Abbas and Hania Aamir’s screen chemistry is one of the biggest reasons for the show’s success and, despite the earlier mentioned flaws, the drama remains watchable largely because of its two leads.

Bilal Abbas brings vulnerability to Kamyar, making him more sympathetic than the writing sometimes deserves. Hania Aamir brings warmth and emotional intelligence to Ayra, grounding the drama whenever it drifts into melodrama.

Even when the script reduces Ayra to a self-sacrificing heroine, Hania manages to give her dignity, warmth and emotional strength. Ultimately, both excelled in their emotional scenes of connection and romance and their screen presence made up for many of the random, illogical plot turns.

The supporting cast, including Adnan Jaffar, Arjumand Rahim, Alyy Khan, Javeria Abbasi (who plays Ayra’s mother) and Shameem Hilaly, delivers excellent performances, keeping the audience tuning in.

Shameem Hilaly brought quiet strength as the grandmother navigating the burden of supporting the relationships of two generations. Alyy Khan also stood out as an, at times, bewildered but always loving father of two daughters — Ayra and her sister Falak (Meher Jaffri) — who thought he had immunised his daughters from the whims of fate that women face in a conservative society.

In many ways, the actors rescue the script from itself, creating emotional continuity even when the writing does not. This is not easy to do, especially in a drama where characters are often required to behave inconsistently in order to sustain the plot. However, most of the actors manage to maintain audience investment even when the narrative falters — which perhaps explains why the drama remained so popular despite its flaws.

A romance that (almost) worked

What should have been an amazing emotional ending was somewhat marred by a focus on keeping the romantic angst burning.

Instead of episodes of Kamyar punishing Ayra to give us a mazloom aurat (helpless woman) melodrama, why didn’t they show him navigating his way towards healing and accountability? That would have made for a much more compelling and interesting narrative rather than being rushed. However, the lead couple’s final resolution on an aeroplane was a pleasant surprise, made sweeter by Kamyar’s journey to humility and the true meaning of love.

For viewers rooting for their romance, the ending was a moment of healing and complete satisfaction. The only sour note was the strange and sudden rehabilitation of a Machiavellian villain like Fariya, who was seen once again at the couple’s finale celebration.

Director Musaddiq Malek’s finesse, the strong performances and high production values made the drama visually and emotionally engaging. However, Radain Shah’s premise had the potential to explore trauma, obsession and redemption in more meaningful ways. Instead, the drama gradually seemed to have been driven by ratings pressure, viral moments and the commercial appeal of a toxic romance.

This is perhaps the most important takeaway — MZHT is a reflection of where mainstream television stands today. An industry once known for strong storytelling is now increasingly driven by algorithms, advertising and audience metrics.

Toxic heroes thrive, consequences disappear, trauma becomes spectacle and love — somehow — redeems the toxic hero no matter what he does while the initially spirited woman becomes docile, subdued and quietly surrenders.

The drama may be a blockbuster. But it is also a warning sign.

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, April 5th, 2026

She started the caption of her Instagram post thanking the film’s mastermind, Bilal Atif Khan, who wrote and directed the movie.

Mahira recalled how, when Bilal first came to her with the project, “I was listening with my eyes wide open, laughing while he narrated it. And then I told him I can’t do this, no one will believe it or want to believe it.” The director responded, saying he only considered her fit to play the role.

Mahira said she was incredibly proud of the debutant filmmaker, adding that, “I think I may have cried like your ama did for you.”

Next, she moved on to two of her long-standing team members, stylist Babar Zaheer and manager Anushay Khan. Mahira said she loved Zaheer for making her character “raw, yet beautiful” and she thanked Anushay for her trust and confidence.

Art director Hira M Saad also got a nod for her work on the film, as did Abid Rizvi, the director of photography. Creative director Salman Noorani got a thank you too, especially for the heist scene, for which Mahira said, “mannn oh man, how cool was that”.

All the actors got a thank you note saying, “We shine better because of all of you.” Tabish Hashmi and Javed Sheikh got special mentions, with Mahira saying it was “an honour” to be in the same frame as Sheikh.

The film’s co-producer, Dr Ali Kazmi was acknowledged for all the work he did behind the scenes, as were all the assistant directors, technicians, spot boys, drivers, wardrobe assistants and guards.

The last mention, of course, went to the actor’s co-star and the film’s producer, Fahad Mustafa. She thanked him for, “having the guts to make this film”, “having a heart big enough to give space for everyone to shine”, “having the passion to make a film like this” and “being a co-actor who elevates everyone around them” .

She also thanked audiences “for making this little baby such a big success”.

Mahira’s film, Aag Lagay Basti Mein, continues its theatrical run into its third week, playing at cinemas across Pakistan and abroad in the US, UK, UAE, Canada, Qatar, Bahrain and Oman.

The movie follows the escapades of Barkat (Mustafa) and Almas (Mahira), a couple with big dreams and tight pockets. When Almas’ kleptomaniac streak and desire to life a luxurious life in Dubai push the two into a heist, chaos and comedy ensue as they find out there are bigger fish in the sea.

After the film’s teaser released in November, we got a spell of extended silence from the filmmaker, who didn’t reveal any new information for months. That silence broke on Friday when the film’s poster dropped.

Carrying much of the same gun-slinging bravado of the teaser, the poster shows Ashraf wielding an assault rifle in one hand while holding Ali close with the other. As would be the case with any self-respecting action flick, there is an explosion going off behind them. The film is set to release on Eidul Adha.

The teaser, for those who haven’t seen it, was full of guns, goons and glory. It began in icy terrain, with a narrator speaking of a perilous path full of struggles and oppression. “The pharaohs of our time wear but a single face, a face I am sworn to recognise. I will find them and I will rise up. And I will talk the sacred line decreed by God. My name is Yusuf Khan, this is my story,” he said, with Ashraf’s character on screen.

There’s a scene where one of Karachi’s iconic black and yellow taxi cabs drifts through a roundabout and another where Ali’s character is setting up a shot with a sniper rifle.

Variety reported that the production employed multiple international crew members for its action sequences, with Nick Khan of Eternals and Hussain Abdullah of Skyfall leading the team. The crew traveled to Pakistan to shoot the action sequences and train local crew members for several months, after which it took around 70 days to shoot the action scenes alone.

The publication reported that Ashraf performed his own stunts, without body doubles, sustaining multiple injuries during filming.

“For years, Pakistani cinema has flirted with action but we have never truly let it bleed,” Ehteshamuddin told the publication. “Khan Tumhara is our answer to that hesitation. Yusuf Khan is not a hero you cheer for from a safe distance; he is the man who drags you into the dust with him where love is a wound; power is a poison; and vengeance is the only prayer left. This is our story, told with our sweat; our scars; our stubborn refusal to look away.”

Having recently sat through Spaceman — a film about a man and a spider-like alien — one could be forgiven for assuming that Project Hail Mary would tread familiar ground. Watching the film one realises, almost immediately, how wrong that assumption is.

Phil Lord and Christopher Miller — writers-producers of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse and directors of The Lego Movie and Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs — working from Drew Goddard’s tight adaptation of Andy Weir’s novel of the same name, deliver a far richer experience than one might have anticipated. A film with a brain and a heart, both beating in tandem.

Ryan Gosling — radiating old-school magnetism befitting a leading man — plays Dr Ryland Grace, a science teacher and former biologist who wakes up, disoriented, aboard a spacecraft a light-year from home. As the only surviving astronaut of his craft, his mission — one he did not choose to accept — has sent him on a one-way journey to Tau Ceti, a star system 12 light-years away. The sun, we find out, is slowly being consumed by a microorganism known as Astrophage and, in 30 years, the Earth will be no more.

The narrative shifts between the past, set on Earth, where Grace’s reluctant journey begins, and the present, at Tau Ceti. It is here, in the far reaches of space, that he encounters Rocky — a faceless, multi-limbed, spider-like alien realised through practical effects rather than AI or pixels. The visual effects (VFX) are, overall, as pristine as they come.

Like Grace, Rocky is a traveller on a desperate mission. At first, the two cannot understand one another but, when they do, Rocky reveals himself to be a mechanic and the sole survivor of his own failed attempt to stop the Astrophage. Together, they discover an organism that could be their salvation — though not without complications, the details of which I won’t spoil here.

Suffice it to say, the emotions crafted by Goddard, Lord and Miller feel genuine, and they help the viewer in looking past the film’s predictable trajectory.

Goddard, of course, has experience understanding and adapting Andy Weir’s works; he last adapted The Martian for Ridley Scott. As directors, Lord and Miller are no less assured or commercial. In the film’s best moments, one can see the texture of an old Steven Spielberg adventure underneath — and, if anything, that’s a major win.

However, at two hours and 36 minutes, the runtime may test some viewers’ patience. One need not fret, because the film moves with such nimble-footedness that one can look past the fatigue of sitting in a cinema chair for 156 minutes, and just enjoy the show.

Released by Amazon-MGM and HKC, Project Hail Mary is rated U and is suitable for everyone

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, March 29th, 2026

In a statement on Instagram, the programme’s organisers said they were set to continue the show after taking a pause during Ramazan “with the finale just weeks away”. However, it said, “as the situation around us evolved, it became clear that the mood of the nation had shifted”.

The organisers said it “did not feel right” to continue a celebration at their scale during a time when the country is faced with “ regional tensions rising and calls for national austerity”.

Pakistan Idol, they said, stood for “joy, pride, and the collective spirit of this country” and they felt the finale, a moment of national celebration, “deserves to happen at a time when Pakistan can truly embrace it”.

Addressing the show’s contestants, organisers said their journey on the show was “not over” and their moment to shine was “not lost. It is simply waiting.”

They also thanked audiences, whose “love, support, and belief in this platform mean everything”. They pledged to return, “When Pakistan is ready to celebrate again.”

In its second season, Pakistan Idol consistently remained the talk of the town, starting with controversy over its selection of judges and continuing into its last few episodes before Ramazan where stars such as Farhan Saeed, Asim Azhar and Shuja Haider appeared as guests and treated the audience to stage performances. Alamgir, the 70s pop icon, even appeared on an episode and sang a medley of his songs.

The show is also one of several reality shows and TV competitions that have sprung up recently. Masterchef saw a revival in Pakistan last year and Shark Tank held its inaugural run. Upcoming entrants include Pakistan’s Got Talent — a local franchise of the British series — and Rap Icon Pakistan.

It is within this tricky space that Aag Lagay Basti Mein, directed by Bilal Atif Khan and written by Bilal, and Naeem Ali, arrives. The film does not aim to deal with a heavy subject; instead, it keeps things simple, loud and unapologetically comedic, focusing on the clash between good, bad and morally grey characters.

One of the film’s biggest talking points is the casting of Mahira Khan as Almas. Known for playing polished and composed characters for most of her career, Mahira appears here in a completely different avatar; loud, cunning, street-smart and often abrasive in her language. Seeing her in bright, mismatched clothes, crooked lipstick and delivering insults without hesitation is genuinely surprising. It’s the kind of performance that will clearly divide audiences — some will appreciate the risk she has taken, while others may struggle to accept her in such a raw role. Nonetheless, she fully commits to the part.

Opposite her, Fahad Mustafa plays Barkat, a man so honest and kind that at times he borders on being irritating. Fahad stays in his familiar comic space and does what he does best, though there are moments when you half-expect him to jump on a car and shout his famous Jeeto Pakistan catchphrase. His innocence and vulnerability make the character engaging. At the same time, there is a noticeable echo of the Nabeel Qureshi style of film and acting; a style that has worked in the past but now risks feeling repetitive, and perhaps is ready to evolve into something fresher.

The film also features Javed Sheikh as Marble Seth, reminding viewers once again that he is an actor made for the big screen. Tabish Hashmi, introduced with considerable flair and flamboyance, plays the villainous Chota Marble. While his personality is designed to feel threatening, there is also an underlying innocence that shines through, and Hashmi handles that contrast well, making the character quite engaging.

The story revolves around Barkat, a goody-two-shoes man, and his wife Almas, who is constantly looking for ways to save and steal money so she can one day escape to her dream destination: Dubai. In today’s reality, with visa complications and changing international circumstances, that dream is more complicated than the film lets on, though within its world, it remains her driving motivation.

Their opposing personalities drive the film’s chaos, leading to a series of misunderstandings, petty crimes and exaggerated situations that keep the narrative moving. Amid the comedy of errors, the film also touches on familiar social realities from street crimes to child beggars painted in gold — details that feel recognisable to anyone living in a city in Pakistan.

The director described the film to Images as a situational dark comedy, where the humour comes from the circumstances rather than characters trying to be funny. That approach is visible in scenes where tension builds first and the laughter follows.

The film also incorporates several social media comic performers, including Hafiz Raza Ahmed, Khizr Ansari, Ali Abdullah Durrani, Osama Ateeq and Samra Shehzadi. Though their screen time is brief, they bring familiar internet-era humour to the story. Scenes involving kidnapping exchanges, exaggerated misunderstandings and moments where characters attempt to communicate using only hand gestures, their mouths full of paan (betel nut) feel instantly recognisable, particularly for Karachi audiences.

When asked about the choice of these performers, Bilal said his team was already watching their reels like everyone else. They enjoyed their acting and comic timing, so if they fit the roles, it made sense to cast them.

On the technical side, the film shows clear effort in visual planning. Creative director Salman Noorani brings a stylised look to the film’s world, while production designer Hira Mansoor and 3D artist Ozair Mansoor help translate that vision into detailed sets, particularly in the house where Barkat and Almas live. Cinematographer Abid Rizvi captures the streets and interiors with a certain grit that makes the entire experience feel raw and real. Bringing all of these elements together is the young director Bilal, who, in his debut, manages to coordinate a large ensemble cast, a mix of performance styles and a stylised visual approach.

The film unfolds as a series of comic situations rather than a tightly interwoven narrative, allowing individual scenes to stand out. Many of these moments land effectively with the audience, creating a lively viewing experience even when the story itself takes a back seat.

At its core, Aag Lagay Basti Mein is made very clearly for a Pakistani audience. Its humour, references and situations are rooted in local culture. Some may argue that the film should cater to a larger audience and that viewers from outside should be able to enjoy it too, but its priorities remain firmly local. The strongest indicator of its success comes from the cinema itself, where bursts of laughter and whistles suggest that the film achieves what it sets out to do — entertain.

At a time when global news cycles and local realities are overwhelming, a film that allows audiences to switch off for a few hours and simply laugh can serve a purpose of its own. Aag Lagay Basti Mein may not aim for narrative complexity, but it understands its audience and leans into its chaotic energy.

The humour, however, occasionally leans into adult territory and some moments may feel slightly excessive. The film is best suited for audiences aged 15 and above. For those willing to embrace its loud, chaotic and unapologetically Pakistani style of comedy, it offers a chance to simply sit back and laugh; something Pakistani cinema has not consistently provided in recent years.