The Academy Award-winning actor plays the queen of Sparta in Christopher Nolan’s new film The Odyssey. Her costume for the role included pieces made by Pakistani artist Misha Japanwala, who posted about it on Instagram on Monday.

Speaking to W Magazine, costume designer Ellen Mirojnick — whose work on Nolan’s Oppenheimer earned her an Oscar nod — said they “really had to get down to the realism” of the character and it was Nyong’o who suggested they bring on Japanwala.

The artist created an asymmetrical neck and shoulder plate in bronze, which was worn by the actor like a capelet over her gown in a scene where Helen and her husband King Menelaus (Jon Bernthal) host Odysseus’ son Telemachus (Tom Holland) in Sparta.

Mirojnick described the piece as “a broken statue.”

Another piece Japanwala created for the film was a bronze choker that Nyong’o wore with a chainmail kaftan in the scene where Helen and Menelaus bid Telemachus farewell.

Mirojnick said she was initially hesitant to ask the actor to wear the outfit due to its weight, but Nyong’o replied, “I’ve worn more pounds of Chanel pearls. I think I could do that.”

Nyong’o and Japanwala have known each other for some time now, with the artist making the actor a custom breastplate for the 2023 Tony Awards.

Nyong’o was also a guest at Japanwala’s wedding in Karachi in 2022 and borrowed a sari and jewellery from the artist for opening night of the musical version of Indian director Mira Nair’s Monsoon Wedding.

The HUM TV drama, which premiered on Friday, shows Khan’s character dismissing his wife (played by Urwa Hocane) after the magic of their marriage had worn off. The actor is now telling his fans not to do that.

In a story posted on Monday, Khan said, “Ignoring your partner’s needs and still expecting a happy relationship is like ignoring [that] your plants need water and still expecting a beautiful garden.”

The actor acknowledged that his portrayal had been enraging for audiences, even sharing some of the reactions on Instagram. One fan said the episode was so frustrating that she would’ve broken her TV if it was within striking distance. She called the show a “brilliant portrayal of our society”.

Another fan had a message for the world. She said men need to realise that their partners need more than just their money and sometimes a kind gesture or words of appreciation can do much more than money ever will. “Even if you get her a jewellery set worth 1.5 crores (Rs15 million), but don’t appreciate her once when she puts it on, it loses all its value to her.”

For women, she asked them to be independent and invest in themselves. She said there was a lesson to be learnt in Hocane’s character about girls continuing to work on their “education and self-growth”.

A third fan said Khan’s character had “managed to raise the blood pressure of every single woman watching Aap Ki Izzat” and that the drama might soon have to be made part of advice cardiologists give out.

In Aap Ki Izzat, Khan plays Tabish, a wealthy man who is initially a loving husband to his wife Bina. But 14 years and two children later, he has lost all interest in her.

Joining them in the cast is Sania Saeed, who plays Tabish’s doting mother who believes her son can do no wrong. The show has been written by Umera Ahmed and directed by Saife Hassan.

The project from ARY Digital stars Nameer Khan and Durefishan Saleem alongside Munawar and was written by Umera Ahmed.

In the teaser, Saleem and Khan are shown together in the US — possibly in love — while Munawar’s character appears to be an upper-middle class Pakistani man who is dedicated to his faith.

Khan appears to be in contrast to this with his lifestyle, with Saleem leaning both ways in different scenes. There are references to the Holy Quran and Islamic teachings in the teaser, hinting at religion being a prominent part of the narrative.

A montage of scenes, with one showing Saleem slapping Khan and another showing a character shattering a glass on the floor, shows there’s likely a good deal of tension in the drama, although details of the plot remain under wraps for now.

Aside from details on the story, we also don’t have a release date, with the teaser saying the show is “coming soon”.

What we do know is that the channel describes it as “a powerful tale of destiny, heartbreak, and redemption.”

We also know, from previous posts made by Munawar, that Sahar Hashmi, Romaisa Khan, Sania Saeed and Saba Hameed are part of the show’s star cast.

Dar-e-Nijaat is directed by Saqib Khan and is the first drama serial from 3’s Entertainment, a production led by Munawar and Sonya Khan.

Answering questions at an event organised to celebrate the 25th anniversary of his anti-colonial film Lagaan on Thursday, the actor said the idea that his character, Phunsukh Wangdu, and Wangchuk being connected was a “misconception”.

The question came after his 3 Idiots co-star Omi Vaidya — who played Chatur Ramalingam — posted a video on Instagram voicing support for Wangchuk. The reel’s caption read, “Did you know the real life Phunsukh Wangdu may die?”

“I saw a video of Chatur just recently. He said that, yes. No, he’s wrong,” Khan said.

He said Vaidya might have been under a false impression. “Maybe that’s what Chatur was thinking, but I want to tell you that neither Raju [the film’s director] nor Abhijat [the writer], nor I, we didn’t know about Mr Sonam.”

Wangchuk has, on previous occasions, also denied working with the team that made 3 Idiots, as per the Times of India. He did, however, say that people had told him there were similarities between him and Khan’s character.

Indian media reports the activist recounting a meeting with Khan in Mumbai in 2008. He said he had proposed a film highlighting the massive financial cost of the conflict between India and Pakistan over the Siachen Glacier. He had hoped such a movie would convince people on both sides of the border that the money would be better used elsewhere, such as on education.

In 2025, Wangchuk — who is also an engineer and a climate change campaigner — visited Islamabad to speak at Dawn’s Breathe Pakistan conference about environmental protection and his project in Ladakh. By then, the project had established 52 running artificial glaciers in Ladakh and 14 elsewhere in the world over six years.

At the event on Thursday, Khan appreciated the educationist’s efforts, and expressed concern over his hunger strike, which the actor hoped would end soon.

Wangchuk has been protesting with the Cockroach Janta Party (CJP) in New Delhi, demanding the resignation of India’s Education Minister Dharmendra Prasad. The protest follows a massive scandal which saw papers of the country’s competitive university entrance exams leaked.

“Sonam sir is not doing so well, and his ribcage has started showing,” CJP Spokesperson Vijay Dahiya said in a recent update on the activist’s health.

“He’s nearly 60, has lost muscle mass; the heat and humidity are not helping either and I can see him having dizzy spells,” he added.

Several Bollywood celebrities have expressed support for Wangchuk’s mission, including actor Sonakshi Sinha, who said she salutes the activist for taking a stand for the country’s children. She lamented that the government was not even talking to the CJP, let alone fixing flaws in the system.

Veteran actors Zeenat Aman and Shabana Azmi also spoke out, with Azmi imploring Wangchuk to end his hunger strike and take care of himself. Aman called on the government to open dialogue with the CJP on the issue and work for the next generation.

Actor Naseeruddin Shah and author Arundhati Roy also urged Wangchuk to break his long-running “fast”, while actor Prakash Raj visited the protest site to express his solidarity with Wangchuk and the other protesters.

At its heart, Dr Bahu anatomises a controlling patriarch — a figure so common in our storytelling that we risk normalising him. But writer Sanam Mehdi refuses that comfort.

Dr Bahu is a masterclass in patriarchal trauma and the slow architecture of rebellion

She gives us Dr Shahnawaz (Shahzad Nawaz), a successful oncologist and owner of two private hospitals, who maintains family dominance not through overt violence, but through systemic socialisation, entitlement and the weaponisation of fear.

He is the sun around which characters orbit — and he ensures they never forget their place.

Coercive control as identity

Socialised entitlement is his primary tool. Patriarchal conditioning has taught him that his worth lies in dominance, emotional restraint and control. He views any questioning of his authority as a direct threat to his identity and hierarchy.

His behaviour is not random anger. It is a calculated system of dominance. In one searing scene, he taps his spoon against his plate, reminding the women they should know what he wants without being told. A reminder of where they belong: the kitchen.

Behind this aggressive exterior lies a fragile ego. In clinical terms, coercive control acts as a self-protective barrier against the terror of chaos, loss of status or emotional inadequacy. His perfectionist stance reflects a deeper inadequacy — a childhood wound he has spent a lifetime covering with authority and wealth.

He employs a cult of personality: divide and conquer, information hoarding, infantilisation and enslavement of his relatives. He chooses both daughters-in-law from modest backgrounds, extends favours to their families — matchmaking, waiving medical bills — and, in exchange, he gets social credit and control with impunity. He puppeteers the elder bahu’s (Hajra Yamin) career, disregarding her wishes and qualifications.

Roles in a rigid hierarchy

A controlling patriarch creates a highly rigid, anxious family system based on conditional love and performance. It is highly functional — but devoid of happiness.

1. The Subservient Partner: Dr Farheen (Saba Hameed) is a qualified doctor, but her husband has dictated her life, dividing it between household and a “suitable” professional choice: aesthetician. She absorbs his anger to protect her children and enforces his rules for personal safety. Her cancer is kept discreet because it could cause doubts in the patriarch’s professional authority. She is the buffer, the peacekeeper, until Dr Sania (Kubra Khan) — the new bahu — arrives and asks the question that threatens the entire system: “What about a woman’s individual identity?”

2. The Golden Child: Dr Faizan (Adeel Hussain) is the trophy son, a star oncologist and the sole professional heir. He enjoys praise and privilege, but only at the cost of conformity. When his wife is discovered to be infertile and adoption is denied by the patriarch, Faizan’s complex trauma deepens, pushing him toward an extramarital affair with Dr Amber (Mira Sethi). His cheating cannot be pardoned, but the suffocation of never having a choice in three decades deserves sympathy.

3. The Scapegoat: Salman (Shuja Asad) refuses to pretend the system is healthy. He is targeted, isolated and labelled “difficult”. Judged for choosing a passion-based career, his father still finds him a doctor wife, Sania, to compensate for his shortcomings. His marriage becomes a source of healing. The most striking wisdom comes from him when Sania suggests planning a family out of insecurity — he prefers to build a life based on trust and companionship rather than chain it with a baby out of insecurity… that’s trauma prevention.

The rebellion

Dr Sania faces the tension between her medical career and a patriarch who tries to curate her life: when to honeymoon or skip exams, where to do her residency and how to behave.

His subtle demeaning statements — such as “I trust your family’s upbringing” and “You are now part of a wealthy family” — are textbook gaslighting. When she insists on doing her residency with Dr Rubina (Atiqa Odho), he threatens to get her license cancelled. When she bypasses his approval in a welfare case, she is punished but endures the pressure despite the harsh impact on her life.

Rebellion is rarely sudden; it forms through cognitive dissonance, underground resistance and eventual systemic rupture. Every time Dr Sania asserts herself, something shifts. Salman supports her aggressively. Farheen and Mina hear their inner voices — experience hope, even if they do not actively support her. That is the architecture of change.

The patriarch’s own trauma

In a devastating twist, Dr Farheen overhears a conversation between her husband and Dr Rubina — uncovering a painful truth from the past. She confronts him with the quiet yearning of a woman who seeks the truth. She receives only silence.

That night she dies of a broken heart, of decades of erasure, of the slow poison of being diminished every single day by the man who was supposed to cherish her. Her final sleep is both a tragedy and a release from a prison. This revelation reframes everything. The persecutor is himself a hidden victim — rejected, insecure and driven by an ego that could not tolerate a woman’s ambition.

He pits family members against one another, rationing affection so they compete for his approval instead of uniting against him. It works — until it doesn’t.

The mental health takeaway: Lessons for everyone

Dr Bahu offers implicit guidance for viewers trapped in similar dynamics:

1. For the oppressed: Set strict boundaries. Prevent now, not cure later. Use assertive communication and avoid emotional escalation. Seek support from psychological resources such as Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and Dialectical Behaviour Therapy (DBT) to cope with guilt and anxiety.

2. For the enablers: Recognise that silence is complicity. The victims are also participants in the system. Healing requires breaking the cycle, not maintaining it.

3. For the coercive controller: Healing is possible for persecutors, but only when they stop running from their wounds and confront their trauma.

Dr Bahu is not a show about villains and victims. It is about a family, engineered to serve one man’s ego, who slowly, painfully, learns to dismantle it from within.

Mehreen Jabbar’s direction with surgical precision ensures no scene is wasted. The performances are tours de force — especially Saba Hameed’s silent suffering and Shuja Asad’s simmering defiance. Kubra Khan brings a quiet steel to Dr Sania that makes her rebellion believable rather than preachy.

The drama asks the question we must all answer: what do we owe to tradition, and what do we owe to ourselves? The answer is a choice.

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, July 12th, 2026

People keep asking, ’“Is it available online, or will it come to Netflix?” It’s a reassuring question, because it tells you the film has travelled through word of mouth, through conversations, through people. But it also reveals something important. In today’s world, discovery begins with access. Before audiences engage with a film, they need to know where to find it.

They are asking where it exists. And increasingly, that “where” leads to one place — Netflix.

Federal Planning and Development Minister Ahsan Iqbal’s recent statement is encouraging because it recognises that the issue is not the quality of Pakistani content, but the route through which it reaches global platforms. Our industry has already produced films that meet international creative and technical standards.

India, meanwhile, continues to put out all kinds of content globally, while projects like the upcoming Operation Safed Sagar also present its own side of the region’s history. Streaming is, therefore, not only about entertainment; it also decides which stories the world gets to see and remember.

Now that this conversation has started at the right level, I hope it leads to real and direct access for Pakistani content on global platforms.

Why Netflix matters, especially in Pakistan

In Pakistan, we are not yet a fully subscription-driven market. Local OTT platforms exist, and some are doing serious work. Yet, the average viewer still hesitates to subscribe to multiple services.

But Netflix is different. Netflix has become a habit. A reference point. There is a certain psychology attached to it, a quiet fear of missing out. Viewers who might hesitate to pay for other platforms often make an exception for Netflix, which is why presence on Netflix today is not simply about distribution. It’s about belonging to the global conversation. And absence from it is equally telling. 

The question we are not asking loudly enough is if Pakistani actors enjoy loyal audiences beyond Pakistan, if our music travels effortlessly, if we share the same meme culture, then why are our films not finding consistent space on Netflix for global audiences?

This is not a question of talent, it’s not even a question of audience. It is a question of access.

South Asia, as a streaming region, is largely managed through India. That means content from Pakistan often enters a system shaped by India’s market priorities, their regulatory environment and India’s political sensitivities.

The situation was not always this way. After Modi’s government came into office, cultural exchange between the two countries became almost impossible. And in recent months, particularly following heightened tensions between the two countries, that shift has become even more visible, reflected not only in policy decisions, but also in symbolic moments, whether in the absence of collaboration, cancelled engagements, or even gestures as simple as players choosing not to shake hands.

This does not always translate into direct rejection. It works in subtler ways. Projects get delayed. Decisions remain pending. Risk outweighs opportunity. And gradually, absence becomes normalised.

At the same time, India being the dominant market continues to supply a steady stream of content to global platforms. And not all of that content is exceptional. There are many examples of films that secured immediate global placement despite modest reception, titles such as Ginny Weds Sunny, The Girl on the Train, Jaadugar, Jewel Thief, Maa Behen, Tu Yaa Main, Do Deewane Seher Mein, Happy Patel: Khatarnak Jasoos and Toaster, among others.

That difference in visibility is where the imbalance becomes visible.

Why is access to platforms not direct? 

One of the realities filmmakers face is that access to platforms such as Netflix is rarely direct.

You cannot simply submit a film and expect it to be evaluated. Access typically happens through distributors, aggregators and regional decision-makers, in this case India.

While filmmakers can approach distributors and aggregators, the distribution pathway for Pakistani content is frequently routed through regional decision-making structures based in India. Individually, it is extremely difficult to navigate this system, which is why this is no longer just an industry challenge — it’s a structural one.

Pakistani cinema today is not short on high calibre stories.

Films like Nayab, Kamli, The Legend of Maula Jatt, Luv Guru and the recent Aag Lagay Basti Mein reflect the breadth of storytelling emerging from the country, grounded, character-driven narratives, alongside films that have demonstrated strong audience appeal and numbers. This is an industry that understands both storytelling and spectatorship. This is not an industry lacking range. This is an industry lacking reach.

A large number of Pakistani viewers have watched films such as Dhurandhar, Article 370, Raazi, and Fighter, films that engage directly with themes of nationalism, security, and regional conflict.

Whether one agrees with the narrative or not, these films succeeded in placing their perspective in front of global audiences. That is the real achievement, because once a story reaches viewers, the conversation begins. And once the conversation begins, the narrative takes shape, making all other debates secondary.

Visibility matters. And visibility does not happen by accident. It happens through planning, coordination, and access.

When global audiences repeatedly see narratives about Pakistan but rarely see narratives from Pakistan, a certain image begins to form. Over time, that image becomes reality for those who have never experienced the country themselves. This is not about competing with another industry, it’s about ensuring that our voice exists alongside others.

Here our producers operate in a challenging ecosystem, with limited financing, unpredictable distribution, and a narrow theatrical window. Provincial and federal governments have supported filmmakers through grants and incentives, and those efforts deserve recognition.

But grants alone cannot build a sustainable industry. What we need is a self-sustaining ecosystem. In many countries, films generate revenue even before reaching cinemas through pre-sale agreements with streaming platforms and broadcasters. These deals provide financial stability, reduce risk, and allow filmmakers to invest in stronger production values.

Streaming platforms are not just distribution channels. They are economic engines. They bring revenue. They extend audience reach. They strengthen the industry. And they allow stories to travel.

This challenge cannot be addressed through individual effort alone. A formal engagement between the Pakistani government and global streaming platforms is necessary.

This is not about lobbying. It is about representation. Pakistan must present itself as a content market, not merely a content consumer. Rather than informal outreach, a structured Pakistan content showcase should be organised, which should include curated film screenings, meetings with filmmakers and producers, presentation of audience data and ready-to-license content.

The goal is clear: to create direct visibility and build relationships beyond regional filters.

A mid-level Pakistani film can often be produced at a budget of around $250,000, delivering quality that meets international technical standards. At this level, Pakistan has a competitive advantage  producing strong content at a fraction of the cost seen in many larger markets.

With the right support, this cost efficiency can become a strategic strength.

A national strategy should focus on structured engagement with platforms such as Netflix and Amazon Prime, distribution partnerships and international marketing.

These steps are not theoretical — they are practical and they are achievable.

India recently held a national-level AI summit that brought together global companies, policymakers, investors, and industry leaders to build direct partnerships and signal national intent.

Pakistan’s content industry needs a similar national-level conference on distribution, one that brings key platform decision-makers directly to Pakistan, reduces dependence on regional gatekeepers, and allows us to engage global partners strategically across multiple fronts.

Because the reality is simple: efforts are already being made on many fronts. But without coordinated, diplomatic engagement at the national level, those efforts remain fragmented.

Such engagement should not be reactive. It should be strategic, it should be diplomatic and it should be consistent.

Cinema has a quiet but enduring power. It carries the texture of a people, the rhythm of a city, the dreams of a generation. When films travel, they do not just entertain, they represent.

Kinza Hashmi got a taste of that this week when parliamentarians Jamal Khan Raisani and Romina Khurshid Alam commended her onscreen performance as political scion Rubab in Leader.

Raisani reposted a post from Hashmi’s Instagram on Thursday with a message saying he was “proud to see [her] portray the strength, courage and leadership of women in politics so powerfully in Leader”.

He said, “Women do not just belong in parliament, they belong at the forefront of leadership”.

Hashmi thanked Raisani for his kind words and reshared his story on her account.

Alam, who serves as the coordinator to the prime minister on climate change, also reshared the actor’s post, calling her performance “iconic”.

“This isn’t acting. This is ownership,” said the three-time MNA. She said Hashmi “stepped into the shoes of leadership and made the whole room listen”.

Alam praised the actor’s “skill, her fire [and] her character”, calling the performance “absolutely phenomenal”.

“More power to you,” the MNA said.

Hashmi’s onscreen persona in Leader, Rubab, is the daughter of a shrewd politician with a feudal background. In later episodes, she takes the reins of her father’s political empire, coming into her own as an iron-willed party leader.

Through Fanoos in 2017 and Coke Studio Explorer (CSE) in 2018, he built a reputation for uncovering Pakistan’s forgotten sounds, traditions and cultures — stories that often existed far from the country’s urban centres. His latest project, The Great Pakistan Adventure (TGPA), marks a departure from music, but not from the curiosity that has always driven his work.

Pakistan’s digital creators have spent years reshaping the country’s image for online audiences, taking viewers beyond postcard landscapes to discover the people, traditions and untold stories that lie beyond the tourist trail. TGPA builds on that momentum with an ambitious four-part web series that can be viewed on YouTube and blends cinematic documentary filmmaking with expedition travel.

It follows four of the country’s best-known storytellers as they explore dramatically different corners of Pakistan.

From forgotten folk traditions to the songs of remote mountain communities, Zohaib Kazi has spent his career documenting Pakistan’s sound landscape. With The Great Pakistan Adventure, he takes that mission beyond music, revealing lesser-known people and places that shape the country’s identity

Rather than relying on a single host, each episode is led by a content creator whose interests naturally align with the journey: motorcycle traveller Abrar Hassan heads into the mountains of the Hushe Valley in search of the elusive snow leopard and the communities working to protect it; journalist and storyteller Maryam Raja travels through Sindh to uncover its living heritage, wildlife and enduring traditions; travel filmmaker Bilal Hassan — better known as Mystapaki — ventures across the deserts of Cholistan and Bahawalpur; and adventurer Nadir Nahdi traces Pakistan’s little-known surf culture and coastal communities from Karachi to Balochistan.

Directed by Zohaib, the series moves beyond conventional travel programming, using each expedition to examine the relationship between landscapes, identities and the people whose lives are deeply connected to these places. The result is less of a showcase of destinations and more of a portrait of Pakistan told through four distinct voices, each revealing a different facet of a country that continues to surprise even those who know it well.

While the BYD Shark 6 serves as the vehicle connecting these journeys, it never overshadows the stories, acting instead as a means to reach some of the country’s most remote and compelling landscapes.

“The intent was to shed light on a lot of human stories,” points out Zohaib. “It’s about exploring our identities as Pakistanis.”

The project occupied nearly eight months of his life. Concept development began in September last year, and post-production wrapped in late April. Timing every shoot around the right season meant long stretches of waiting — and even longer periods were spent filming in some of the country’s most unforgiving environments.

“We were trying to catch things in the right season,” he explains. “It was a long journey.”

For Zohaib, the challenge wasn’t simply logistical. It was creative. “We have the world of vlogs and then we have documentaries,” he says. “We’ve been trying to bridge the gap between them.”

This meant convincing both the client and the production ecosystems to embrace something that sat between a cinematic documentary and accessible digital storytelling. “There was resistance at first,” he recalls. “But they were very receptive.”

Zohaib’s reputation for culturally nuanced storytelling was precisely why he was approached for the series. Yet, despite its adventure-driven premise, Zohaib instinctively steered the project back towards people.

“I love cultural storytelling,” he says. “Your curiosity gets interactions. Things aren’t how you understand them. You get a real reality check.”

A career built on cultural curiosity

Curiosity and cultural storytelling have always been Zohaib’s forte. He first joined Coke Studio (CS) in 2009 as a music producer and composer, where he worked alongside some of the country’s most celebrated musicians.

His work became known for blending traditional Pakistani musical forms with contemporary production, helping introduce regional folk sounds to mainstream audiences. Rather than simply arranging songs, Zohaib sought to preserve the authenticity of indigenous musical traditions while presenting them in a modern format that resonated with younger listeners.

Following the success of CS, Zohaib conceived and directed CSE, an ambitious documentary series that required travelling across Pakistan in search of undiscovered musical talent and endangered folk traditions. The project took him to some of the country’s most remote villages, where he documented local musicians performing in their native languages and cultural settings, before bringing them into the studio for original collaborations.

More than a talent hunt, CSE became a celebration of Pakistan’s extraordinary musical diversity, introducing audiences to voices and traditions that had rarely, if ever, reached national television. One of the most memorable songs to come from CSE was ‘Pareek’, by Ariana and Amreena, two Kalasha girls from Chitral.

Fanoos marked a natural evolution of Zohaib’s work beyond music into broader cultural storytelling. The documentary series explored Pakistan’s living heritage through artisans, crafts people, oral traditions, architecture and communities whose knowledge has been passed down through generations.

Rather than focusing solely on history, Fanoos examined how culture continues to evolve, highlighting the relationship between people, places and identities. Visually cinematic and deeply immersive, the series reinforced Zohaib’s reputation for telling nuanced stories that celebrated Pakistan’s often-overlooked cultural landscapes.

Together, these projects have established Zohaib as one of Pakistan’s leading cultural storytellers. While CS introduced audiences to the country’s musical richness, CSE took viewers to the communities where those traditions originated and Fanoos expanded that vision to encompass Pakistan’s broader cultural heritage.

TGPA builds on that same philosophy, replacing music with travel and adventure, while retaining Zohaib’s enduring focus on people, identity and place.

Waiting for winter

Nowhere is that philosophy clearer than in the series’ opening episode, filmed in the Hushe Valley. Conventional wisdom suggested shooting in May, when the roads would be open and conditions more forgiving. Zohaib chose the opposite.

“If we wanted to experience what Hushe is really about, we needed to go when it is at its remotest,” he says.

They arrived after dark. Overnight, snow buried the valley. “It was the harshest of conditions,” he laughs. “Especially for someone from Karachi who isn’t a climber.”

Yet, those hardships delivered exactly what he had hoped for: a version of Hushe that few visitors witness.

The episode also brought together three of Pakistan’s most iconic mountain communities through the people who best represent them: Sajid Sadpara from Sadpara, Sultana Nasab from Shimshal and the people of Hushe itself.

When I point out that he had managed to include all three communities that have produced generations of Pakistan’s high-altitude porters and mountaineers, Zohaib smiles. “Thank you for noticing that,” he says. “The intention was to inspire people to experience snow tourism. Ice climbing is a sport that’s huge in so many countries but it’s something we can develop here too.”

For him, featuring mountaineers such as Sajid wasn’t simply about celebrity. “These kinds of shows reach the mainstream,” he says. “These are the people who should be on billboards. They’re the ones doing the real work.”

Meeting Sajid himself proved memorable. “[He’s] someone who’s climbed 14 8,000-metre peaks without oxygen… I shook hands with him and thought he should be doing mixed martial arts,” he jokes.

However, more than the filming, Zohaib remembers the conversations. “I wish I’d recorded a podcast there. The conversations were so inspiring. They stayed with me.”

Refusing to tell stories through pity

Another episode that has resonated with audiences follows Karachi-based surfer Nadir Nahdi as he learns to surf with the young men of Buleji, whose passion for the ocean has quietly built one of Pakistan’s most remarkable grassroots surfing communities.

Zohaib was already familiar with their story. His wife, photographer Insiya Syed, had previously documented them for Reuters. But revisiting the subject required a different perspective.

“We were very careful not to paint anyone as a victim.” After a pause, he adds, “We didn’t want to make poverty porn.” Instead, the narrative focuses on skill rather than circumstances.

“If the boys from Buleji can teach Nadir how to surf, then that proves they can teach. We wanted to show that rather than saying it.”

Watching Nadir finally stand on his surfboard became one of Zohaib’s favourite moments of the entire production. “When it finally happened, we knew we had our story.”

Just as importantly, he hopes viewers come away seeing Karachi differently. “There are places to surf here. There are places to cliff dive. This can be a proper tourism destination.”

The song he’d been searching for

Perhaps the most extraordinary moment during production almost never made it into the series.

For over a decade, Zohaib had been searching for a traditional climbing song. He was told it was sung in villages near K2. Apart from a grainy camcorder recording from the ’90s, he had never managed to find it. Then, hours before leaving Hushe, something unexpected happened.

“We came back from ice climbing and everyone in the guesthouse started singing it,” he recalls. The villagers had chosen the song to welcome the crew home.

“I recorded it two or three hours before we left,” he says. “I’d been looking for it for 12 or 14 years.” It was, he admits, a deeply personal moment — one that perfectly captures the obsession that has defined much of his career.

What does Pakistan sound like?

That obsession extends beyond filmmaking. For the past three-and-a-half years, Zohaib has quietly been building what may be Pakistan’s most ambitious sound archive — a collection of around 5,000 recordings gathered from across the country.

The project grew out of a simple frustration. “If you search for Pakistani sounds on global libraries, you either don’t find them or you get poor-quality recordings.”

That absence has consequences. “When international productions depict Pakistan, they often end up using sounds from somewhere else — Cairo, for example — because that’s all they have.”

For Zohaib, the archive is about more than preserving audio. It is about preserving identity. “Ten years from now, when my son asks AI what Pakistan sounds like, I don’t want the answer to be generic ‘South Asian’ sounds.”

The archive even allows listeners to navigate Karachi through sound, clicking on locations across the city to hear recordings captured there. “We’re trying to trap time,” he says. “Before these places change.”

It is, in many ways, the same philosophy that underpins TGPA. Behind every landscape lies a story worth preserving. Behind every spectacular shot is a conversation, a tradition or a sound that risks disappearing if no one takes the time to record it.

For Zohaib Kazi, adventure has never really been about reaching remote places. It is about paying close enough attention to discover what has been there all along.

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, July 12th, 2026

In a video posted to his Instagram account on Wednesday, he said Pakistan’s entertainment industry had neither the widely-relatable narratives, nor the technical expertise to meet the standards of global streaming giants.

Abbasi started off by addressing a statement by Salman Iqbal, the CEO of ARY Digital, who said his channel was approached by Netflix for streaming rights. The executive said he had rejected the offers in favour of building a Pakistani streaming platform.

The filmmaker said he found the whole thing “impractical”, particularly if the idea was for ARY to have its own platform — the channel operates a free-of-charge streaming service called ARY Plus.

Abbasi said any attempt at a Pakistani streaming service needed support — and more importantly, content — from multiple different channels.

Then he addressed notions that “Netflix’s regional headquarters are in India and they made the decision not to platform Pakistani content”. The filmmaker acknowledged that such ideas were brought to the forefront by senior industry voices such as Mehreen Jabbar and Faysal Quraishi, but said they were only part of the story.

“Have we achieved the standards where we can give our content to Netflix?” the filmmaker asked.

Abbasi explained that he was doing a film in 2017 and wanted to work with Netflix; he had received some technical requirements from aggregators that would allow his work to meet Netflix’s standards.

He said many of the things were still missing in Pakistan’s industry. “You don’t know HDR workflows, you don’t know about colour science, you don’t know about sound mixing.”

The filmmaker said it was true that Pakistani content was popular, but from a technical point of view, it was not up to the mark.

“There’s a channel, I won’t take its name, Netflix has commissioned them to make a drama for the last four years — I think it will be four years soon — it has a big cast too. But if you’ll notice, there hasn’t been so much as a trailer for this drama and that’s because Netflix has spent the time bringing it up to their standards.”

Getting to the second problem, Abbasi said the plots of Pakistani dramas were stuck “in a box”. He said Pakistan’s entertainment industry almost exclusively made family dramas whereas Netflix had shows on “traditional issues, political conflicts and other big things”.

He said Pakistan’s content was popular with Pakistani audiences because they could relate to the narratives; this would be less applicable if the same shows were marketed to foreign audiences. “You need global stories,” the filmmaker said.

Abbasi lamented the lack of good literature output from the country, which created a shortage of stories to use for television. “One of our biggest issues is that we don’t have many famous, best-selling novels,” he said.

“See, Netflix buys stories, not actors. Our actors are great, our scriptwriters — at least for Pakistan — are great. But when international standards are involved… then you need your stories to be global and unfortunately we lack in that part because we don’t dare to think up bigger stories and present them to a worldwide audience.”

The filmmaker said a mindset had taken hold in the industry — pushed by channels — that a drama was only as good as the superstars cast in it and this led to stories losing priority.

Pakistani audiences, he said, would not be as keen to pay to watch content from their own country because they are already used to watching it for free on YouTube, which presented yet another problem for putting it on Netflix.

Abbasi said it was unfortunate that channel owners in Pakistan had not sought to work with platforms such as Netflix, Amazon Prime and HBO Max to train their crew and improve their content.

Especially for the ARY Digital CEO, he said, “Your statement [that you refused to work with Netflix] is a bit confusing. I am not proud of it, it’s actually sad. Maybe you should have said that we’ll work to reach international standards.”

Earlier, an announcement was made by the federal minister for planning and development, Ahsan Iqbal, that the government was in talks to get Pakistani content on Netflix while simultaneously working on an indigenous streaming platform. Abbasi said this was good news, but only if the industry raises its standards in the process.

On Monday, actor Usama Khan shared his views, which aligned with the filmmaker on Pakistan’s lack of good stories. He said the world didn’t revolve around family-centric content the way Pakistan’s media ecosystem did and that international streaming networks will want something more — “gripping true-crime, political thrillers and deep dives into the complexities of our institutional systems”.

We couldn’t believe it either when we first heard it. Haaland admitted to it in a conversation with Norwegian press, but we kind of thought it was a big joke, after all, who doesn’t know Spider-Man?

So, you can imagine how surprised we were to get a confirmation straight from the horse’s — or should we say Holland’s — mouth. The actor was on The Tonight Show when host Jimmy Fallon asked if the rumours were true.

The actor said they were and added, “I’ll tell you what, that is exactly the type of humbling experience that is important for actors.”

He said he had tried to say hi and ask Haaland out to dinner, but he got left on read. “Not an excuse. Not ‘I’m busy tonight’ [or] ‘I’m playing football.’ Nada. Nothing.”

The actor explained he was in Monaco, watching the grand prix when this happened and the footballer was in the hospitality suite across from his.

When Fallon asked him if the dinner was still on the table, Holland laughed and said Haaland might not be so keen on the invite after the actor’s home team, England, beat Haaland and his men to secure a spot in the World Cup semi-finals.

Both Fallon and Holland agreed the footballer was legendary on the field.

Later in the programme, the actor talked about his experience working with Christopher Nolan on his upcoming film The Odyssey. He said his agents had pitched him either a vampire movie or a science fiction film, neither of which turned out to be true when he flew to Los Angeles to meet Nolan; he accepted the role on the spot.

Holland revealed there was a major scheduling conflict between The Odyssey and Spider-Man: Brand New Day — where he plays the titular character — as both projects were starting on the same day.

The actor said the team working on Spider-Man understood the gravity of the situation and moved the project.

The Odyssey hits theatres on Friday, Spider-Man: Brand New Day will begin its theatrical run on July 31.

In a story posted to his Instagram account on Monday, he said the world didn’t revolve around family-centric content like Pakistan’s media ecosystem did and that international streaming networks will want something more.

“While they will undoubtedly highlight the positive, culturally rich aspects of Pakistan, their business model thrives on unfiltered realism. They will demand stories rooted in true events — gripping true-crime, political thrillers and deep dives into the complexities of our institutional systems,” the actor pointed out.

He said this raised an important question, “In a society where the government consistently enforces a ‘ban culture’, are we truly ready to welcome global OTT platforms?”

Khan said Pakistani creators had been boxed in when it came to what they can and can not make, facing “severe censorship whenever they attempt to touch upon politics, crime, or history”.

“Until we dismantle this ban culture and allow artists to show reality, we are simply not ready for the open landscape of streaming.”

Khan’s statement comes after Federal Minister for Planning and Development Ahsan Iqbal announced on Sunday that the government was in talks to get Pakistani films and dramas on Netflix.

The minister said Pakistani films and dramas were “second to none, commanding immense demand and heartfelt appreciation across the globe”.

He also announced Pakistan was working on its own OTT platform to increase media exports. Iqbal said both were steps taken to counter “regional politics” which denied Pakistan its due share of global audiences.

Earlier, filmmaker Mehreen Jabbar had raised the same concerns as the minister about a “neighbouring country” using its political influence to sideline Pakistani content on OTT platforms.

She said she was hopeful things would change in the future, especially with Pakistan’s first Netflix show, which she said “will come out in the next year or so”.

The veteran actor posted a reel on her Instagram account on Monday laying out her thoughts on the film and how it left her grieving for her “brothers” in Indian Punjab.

Ansari said she had heard a lot about the film, “but what I saw… left me in grief”. She said she was a big fan of Dosanjh’s work covering such sensitive issues “with great courage”.

She said she had a particularly hard time seeing people of the same faith turn against each other, as was shown in the film, which was an unfortunate reality on both sides of the border.

“There used to be people in the world who would sacrifice their lives for their principles, their nations, their integrity. Where are they now?” Ansari asked.

She said there used to be “exemplary people” who would struggle for what they believed and go to war for their people. “Where are such principled people today? You just don’t see them nowadays,” she said.

She said the film had been taken down in India, but was available online for anyone who wanted to see it. She also said she hadn’t been able to sleep properly since she’d seen the film a couple of days ago.

Satluj did not get a theatrical release in India and was instead released directly onto Indian platform Zee5 on July 3. The film was taken off the platform just two days later.

The movie is inspired by the life of human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, who investigated allegations of enforced disappearances and extrajudicial killings during the separatist insurgency in Indian Punjab — before he himself went missing.

He was later found to have been abducted and murdered. Several police officers were eventually convicted for their role in the killing.

In a reel posted to his Instagram account on Saturday, the actor looked straight into camera and said he didn’t have much writing or acting to do nowadays, so he was considering becoming an armchair critic on social media.

“Do you know what the best job nowadays is? The best job is, if you don’t have any work to do, you are a useless person who has failed in life, you can’t do anything, just start criticising people. Disrespect your colleagues, criticise them, spew venom against them even. Say whatever comes to mind about them. That will get you your likes.”

Ahmed admitted the job didn’t pay especially well, but said it comes with an even grander prize: viral fame. “People were ridiculed, you spoke nonsense about them, but you got your likes, you got your viewership, your video went viral,” he said.

The actor said he was thinking of taking the activity up, but couldn’t figure out where to start and who to criticise first. “The actor who stands outside in the middle of a heatwave and acts for you? Maybe we should criticise him? It’ll be fun, we’ll get our likes.”

He also had a second potential target in mind. “Or maybe that poor director who screams from 9am to midnight, to the point where he can simply scream no more. The one who keeps an eye on everything, dialogues, wardrobes, sets, maybe we should criticise him? What do you think, we’ll get our likes, right?” he said.

“Because I am useless, I don’t have anything to do, nobody asks after me, but I can do this. It’s so easy… So, what do you say, should I start?” the actor said to viewers.

Ahmed isn’t the first to criticise sharp-tongued critics, especially ones who tend to cross a line or rely heavily on debasing their subjects rather than helping them improve their craft.

In May, Feroze Khan raised objections to uninformed criticism from people who had no “knowledge or insight” into the craft and were just reviewing dramas on YouTube.

A couple of weeks before that, in April, industry veteran Bushra Ansari took Firdous Jamal to the cleaners over the unkind words he had for their colleagues.

Agha Ali also thought some critics go too far in their critique — especially when they start critiquing things like wardrobe choices, which aren’t in the actor’s control.

In a post on Instagram, Riaz said his film The Colour of My Heart (Rung Hai Dil Ka Mere Dil Ka) will have its international premiere at the 49th Asian American International Film Festival (AAIFF) in New York City.

The director said he and his team could not have wished for a more special return of the work to New York, where it began as his film thesis in university well over a decade ago and where much of the post-production work had been completed.

The caption said the Pakistani team were thrilled to be able to celebrate their work with team members in New York and to give New Yorkers a “window into a vital part of [Pakistani] culture”.

The film, which follows Mohyeddin’s remarkable career and life between the UK and Pakistan, intertwines the poetry of Faiz Ahmed Faiz into the story.

Presented by the late human rights activist Dr Arfa Sayeda Zehra, the work is an ode to cultural giants and to the fallibility of a man whose influence on Pakistan’s cultural scene lives on through his work on stage and on screen.

The film began screening in Pakistani theatres on February 6, just a week shy of the third anniversary of Mohyeddin’s passing. After a limited cinema run, the filmmaker says he plans to bring the film back to Pakistani screens this autumn.

The AAIFF will run from July 30 to August 9, with The Colour of My Heart screening on the festival’s last day at 2pm local time. Tickets are available on the festival’s website.

In a post shared on X on Sunday, the minister said Pakistani films and dramas were “second to none, commanding immense demand and heartfelt appreciation across the globe”. He said the entertainment industry was a “vital cornerstone for our national export strategy” under his ministry’s Uraan Pakistan programme.

Uraan Pakistan is an initiative focusing on the government’s 5Es National Economic Transformation Plan — Exports, E-Pakistan, Environment & Climate Change, Energy & Infrastructure and Equity & Empowerment.

He said global Over the Top (OTT) platforms were “critical gateways” to get Pakistani content to international audiences, but “they have unfortunately been weaponised by regional politics for too long, denying Pakistani content its rightful, due space”.

The minister said the government was “in talks with Netflix and other global streaming giants to adjust the regional framework”. The goal, he said, was to “secure an equitable share of space and open sustainable partnership avenues for Pakistani creators”.

Additionally, he said the government was also working to launch an indigenous OTT platform to take Pakistan’s films and TV shows to the world.

Salman Iqbal, the CEO of ARY Digital, seemed more keen on the latter proposal. Responding to the minister’s post, he said Pakistan should not be relying on others.

Championing the development of a homegrown streaming platform, he said they had already worked very hard to popularise Pakistani media in the world and the country had the necessary technology and creative skill to make it happen.

The media mogul said ARY Digital had been approached by Netflix for content but had refused the streaming giant’s advances. He said the audience for Urdu content was over a billion people, enough for Pakistan to chart its own path forward.

Earlier, filmmaker Mehreen Jabbar had raised the same concerns as the minister about a “neighbouring country” using its political influence to sideline Pakistani content on OTT platforms.

She said she was hopeful things would change in the future, especially with Pakistan’s first Netflix show, which she said “will come out in the next year or so”.

Scouting bounty hunters to track and disarm Krem, she enlists Supergirl. Superman’s cousin — though no less powerful — was out celebrating her 21st birthday by getting drunk under the rays of this planet’s Red Sun, which negates her race’s superpowers (there is no other way for Kryptonians to get intoxicated). Accompanying her is Krypto, the super dog, who is also nearly depleted of his god-tier powers.

Though Ruthye is initially told off, her quest is eventually taken up by Kara Zor-El (aka Supergirl) when Krem shoots Krypto with a poison that only he has the antidote for.

The two girls spend months chasing Krem across the galaxies, braving bad interstellar transits, corrupt alien populaces, space pirates, dinosaurs and two-bit aliens who want to kill Superman for putting their relatives behind bars. At one point, they even outrun a magical spell to the end of time itself while riding the super horse, Comet.

DC Films’ new Supergirl is only good enough to land a spot in the temporary nook of one’s prefrontal cortex, a wasteland reserved for memories that die fast

This is the story of Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, a surprisingly low-key, critically acclaimed eight-issue comic by writer Tom King and artist Bilquis Evely that was good enough for an Eisner nomination — the Oscars of the comic-book world.

On the flip side, its on-screen equivalent, Supergirl, is only good enough to land a spot in the temporary nook of one’s prefrontal cortex — a wasteland reserved for memories that die fast.

Written by actress-turned-debuting screenwriter Ana Nogueira, this apparently “brilliant screenplay” — according to DC films’ co-chief James Gunn — is, I believe, ‘a masterclass in screenwriting’. A masterclass in how to make a unique comic book sound blatantly boisterous and banal.

While I am not the biggest fan of Tom King’s prose — Ruthye’s front-facing monologues can’t seem to decide between modern or classic prose — that story at least unfolded layers of emotion in the simplest, perhaps a tad too relaxed, narrative manner possible. Relaxed doesn’t mean bad, by the way.

The film mangled the same beats into something nearly unrecognisable. Teeming with uninspiring costumes, environments and character designs right out of a Sci-fi TV channel show, Supergirl’s creative mechanics think it is cool to emulate Gunn’s Guardians of the Galaxy.

A better, and perhaps more unique choice, would have been to use the slightly mellow pace and narrative of the comic, which already has its fair share of action sequences. (It is a superhero comic — why wouldn’t it have big action sequences?)

I’ve always believed that if a story doesn’t sound fresh on paper — and I am not just talking about how well the action or dialogue reads in screenplay form — there is a high chance it won’t be directed any better. Enter here director Craig Gillespie (I, Tonya, Cruella).

His pedestrian choices in camera placement — opting for maximum coverage (ie basic angles) for the edit — remind you why a “director’s point-of-view” means squat in today’s world. Tone, pacing, emotion and the whole package of cinematic sense and sensibility are replaced by a visionless blur, where even a comic-book fan like me is bored to death.

The only slight saving grace comes from Milly Alcock as Supergirl — don’t buy into the internet’s negativity — who carries the weight of this dead enterprise quite admirably on her little shoulders.

But there is only so much she can do when bombastic blandness and cameos (Jason Momoa plays Lobo in two needless appearances) take un-super precedence.

Also starring Matthias Schoenaerts and Eve Ridley as Krem and Ruthye, Supergirl is released by WB and HKC with a PG censor certificate. Chances are, you’ll be bored

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, July 12th, 2026

India’s strategic northern border state of East Punjab is currently witnessing one such structural shift. What began as an administrative and creative dispute over the Punjabi feature film Satluj has rapidly broken past the boundaries of cinema, censorship, and artistic freedom. Within days of the film’s abrupt removal from a prominent digital platform following federal interventions under Section 69A of the IT Act citing public order risks, this has triggered a cascade of political reactions that extend far beyond the entertainment industry.

The development has systematically reopened deep-seated historical wounds, bringing competing ideological narratives directly into the mainstream discourse as the state begins its long, volatile transition towards the crucial 2027 Assembly elections.

The immediate flashpoint centers on the radical shift from creative license to legal and historical accountability. Federal Minister of State Ravneet Singh Bittu, a prominent leader of the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and the grandson of former Punjab Chief Minister Beant Singh, who was assassinated by an insurgent car bomb in 1995, has aggressively fronted the state’s counter-narrative. By directly challenging the filmmakers to produce official judicial records, authenticated findings, and verified institutional evidence to substantiate the film’s central depiction of 25,000 missing or illegally cremated individuals during the counter-insurgency era, Bittu has shifted the debate from simple censorship to strict evidentiary proof. Warning the producers of impending structural legal action for propagating unauthenticated and inflammatory claims as settled history, Bittu effectively questioned the deliberate omission of the systemic, targeted massacres of thousands of innocent civilians and minority Hindu families by militant groups during the state’s darkest years of terrorism.

This aggressive intervention has effectively shattered a fragile, three-decade-old political consensus in East Punjab, rapidly escalating into highly synchronised ground mobilisations by right-wing organisations. This escalating street mobilisation has revived severe financial and political questions regarding state accountability toward the victims of terrorism. According to Gupta, during the peak of the militancy era, over 35,000 Punjabi Hindus were systematically massacred. While the then Congress government led by Chief Minister Captain Amarinder Singh had formally approved an initial rehabilitation grant of 781 crore for the riot-affected Hindu families, successive administrations, including the subsequent Shiromani Akali Dal-BJP coalition, later Congress regimes, and the incumbent Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) government, have consistently failed to disburse the funds.

“Over 35,000 Hindus were slaughtered during the dark days of terrorism in Punjab. While the then Captain Amarinder Singh government had officially approved a package of 781 crore for these victim families, successive regimes have played cruel politics with their grief,” Gupta asserted. “Whether it was the Akali Dal, the subsequent Congress governments, or the current AAP administration, nobody fulfilled the promise. With accumulated interest, this legal relief has now swelled to 5,100 crore. We will take to the streets with our Trishul March on July 26 to force this state government to clear its multi-decadal debt to the minority community.”

The rapid institutionalisation of these historical and financial claims over the past weeks indicates that history itself is being weaponised as a primary political tool to reshape the electoral landscape before 2027. For decades after the militancy ended in the mid-1990s, the state’s mainstream political ecosystem consciously attempted to steer public discourse away from historical trauma, choosing instead to anchor electoral campaigns on secular, developmental themes such as agriculture, fiscal management, federal water disputes, unemployment, and drug abuse. The current geopolitical friction is, however, being swiftly exploited by external extremist elements seeking to internationalise the regional debate. Gurpatwant Singh Pannun, the leader of the banned overseas secessionist outfit Sikhs for Justice (SFJ), who has been designated a terrorist by the Indian government under the Unlawful Activities Prevention Act (UAPA), recently released a highly provocative digital video message timed precisely with an upcoming proposed visit by Prime Minister Narendra Modi, urging local sympathisers to display secessionist flags.

This highly volatile environment has forced East Punjab’s major political entities into distinct, heavily defensive ideological corners ahead of the upcoming polls. The regional Shiromani Akali Dal (SAD) has slammed the central restrictions on Satluj, demanding an honest confrontation with the past, yet the party faces the complex task of consolidating its core panthic Sikh religious identity without alienating broader sections of the electorate that demand social harmony. The Congress Party finds itself questioning the selective parameters of state censorship while striving to avoid being portrayed as insensitive toward the victims of past terrorism. The ruling AAP government faces the immediate administrative burden of maintaining law and order on the ground while desperately trying to ensure that these explosive identity debates and impending street marches do not completely eclipse its governance track record on health, education, and welfare. Conversely, the BJP is anchoring its strategy firmly on national security, judicial discipline, and factual accuracy, seeking to frame the discourse around verified evidence to consolidate institutional and minority votes across urban and semi-urban centers.

The primary operational risk of this communal polarisation lies in Punjab’s transformed digital information ecosystem. Unlike the information environment of the 1980s and 1990s, today’s political messaging travels instantly through encrypted chat platforms, short-video applications, and global diaspora networks. A highly charged political statement delivered in Amritsar, Moga, or Chandigarh can polarise and mobilise communities across Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United States within minutes, internationalising local domestic friction instantaneously and deploying out-of-context digital clips to cultivate mutual distrust between the Hindu and Sikh communities. This global circulation transforms what used to be localized grievances into permanent digital divides that could significantly pollute the broader electoral environment.

Ultimately, ground-level observers emphasise that East Punjab’s fundamental social fabric remains uniquely resilient against total communal polarisation. Unlike other regions where communal lines are deeply entrenched, Hindus and Sikhs in Punjab share deep familial, cultural, and commercial ties; they have collectively endured the violence of the militancy era, and their integrated social reality acts as a powerful barrier against lasting divisions. However, the current debate surrounding Satluj and the shifting demands for multi-crore compensations demonstrate that the contest is increasingly about legitimacy – who possesses the moral authority to narrate East Punjab’s complex history. If the public and political discourse completely abandons verified factual and judicial parameters in favor of short-term electoral expediency, history will cease to be a tool for collective reconciliation and instead become a fresh arena for severe political confrontation.

Originally published in Dawn, July 13th, 2026

This story was originally published in The Statesman, an ANN partner of Dawn

The actor-writer was on an episode of podcast Excuse Me with Ahmad Ali Butt on Friday when the question was posed to her and she said that she could respect a good craftsman up until they started “causing pain”.

The host asked Sethi what she meant by causing pain and to whom. She said she meant hurting people, society and dealing in “cliches that are harmful”.

When pushed on how many artists and writers throughout history have been deeply flawed, problematic people, she said she referred to such people as “art monsters”.

“An art monster is somebody who is vain, narcissistic, writes quite well or acts quite well, but they are a bit of a monster in their private life,” the writer explained.

“History is littered with art monsters, that’s okay, you have to have a view on it. Some get away and others you have to hold accountable.”

Butt then got more specific, asking Sethi if a particular person were different in their personal life, would she have accepted the role she was offered in their project Main Manto Nahi Hoon.

Sethi — likely referring to the show’s writer Khalilur Rehman Qamar — said that his personal life was really none of her business; she had a problem with his work.

“He traffics in these stereotypes about women, says things about women that aren’t just lazy, they’re deeply problematic. So, I thought to myself, it was going to be a lead role… I just didn’t want to be associated with something like that.”

She said she hoped he changes for the better and that his children — who the writer called “cool” and “Gen-Z” — would advise him.

Later in the programme, Butt brought up the film city project announced by the Punjab government in April and asked for Sethi’s opinion on the initiative.

She said she hadn’t thought about it at all, but was glad to see the government investing in the industry. “I hope they do it, it’s good for Pakistan’s soft power. Let’s see them do it, then we’ll discuss,” she said.

She also said the government should not censor the arts and that artists should be bold, because that’s the difference between something written by her and something written by AI.

Sethi said that being bold did not mean provoking people for the sake of being provocative, but being bold in vision and pushing the boundaries with their work.

She appeared on the show Rise and Shine on Friday where host Nadia Khan asked her why Pakistan wasn’t represented on digital streaming platforms when our content was actually good and some of what’s on Netflix, Amazon Prime and HBO Max wasn’t.

The director said, “I think the main thing — which everyone knows — is the involvement of politics.” She said most of these streaming platforms had their head office in “a neighbouring country” and much of their audience was based there, so decisions on what to platform catered to that audience.

When asked if she had tried to get work on such platforms, Jabbar said she hadn’t, but she should. She hoped things would change in the future, especially with Pakistan’s first Netflix show, which she said “will come out in the next year or so”.

Khan’s co-host Zohaib Hassan asked the director for her thoughts on the removal of advance taxes on foreign media, which caused an uproar in Pakistan’s entertainment industry last month.

Jabbar said she wasn’t too worried. “I feel that Turkish dramas used to be so popular in Pakistan, but now very few people talk about them because our own industry has grown so much. In the last two to three years especially,” she said.

“Personally,” she said, “I feel competition is a good thing and it makes you focus on improving yourself. And besides, I don’t believe in bans and censorship.”

Hassan also asked the director about her own latest project, Doctor Bahu, and how writer Dr Yunus Butt had criticised her work as “slow”.

Jabbar said she had nothing to say about that. “It’s his opinion, good for him. I don’t have the personality to issue statements… It’s okay if he didn’t like it. There’s never been a project where all the billions of people in the world all loved the same thing.”

Cover photo: Stephan Andrew/White Star

Let me put a reminder on my phone for that.

Jokes aside (no matter how painfully real), it has been a good while since we’ve seen quality storytelling from Pixar that appeals to both four-year-olds and 40-year-olds who feel as if they are four. By the time Toy Story 5 ends, the chances are that you’ll want to unpack your old toys from their cardboard boxes. If, that is, you haven’t given them away.

The nearly forgotten “Pixar touch” is strong with this one.

Toy Story 5 uses a familiar adventure to explore how screens are replacing imagination, while reminding adults why they once loved their toys

While bittersweet nostalgia tugs at your emotions, technical brilliance seizes your visual senses. Look past the glorious images (courtesy of their in-house, industry-standard rendering software, RenderMan) and take note of the body movements and actions of the individual toys. That is a lot of work up there on the screen.

However, the film’s $250 million price tag is a little on the steep side. Especially for a film that is somewhat limited in scope.

As the middle entry of the second trilogy — the first three featured Andy and his toys, Woody and Buzz (voiced by Tom Hanks and Tim Allen) — we get Jessie’s solo show here (her voice, complete with the cowgirl drawl, comes courtesy of Joan Allen).

Jessie’s pride and joy is her human playmate, Bonnie (Scarlett Spears), though Bonnie isn’t Jessie’s first owner. Her past becomes an emotional crux that pushes her to the edge when she realises that Bonnie, now eight years old, might be outgrowing the days of carefree imagination.

While Bonnie still plays with toys, every other child in her vicinity (and perhaps the world) spends their waking moments on electronic devices. Bonnie’s days as an outcast with no friends change when her mother and father get her Lilypad (Greta Lee), a frog-themed tablet.

Lily gets to work as soon as she’s turned on, cutting short Bonnie’s childhood while piling societal pressures into the little girl’s mind. Playing with toys is a turn-off and socially unacceptable — no matter how hard it hurts the toys’ feelings. I’ll make sure my GI Joes, He-Man and Transformers action figures don’t hear that.

Woody, balding with a fat gut, and Buzz are afterthoughts in this one — perhaps even more so than in Part 4. Mr and Mrs Potato Head, Hamm, Rex and the others are nearly background decorations, with a few lines here and there.

The new characters — forgotten devices played by Conan O’Brien, Craig Robinson and Shelby Rabara (playing a toilet-training toy, a hippo GPS, and a low-megapixel toy camera) — share part of the spotlight in Jessie’s attempts to return to Bonnie and make her believe that toys still have worth.

A parallel track involving 50 lost Buzz Lightyears (updated ones who can really fly) and a girl named Blaze (Mykal-Michelle Harris), who somewhat shares Bonnie’s predicament, supports the deliberately constricted screenplay co-written by Kenna Harris and director Andrew Stanton (Finding Nemo, Finding Dory, Wall-E).

Toys getting lost and returning to their owners is a surprisingly old trope that still works after five films, though one can feel that things have changed quite drastically in tone. Gone are the days of wonder and imagination. In their stead — since Part 3 — Toy Story has slowly become a tale of survival. Although it has worked well until now, I think the approach will definitely lose its appeal by Part 6, when Bonnie grows up and her trilogy concludes.

Till then, one hopes that Pixar continues to tell good stories — both for four-year-olds and 40-somethings who still want to remember what being four, and carefree, felt like.

Released by Disney and HKC, Toy Story 5 is rated U and is suitable for everyone

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

Maybe it was at a sleepover where everyone insisted they weren’t scared. Maybe it was sneaking to the theatre to catch a film you weren’t allowed to watch as a child. Horror has always been a communal experience — a genre passed around through hushed recommendations, shared dares and dark living rooms.

My first horror film memory was catching The Exorcist (1973) on television with my cousins, knowing full well we weren’t supposed to be watching it. We’d scream at the jump scares, laugh immediately afterwards, then spend the rest of the night dissecting every scene and convincing each other we could definitely sleep with the lights off.

That was followed by years of movie marathons of horror movies. I barely remember every plot detail. What I remember is the feeling: the anticipation, the adrenaline and the thrill of being scared together.

From box-office blockbusters to online fandoms, horror has become the genre that best captures the fears and anxieties of our times

Horror has long held a unique place in the realm of entertainment, thriving not just as a cinematic experience but as a deeply communal one. The thrill of horror lies not solely in the films themselves; it’s equally found in the shared experience of gripping fear, the cathartic laughter that follows each jump scare, and the animated discussions that ensue long after the movie ends.

Horror’s box office moment

No genre has defined the 2026 box office quite like horror, with multiple releases crossing the $200 million mark worldwide and contributing to Hollywood’s strongest theatrical recovery since the pandemic.

While horror has always thrived as a fringe genre with its own cult following, it has never received the critical acclaim it does today. Sinners and Weapons were not only the biggest blockbusters last year, they also received widespread critical acclaim, earning Academy Awards for best actor for Michael B. Jordan for his portrayal of twins Smokes and Stack and best supporting actress for Amy Madigan as Aunt Gladys.

In 2026 so far, horror movies such as Obsession, Backrooms, Hokum, Scream 7 and Scary Movie have dominated the pop culture discourse. The most intriguing aspect is that the two biggest hits, Obsession and Backrooms, are created by Gen Z directors who are disrupting the box office with their independent horror films made with meagre budgets.

Horror as a mirror of society

The resurgence of horror reflects far more than an appetite for scares. Horror has always held up a mirror to society to reflect its prevalent fears and anxieties.

A 2026 research study titled ‘Consuming fear as entertainment: horror movies, youth culture and the social production of fear in contemporary media contexts’ found, through audience-centred approaches, that viewers actively construct meaning from movies, engaging with narratives through interpretation, negotiation and contextual understanding.

This is why movies of every region, including many non-Western ones, develop horror narratives that often intersect with local myths, religious beliefs and supernatural imaginaries, making them particularly resonant and meaningful for audiences.

Each major era of horror cinema reflects the collective anxieties of its time. In the early 20th century, horror was shaped by the looming threat of industrialisation, war and bodily fragility. Films of this period, such as The Phantom of the Opera (1925), often centred on deformity, death and the instability of the human body, mirroring a society grappling with rapid technological change and the trauma of war.

By the mid-20th century, horror shifted inward, reflecting deeper psychological and social unease. As post-war societies confronted shifting gender roles, a rising consumer culture and questions of individual identity, the genre became preoccupied with paranoia, repression and moral instability.

Psycho (1960) and Rosemary’s Baby (1968) depict this change through stories in which the threat is no longer external but embedded within domestic life, institutions and the psyche itself. These films capture a growing sense that the familiar — home, marriage, community — could no longer be fully trusted, turning horror into a mirror of societal uncertainty.

Horror in the modern era is no longer about evil spirits or monsters that lurk in the shadows. It concerns spaces and systems that become hazardous. These days, the ‘monster’ is a regular person who participates in the structures that support discrimination, patriarchy and oppression.

The Substance (2024) and The Neon Demon (2016) are two well-known examples of body horror films that highlight the extremes people will go to for vanity. Through a horror lens, Get Out (2017), Us (2019) and Sinners (2025) skilfully addressed racism, cultural appropriation and prejudice.

Weapons’ release last year sparked several think pieces and Reddit conversations about its meaning. Overall, it was about how society ignores indicators of abuse and neglect towards the most vulnerable section of society — children.

Gen Z and the rise of liminal horror

Today’s horror films have become a medium for exploring personal and collective anxieties surrounding identity, technology, isolation, social fragmentation, and the uncertainty of modern life. As the world grows more unstable, horror has become one of cinema’s most revealing cultural mirrors. Gen Z is driving the genre’s popularity through theatrical attendance and online fan culture.

This year, Backrooms and Hokum explored the malevolence of liminal spaces and the crimes they hide. The claustrophobia resonates with the audience, evoking a sense of being trapped in a system with no exit in sight. Obsession, the breakout success of the year, has emerged as a cultural phenomenon. The audience resonated with the themes of incel culture (an online subculture of primarily young, heterosexual men who identify as ‘involuntarily celibate’) and relationship issues at play, with the movie cleverly subverting the crazy girlfriend trope and interrogating themes of coercion and consent in romantic relationships.

The entire audience in the crowded theatre where I saw the film was made up of young couples who were laughing at every allusion to a common relationship problem that arose in a scene. Additionally, Obsession gained momentum on social media due to thousands of memes and reels about its scenes, as well as viral analyses of specific scenes.

Horror, in particular, stands out as a genre that aligns perfectly with this engaging cultural exploration. Films like Backrooms and Obsession not only captivate but also reward attentive audiences, inviting them to peel into layers of complexity with layered symbolism, ambiguous narratives and details that invite repeat viewings.

As the first generation to grow up in a digitally connected, algorithm-driven world, Gen Z rarely consumes culture passively. Fashion trends, Taylor Swift lyrics, television and films are endlessly dissected for symbolism, hidden meanings, and Easter eggs. In many ways, interpretation has become a form of participation.

This phenomenon reflects a deeper quest than mere internet sleuthing. In a culture rife with misinformation, AI-generated content and cultural cynicism, decoding has become a vital tool for seeking authenticity, fostering community, and claiming ownership of narratives. Online fandoms have transformed from mere consumers of media into active investigators, debaters and co-creators of meaning.

The conversation doesn’t end when the credits roll; it migrates online, where Letterboxd reviews, YouTube video essays, Reddit threads and TikTok theories transform horror into an ongoing cultural discourse.

The genre no longer thrives solely on fear — it thrives on interpretation.

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

He’s up against some tough competition — Jason Bateman in Black Rabbit, Charlie Hunnam in Monster: The Ed Gein Story, Oscar Isaac in Beef and Matthew Rhys in The Beast in Me.

Bait tells the story of a young, struggling British-Pakistani actor named Shahjehan Latif, whose name literally translates to ‘king of the world’. Despite the regality of his title, he is always ironically one step behind in his goal to play the famous James Bond 007.

HBO’s emergency room drama The Pitt returned to the Emmy Awards race with a ​leading 25 nominations on Wednesday, and the final season of HBO’s Hacks landed 24 nominations, a record-setting haul for a comedy in a ‌single year.

HBO Max topped all networks with 122 nominations this year, followed by Netflix with 111.

The Pitt has a chance to repeat as best drama winner at the television industry’s highest honours, as does star Noah Wyle, who claimed the drama actor prize last year for his role as Dr “Robby” Robinavitch, a veteran physician at a Pittsburgh trauma centre. In total, The ​Pitt earned 13 acting nominations including four of the seven slots for supporting drama actress.

Hacks will compete for best comedy, a trophy it has ​claimed once in its four previous seasons. Jean Smart, who plays septuagenarian comedian Deborah Vance in the show about a ⁠comedy generation gap, has won best comedy actress for the role four times and could make it a sweep after her fifth nomination.

Her Hacks co-stars Hannah Einbinder ​and Meg Stalter were named in the supporting actress field and Paul W Downs, the show’s co-creator, in supporting actor.

“What can I say? Being recognised by my ​peers in this way is the cherry on top of the most creatively fulfilling experience of my life,” Einbinder said in a written statement.

Emmy winners will be announced at a red-carpet ceremony in Los Angeles and broadcast live on NBC and stream on Peacock on September 14.

A night of cheers, a future of questions

The show will give Hollywood a night to ​celebrate at a time when media companies are cutting back on the number of shows they produce, and anxiety is swirling about the rise of artificial ​intelligence and the pending Paramount Skydance acquisition of HBO owner Warner Bros Discovery.

Other dramas nominated alongside The Pitt included Game of Thrones prequel A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, spy thriller Slow Horses and Pluribus, ‌a post-apocalyptic ⁠sci-fi series.

In the best comedy race, Hacks will compete with previous winner The Bear as well as Abbott Elementary, Only Murders in the Building and Shrinking, among others.

Up against Wyle for drama actor are Sterling K Brown for Paradise and Gary Oldman for Slow Horses. Other acting nominees included Harrison Ford for his supporting role as a gruff psychotherapist on Shrinking, one of six acting nominations for the Apple TV show.

“I’m so pleased to share this with so many of my cast members,” Ford said in a written statement “It ​makes the experience that much more significant.”

​Bateman landed four Emmy nominations, ⁠two for acting and producing DTF St. Louis and two more for acting and directing limited series Black Rabbit.

Taylor Swift also showed up on the nominations list. The Eras Tour: The Final Show, which ran on Disney+, received five nods including best pre-recorded variety ​special.

Jimmy Kimmel Live, which was pulled off the air for six days last year after the host joked about reaction ​to the assassination ⁠of conservative activist Charlie Kirk, received its 15th straight nomination for best variety series. The Late Show with Stephen Colbert, the long-running series that was canceled by CBS, also was nominated.

Among the notable snubs, voters left out two-time comedy actor winner Jeremy Allen White, who plays a stressed-out chef running a Chicago restaurant on The Bear. The final season of ⁠Netflix’s global ​hit Stranger Things failed to make the best drama field.

Law & Order: SVU star Mariska Hargitay will host ​the Emmys show and also was a nominee. Her documentary My Mom Jayne about her mother, the actress Jayne Mansfield, received three nominations including best documentary. Mansfield died in a car accident when Hargitay ​was three years old.

“I’m profoundly grateful to have this moment with her,” Hargitay said of the nominations.

Satluj is inspired by the life of human rights activist Jaswant Singh Khalra, who investigated allegations of enforced disappearances and extrajudicial killings during Punjab’s separatist insurgency — and then he himself disappeared.

He was later found to have been abducted and murdered. Several Punjab police officers were eventually convicted for their role in the killing.

Satluj was released on the ZEE5 platform on Friday but removed two days later.

ZEE5 said in a statement the film would be unavailable in India “until further notice” because of “current developments” but did not explain what they were. With ZEE5 pulling it, the film is no longer officially available in India.

Completed in 2022, the film never made it to cinemas because of a prolonged dispute with India’s film certification board.

Despite its brief availability, Satluj received strong reviews. The Hollywood Reporter described it as “one of the finest Indian films of the year”.

The Indian Express quoted a spokesperson for RSVP Movies, the film’s producer, as saying it was removed on government orders. The government has not publicly commented on the decision. The BBC has contacted the federal information and broadcasting ministry for a response.

Dosanjh addressed the removal in a live social media video, saying he had expected the film to be taken down but not so quickly.

“My love and respect to all of you. What I had already expected is exactly what happened. I thought the film might get banned when [government] offices opened on Monday, but I didn’t know it would happen as early as Sunday evening.”

Dosanjh said the uncertainty surrounding the film’s release was why its makers had kept promotions to a minimum. “If we had promoted it, the film would definitely not have been released at all,” he said. Despite its removal, Dosanjh said he was glad audiences had finally been able to watch the film after years of delays.

Inspired by Khalra’s life, the film follows an activist investigating alleged human rights abuses during Punjab’s separatist insurgency, one of the bloodiest chapters in modern Indian history.

From the early 1980s to the mid-1990s, Sikh militants seeking an independent state of Khalistan fought Indian security forces in an insurgency that killed thousands.

Originally published in Dawn, July 8th, 2026

The deadline is 5pm PST on Monday, Aug 10, 2026.

An international film is defined as a feature-length motion picture of over 40 minutes produced outside of the United States of America and its territories with a predominantly (more than 50pc) non-English dialogue track. Animated and documentary feature films are permitted, says a press release issued by the PASC.

The selection committee comprises individuals selected through a process of private nominations and referrals. Nominators are esteemed film professionals —predominantly filmmakers, artists, and craftspeople with expertise in the realm of motion pictures. Current and prior committee members may recommend candidates, including potential replacements for departing or unavailable members. Proposed candidates are reviewed for eligibility, potential conflicts of interest, and willingness to comply with confidentiality obligations before being ratified by a majority vote of eligible returning committee members.

The chairperson — or deputy chairperson where the chairperson is recused — then presents the proposed slate to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for final approval.

In forming the committee, the PASC makes good-faith efforts to ensure representation across gender, region, generation, and professional background. Members may include directors, producers, writers, actors, editors, cinematographers, sound artists, critics, curators, academics, and other qualified film professionals. At least 50% of committee members must be artists and/or craftspeople from the motion picture industry, and voting members must be citizens, residents, or individuals with refugee or asylum status in Pakistan.

The committee diligently ensures that every member individually watches the films and casts their votes, following a process akin to the Academy’s. The PASC administration then tallies the votes and collaborates with the Academy to support filmmakers in submitting their films successfully.

The committee will choose one film as Pakistan’s official submission for the award.

Eligibility criteria:

All film submissions must be first released theatrically in the country or region of origin for paid admission. The theatrical release must begin no earlier than October 1, 2025, and no later than September 30, 2026, and be first publicly exhibited for at least seven consecutive days in a commercial motion picture theatre for the profit of the producer and exhibitor. The seven consecutive days of the theatrical release are required to occur in one venue. In order for films to more easily meet theatrical exhibition requirements, the Academy will allow films to qualify outside the country or region of origin, provided the film is theatrically exhibited outside of the United States and its territories for at least seven consecutive days in a commercial motion picture theatre for paid admission.

The film must be advertised and exhibited during its qualifying theatrical run in a manner considered normal and customary for theatrical feature distribution.

Films that, in any version, receive a nontheatrical public exhibition or distribution before their qualifying theatrical release will not be eligible for Academy Awards consideration. Non Theatrical public exhibition or distribution includes but is not limited to broadcast and cable television, PPV/VOD, DVD and/or streaming distribution, in-flight airline distribution, internet transmission.

All submitted films must include accurate, legible English-language subtitles.

It should be noted that as of 2026, new academy rules state that while international films can still be the official selection of their countries, they can now qualify separately by winning the top prize at a major international festival such as the Palme d’Or at Cannes, the Golden Lion at Venice, or the World Cinema Grand Jury Prize at Sundance.

To read the complete rules, you can go to the Academy Awards website. For entry forms, submission details, and queries, reach out to oscarsubmissions.pk@gmail.com and/or submit through the portal on pascfilm.org

Originally published in Dawn, July 7th, 2026

It was a contract that gives a company the right to give birth to — and own — someone’s digital doppelgänger.

“I don’t usually make videos like this,” Tareen said, explaining that she had initially raised the matter within the Actors Collective of Pakistan (ACT), Pakistan’s actors’ association, after carefully reading her contract. Within weeks, she said, other actors received similar agreements. And here’s the scary part: some had already signed them.

“This is not just one bad contract,” she warned in the video. “It’s already becoming an industry-wide norm,” she pointed out. She should have added the words “If we don’t stop it!”

Artificial Intelligence’s role in Pakistan’s television industry remains modest — for now. But contracts granting extensive rights over actors’ digital likenesses have sparked fears that performers may be signing away control of their future selves

The reason Tareen felt the responsibility to speak publicly points to another major, widespread issue within the entertainment industry. Most actors do not read their contracts — period — forget the fine print. Those who do manage to trudge through the repetitive clauses and long-winded language often assume — quite erroneously — that paragraphs relating to AI are mere legal jargon that allow the use of one’s visage for visual effects or promotional work.

Others, who are adept in English (the de facto language of contracts) — and most aren’t — do not speak out for fear that they may lose work in an already highly competitive industry. That very fear forces some actors to sign first and ask questions later. Later, when one casually inquires and gets a wishy-washy answer, there’s little choice but to leave everything in the Almighty’s hands.

Reading between the lines

According to a copy of the agreement obtained by Icon, the clauses extend well beyond the routine use of AI-assisted editing or publicity artwork. They grant the company extensive and perpetual worldwide rights over an actor’s image, voice and likeness.

The language cagily points out that the training is for the particular drama series one is signing for, but one can infer leeway, allowing those digital replicas to be reused without seeking further approval. These rights extend across current and future media platforms and empower the company to train other models and create derivative works from the AI dataset.

And, as if that weren’t enough, for their (willing or unwilling) contributions, artists receive zero financial compensation or royalties for that, or any future shows.

One actor who declined to sign over her digital soul was Faiza Hasan. She raised her concerns directly with the production house and requested amendments. Her request was flatly denied.

So far, the agreement reviewed by Icon originates from one broadcaster: Hum Network, through Hum Network FZ LLC — the Dubai-based arm of the network. The location raises another question: if rights over an actor’s digital identity are assigned to an overseas corporate entity, what legal recourse does a performer have if those rights are later disputed or licensed elsewhere?

Under conventional contracts, an actor is paid for the days they spend on set. If additional reaction shots, continuity inserts or establishing moments are required, the performer is generally called back and compensated accordingly. While these few days of extra work do not matter to a big-name actor, for a supporting actor or a day player (an extra with lines of dialogue), it makes a world of difference. AI has the potential to alter that equation.

Hum’s side of the story

Mahesh Waswani, the Head of Productions at MD Productions, a subsidiary of Hum Network — and the go-to man when it comes to contracts and production, according to actors Icon spoke with — tells a different story.

“Everything is smooth, it’s going fine,” he said during a phone call. “There was some misunderstanding, which has been cleared up.”

Waswani said the controversy stems from an early draft that should never have reached actors. The AI used on his end, as he describes it, is mostly for editing titles and posters rather than unrestricted ownership of performers’ digital identities. He blames the sweeping clauses on a misstep by the legal department.

An “immature person”, he said, added pages of AI language that were never meant to go out. The contract, he insists, has since been fixed. Waswani promised Icon a copy of the contract they use for comparison against the old one. As of this writing, despite multiple requests, their routine contract has not arrived.

Losing livelihood to your digital self

At present, no other production house contacted by Icon appears to have introduced comparable AI clauses. Actors — who understandably do not want their names to appear in print — anonymously affirmed this. For now, AI’s most visible use in Pakistan’s television industry remains relatively modest, yet still concerning.

Production houses routinely use AI-generated content to manipulate promotional artwork, posters and marketing materials, often without seeking separate permission from performers. Most actors accept the practice, deeming it little different from using Photoshop and failing to see the bigger picture.

They are allowing someone to use their likeness to create new images, even after they have done separate photoshoots for promotional purposes.

Perhaps the widespread use of AI through free services that are embedded within social media apps has something to do with this acceptance.

Today, one can simply take their — or anyone else’s — picture and change the time of day, body weight, clothes, background or even the people in it within seconds. Those who have never met a celebrity delude themselves into a fantasy by standing next to Shah Rukh Khan or — and this happens quite often — reincarnate dead superstars in infantile videos that are fake, forgettable or offer a sense of pride or achievement. After all, they just prompted a celebrity into existence while sitting on a couch, not striving to meet one.

But, one can argue, if everyone is doing it without any checks and balances, why can’t a production company do the same? Because, in the simplest terms, livelihoods are at stake. And producers and corporations have a duty to safeguard the industry.

This debate surrounding AI was always an eventuality. Some (mostly from production houses) say it has emerged at a very bad time. But then again, when is it ever a good time? Pakistan’s television industry is always grappling with — and putting off — longstanding problems. Actors have spent years raising concerns about delayed payments and the absence of royalties. They haven’t gained an inch of success.

Today, dramas are rebroadcast, dubbed and monetised on digital platforms.

The pay-outs are handsome but — and there’s always a ‘but’ — as one producer made it very clear to this writer, the returns count for little because dramas have become increasingly expensive to make.

If that were not enough, one has noticed a genuine lack of opportunities, especially for emerging talent, as advertisers use digital characters instead of real people in commercials and print advertisements. As mentioned above: livelihoods are at stake.

Frustrations of production houses

Now, it would be unfair to present just one side of the argument because production houses have frustrations of their own.

Producers are fed up with actors’ tardiness. Most actors (especially the big names) arrive late in the afternoon, or even in the evening, after promising to be on time (as this writer has witnessed time and again). Then there are the overlapping commitments, with shoots extending beyond their allotted days.

Under conventional contracts, an actor is paid for the days they spend on set. If additional reaction shots, continuity inserts or establishing moments are required, the performer is generally called back and compensated accordingly. While these few days of extra work do not matter to a big-name actor, for a supporting actor or a day player (an extra with lines of dialogue), it makes a world of difference.

AI has the potential to alter that equation. If a production house has already acquired the contractual right to generate digital performances from an actor’s existing footage, some of those additional shoot days are no longer necessary.

That’s money saved from the producer’s perspective, and compensation lost from the artist’s point of view.

That concern sits at the heart of actor, director and producer Shamoon Abbasi’s argument.

Acting classes

According to Abbasi, the issue is not whether AI should be used — it already is, he tells Icon. Rather, the question is whether performers understand what rights they are giving away when broad AI clauses are included in a standard acting contract.

A digital likeness, once created and trained, could theoretically be reused not just to complete scenes for the drama in question but also for other dramas, shows or films.

Abbasi also points to another often-overlooked distinction: conventional contracts govern performance and AI clauses govern the data created from that performance. The two, he argues, are not the same. That distinction is precisely what Hollywood spent months negotiating.

When the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-Aftra) concluded its 2023 strike, one of the central outcomes was the inclusion of guardrails around AI. The agreement requires actors’ consent before studios create or use digital replicas of performers and provides compensation when those digital replicas are employed.

The terms do not prohibit AI, but rather regulate its use. They certify that a performer’s digital likeness has value independent of the original performance.

That approach is worth noting because it mirrors the points of view of many Pakistani actors.

Very few argue that AI should be banned. In fact, most accept that the technology will quickly become part of modern production. The objections — especially those raised by Abbasi and ACT — concern permissions that provide clarity on duration, purpose, ownership and compensation.

A tangible solution?

Abbasi and Hasan believe any AI use should be governed by a separate agreement altogether. If a production intends to use digital doubles, AI-generated sequences or voice synthesis, those uses should be disclosed in advance, be limited to a specific project and be accompanied by appropriate remuneration. Actors should know precisely what is being created, how long it may be used and under what conditions.

A dedicated group within ACT has been examining the implications of AI on performers’ rights. Their objective is to establish a framework that can be applied across the industry before AI practices become standard. Among the proposals under discussion is a broader initiative designed by Abbasi, tentatively titled the Pakistani Actors Guild-Pakistani Artists Film, Television and Radio Association (PAG-Paftra).

While the body does not yet exist, the idea reflects a growing belief that Pakistan’s performers require a dedicated institution. One capable of negotiating AI standards, advising artists on emerging technologies and protecting their digital rights in the same way professional guilds and unions do internationally.

The pressing question is whether the rules governing its use will be written before or after the technology becomes commonplace. Speaking from experience, one can guess that it is bound to happen afterwards — no matter how much one wishes otherwise.

For Hasan, the issue extends beyond a single contract, she tells Icon. It is about recognising a pattern before it becomes an industry practice. She draws a comparison with the lingering, unheeded issue of royalties. By the time performers recognise the commercial value of their digital likeness, the rights may already have been lost, she fears.

But lost to whom and where? The questions are inevitable. For example: where is the data stored? Who has access to it? Can it be licensed to another company? Can it be transferred to another jurisdiction? If ownership changes hands, does the performer retain any practical control over how their likeness is used in the future?

Hasan says this was one of the principal reasons she refused to sign the contract. She was uncomfortable granting unrestricted rights over her digital likeness without knowing where that data might ultimately end up, or who might use it later.

Beyond commercial concerns, she also sees a reputational risk. If an AI-generated performance or voice is misused years from now, determining responsibility may prove considerably more difficult.

Reading the fine print

The recommendations being contemplated by the artists’ community may be incorporated into a bill by the Government of Punjab that would establish minimum standards for AI use in Pakistan’s entertainment industry.

Among its guiding principles are informed consent (ie one must obtain permission from the artist, even if one has the dataset), project-specific agreements, transparency and fair compensation. There are even murmurs that the bill might become part of federal legislation.

Anyone familiar with law and legislation can attest to how difficult that may be — especially when matters involve provincial and federal jurisdictions.

However, the bill addresses only one part of the problem.

In Hollywood, actors rarely negotiate these issues alone. Agencies routinely manage licensing, merchandising and digital rights on behalf of their performers. Pakistan has no comparable system. That leaves many actors individually negotiating highly technical contracts against organisations with considerably greater legal and commercial resources.

Maybe the industry needs to consider a different model altogether. Perhaps it can take the form of an independent agency — one dedicated exclusively to safeguarding and commercialising performers’ digital likenesses.

Such an agency — akin to an actor’s management agency but entirely transparent — could be governed by actors and legal specialists. It could license AI rights, maintain secure repositories of performers’ digital assets and negotiate standard terms with production houses. Companies would have access to the technology they require through this organisation, while performers would retain meaningful control over one of their most valuable digital assets.

It could very well be a simpler solution to a greater looming problem.

Artificial intelligence will continue to play a role in film and television production — that much is increasingly clear. However, once standards and practices are in place, AI can function as just another production tool.

Without standards, though, the industry risks repeating a familiar story — recognising the value of an artist’s rights only after they have been signed away, willingly, forcefully, through fear or simple obliviousness.

Perhaps it’s time people actually read what they sign.

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

Haider appeared on the show Rise and Shine with Zohaib Hassan and Nadia Khan where he said he found the whole thing “very disturbing” and urged content creators not to “hurt someone’s family life and privacy” in the pursuit of views.

Starting the segment on a jovial note, the actor recalled how he had woken up on Tuesday morning to a barrage of messages from everyone he knew. Some were congratulating him on getting married, others wanted to know why they hadn’t been told sooner.

Haider was, of course, puzzled and only saw his ‘wedding photos’ after scrolling through some chats. He said his first thought was, “Wow, what a bride and groom they’ve made [out of us].”

Haider said it took him around 10 minutes to actually understand what had happened, after which he called Saadia and said, “Congratulations Farah, we’re married now.” She was having none of it and asked what he was on about.

After explaining the whole thing and laughing at the absurdity of the situation, he said Saadia became disturbed a few hours after they had discussed it at which point he suggested they should make a video explaining what had happened; she readily agreed and rushed to his office.

The video, in which the pair start by congratulating each other on getting married but quickly refute the news as a hoax, is up on their Instagram accounts. They joked that the “professional” YouTubers that had gotten them married were now obligated to send wedding gifts from the money they made off the fake news.

Haider told Hassan and Khan the video had been effective and people understood he still wasn’t married. He also admitted he wasn’t tech savvy enough to have realised some people will take the first few seconds of him and Saadia congratulating each other and try to pass it off as confirmation of their wedding.

The actor said they only took a light-hearted approach to the problem because everyone is out ranting about how AI is ruining things and nobody would’ve listened if he did the same.

He did say that this wasn’t the only problem he had with AI and spoke about his new drama Shaidai, in which everyone is convinced his on-screen death was AI-generated — he insists it wasn’t and it was just really good camerawork.

For once, the problem isn’t finding something worth watching — it’s finding the time to keep up with everything.

2026 began on a promising note. Dramas such as Pamaal, Case No. 9, Muamma, Kafeel, Sharpasand and Ghulam Badshah Sundari gave audiences enough reason to stay invested in Pakistani TV. While each catered to a different audience, together they reflected a welcome willingness to experiment with genre, blending suspense, family conflict, social commentary and character-driven narratives.

They laid the foundation for what has turned out to be one of the strongest television seasons in recent years.

The second quarter of 2026, however, has truly transformed the viewing landscape. What makes this moment feel genuinely special is not just the quantity of good dramas on offer, but the range. Whether you prefer romance, family drama, mystery, social commentary, political intrigue or light-hearted entertainment, there is something on Pakistani television right now that feels made for you.

Zanjeerain, Sirf Shabana, Dr Bahu, Shaidai, Winter Love, Bas Tera Saath Ho, Leader, Humrahi and Aik Mohabbat Aur have each carved out loyal followings, while Raja London Ka has further expanded the range of stories on offer. Not every drama has been equally successful, but together they represent a television industry that appears more confident, more ambitious and far more varied than it has been in years.

If one drama has dominated conversations this season, it’s undoubtedly Zanjeerain. The HUM TV show marks the much-anticipated reunion of writer Farhat Ishtiaq, director Shahzad Kashmiri and producer Momina Duraid — the team behind Yaqeen Ka Safar — and naturally, expectations were high.

Set against the breathtaking landscapes of Kalabagh, the Galiyat and Shergarh, the story unfolds through feudal rivalries, fractured family ties and long-buried secrets, with each revelation steadily raising the stakes. In it, Sajal Aly once again proves why she remains one of Pakistan’s most dependable performers, while Danyal Zafar continues his impressive run with a restrained and convincing portrayal. Ameer Gilani, Ahsan Khan, Sehar Hashmi, Raza Ali Abid and Usman Javed complete a cast that lends emotional weight to the sprawling narrative.

With Kashmiri’s cinematic treatment, Zanjeerain carries the essence of an old-school family saga, yet never feels dated. It’s the kind of drama that keeps viewers counting the days till the next episode.

If Zanjeerain represents the season’s prestige offering, Dr Bahu has emerged as its most consistent crowd-puller. Directed by Mehreen Jabbar, the ARY Digital serial takes a familiar joint-family setup and gives it a sharper, more provocative edge.

At its centre is a respected family of doctors whose seemingly progressive image begins to unravel when a newly married doctor — the titular doctor bahu — enters a household where women are quietly expected to sacrifice their ambitions for the sake of family harmony. Much of the drama’s strength lies in its refusal to offer clear heroes or villains; instead, almost every character exists in shades of grey, leaving audiences divided in their judgments.

Week after week, social media has been filled with debate over Dr Shahnawaz, Sania, Salman and Mina, with perspectives constantly shifting as the story evolves. Shahzad Nawaz, in particular, delivers a remarkably grounded performance as Dr Shahnawaz — so convincingly that it is difficult to imagine anyone else in the role. He quietly anchors the narrative and, in many ways, becomes its emotional backbone. Whether viewers agree with its characters or not, Dr Bahu has sustained a level of conversation few dramas manage to maintain beyond their broadcast.

Perhaps the biggest surprise of the season has been Bas Tera Saath Ho. Reuniting writer Saira Raza, director Qasim Ali Mureed and the Six Sigma team behind the blockbuster Mere Humsafar, the drama began without the same level of hype as its competitors. It also carries added emotional significance as the final television work of the critically acclaimed writer Saira Raza, who passed away last year, leaving behind a remarkable body of work that includes Mere Humsafar, Dil Mom Ka Diya, Muhabbat Dhag ki Surat and several other memorable dramas.

The early episodes of Bas Tera Saath Ho initially appeared to follow familiar family-drama territory, but as the story unfolded, it gradually transformed into one of the most emotionally rewarding serials on air. Built around Anas, a young man shaped by loss and emotional neglect, the drama balances emotional intensity with quieter, more grounded moments.

Farhan Saeed delivers a restrained and natural performance as Anas, while Sana Javed brings quiet warmth and sincerity to Ansa. Supported by Salman Shahid, Shagufta Ejaz, Saba Hamid, Faran Tahir, Haris Waheed and Zoya Nasir, the drama has steadily grown with each passing week. In a season dominated by heightened emotions and larger-than-life arcs, Bas Tera Saath Ho stands out for its simplicity, emotional honesty and grounded storytelling.

If Dr Bahu thrives on moral ambiguity and debate, Sirf Shabana takes a quieter, more introspective route, centring itself on questions of identity and selfhood. The HUM TV drama follows a woman who resists being defined solely through her relationships — as a daughter, sister or wife — and instead attempts to carve out a space for herself as an individual. Led by Sohai Ali Abro, Adeel Hussain and Durab Khalil, the drama leans more on internal conflict than external drama.

Its strength lies in restraint; rather than stating its themes loudly, it allows them to emerge through moments of frustration, compromise and self-realisation. For viewers seeking something more reflective amid a season of high-intensity storytelling, Sirf Shabana offers a quieter but meaningful shift in tone.

While Sohai Ali Abro anchors the narrative with quiet conviction, it is Durab Khalil who truly shines as Bilal, affectionately known as Bahawala. He delivers a deeply moving performance, bringing honesty, vulnerability and emotional depth to the character, making him one of the drama’s most memorable highlights. The background score accompanying the Hasilpur scenes adds further charm to the drama, beautifully complementing the setting and enhancing the emotional impact of those moments.

Beyond family dynamics and interpersonal relationships, Leader is among the more ambitious dramas of this season’s lineup, attempting to weave together themes of social division, politics, power struggles and bureaucracy alongside elements of romance, conflict and violence. The HUM TV production, featuring Kinza Hashmi and Ali Raza in lead roles, along with an ensemble cast including Yousuf Bashir Qureshi, Ali Safina and Faran Tahir, positions itself as a blend of social commentary and commercial storytelling.

While the narrative occasionally feels overloaded in its attempt to balance multiple tones, the drama remains engaging due to its performances and its willingness to go beyond conventional family or romance-driven formulas. In a season dominated by emotional and domestic narratives, Leader stands out for its ambition — even if that ambition is not always evenly executed.

After a string of emotionally heavy narratives, Winter Love arrives as a deliberate shift in tone. Directed by Danish Nawaz, the HUM TV romantic comedy restores a lighter, more familiar television rhythm built around humour, warmth and gradually developing relationships rather than constant conflict.

Starring Mawra Hocane and Khushhal Khan, the drama relies on chemistry and comfort rather than high-stakes twists. While the story remains relatively simple, its appeal lies in its ease — it does not attempt to overwhelm the viewer, instead offering a softer viewing experience that feels almost nostalgic in a season otherwise defined by intensity and emotional complexity.

Returning to more traditional romantic territory, Shaidai brings together familiar commercial storytelling elements with the emotional intensity that 7th Sky Entertainment dramas are known for. Produced by Abdullah Kadwani and Asad Qureshi, the drama centres on the intense and testing nature of love, built around Ali Khan, a successful man accustomed to control, and Miral, a fiercely independent woman determined to live life on her own terms.

Drawn together by fate, their relationship moves beyond romance into a more complicated emotional terrain shaped by ego, sacrifice and unresolved past grievances. With Feroze Khan and Sehar Hashmi in lead roles, supported by Bushra Ansari, Mehmood Aslam and Nawal Saeed, the drama leans into high-emotion storytelling where love is defined less by ease and more by endurance and transformation.

Another Geo Entertainment drama, Humrahi banks heavily on the on-screen pairing of Hiba Bukhari and Danish Taimoor, a duo that has already proven their popularity with audiences in previous projects. Their pairing once again forms the central attraction, with viewers drawn as much to their chemistry as to the unfolding storyline. Supported by Ayub Khosa, Shahzad Nawaz and Hajra Yamin, the drama follows a conventional emotional framework, focusing on a love story shaped by misunderstandings, emotional distance and sacrifice.

While it does not break new ground, its appeal lies in familiarity and star power, proving once again that the right on-screen pairing can be just as compelling as the story itself.

Romance takes yet another form in Aik Mohabbat Aur, which brings a light, feel-good romantic tone to the season, featuring Ahad Raza Mir as a journalist and Maya Ali as an assistant commissioner. Written by Faiza Iftikhar and directed by Farooq Rind, the drama moves beyond conventional romance to touch on social taboos surrounding marriage, divorce, single parenthood and therapy, placing Maya Ali’s character as a career-driven woman navigating both professional and personal challenges.

Set against a contemporary urban backdrop, it strikes a balance between light romance and grounded emotional storytelling, leaning into themes of second chances and emotional rediscovery while maintaining an easy, accessible tone.

Finally, Raja London Ka stands out for its cinematic storytelling and visually rich treatment, often resembling a feature film more than a conventional television serial. Built around themes of power, politics and survival, it presents a world where every move has a consequence and control is constantly contested.

The narrative revolves around two men from starkly different worlds — one shaped by the rough, unpredictable life of landa bazaar and the other embedded in the corridors of political authority — creating a constant tension between ambition and control. With Zaviyaar Nauman Ijaz and Samar Jafri stepping into roles that mark a clear departure from their usual screen personas, both deliver more mature, restrained and polished performances that push them beyond their comfort zones.

The drama blends thrill, conflict and underlying violence with a stylised sense of scale, positioning itself as a high-stakes story where a throne, a fight and a game of power ensure that every decision changes everything.

Perhaps the most remarkable aspect of this television season is the sheer concentration of star power. Among female leads, Sajal Aly, Mawra Hocane, Maya Ali, Kubra Khan, Hiba Bukhari, Kinza Hashmi, Sohai Ali Abro, Sana Javed, Sehar Hashmi and Hajra Yamin have all appeared prominently on screen, while the male roster includes Ahad Raza Mir, Feroze Khan, Danish Taimoor, Farhan Saeed, Ahsan Khan, Danyal Zafar, Shuja Asad, Ali Raza, Zaviyar Nauman and Adeel Hussain, alongside several other established and emerging names. The result is a season that feels unusually dense, competitive and commercially vibrant.

For viewers, this has created a new kind of dilemma — one of the best kinds of dilemmas. The complaint is no longer a lack of quality content, but the shared excitement of keeping up with too many engaging stories at once — often airing within the same week and dominating online conversations simultaneously. Choosing what to watch, and more importantly, what to discuss in real time, has itself become part of the viewing experience that audiences are clearly enjoying.

Adding to this momentum is the increasing trend of twice-weekly episodes, which has effectively turned television into a near-daily engagement rather than a weekly ritual. From Monday to Sunday, screens are rarely without a new episode or a new development, keeping audiences continuously invested while also adding to the thrill of staying ahead of spoilers on social media.

Seen together, the season also reveals an interesting pattern in how Pakistani television is currently structured: big prestige dramas, socially reflective narratives, experimental storytelling, and commercially-driven romances are all coexisting side by side rather than competing in separate spaces. This clustering has created a layered viewing experience where audiences are not just following individual shows, but navigating entire categories of storytelling at once.

Whether this level of output is sustainable remains to be seen. But for now, Pakistani television finds itself in a rare and welcome position: not struggling for attention, but competing within abundance. For audiences, that means something they have long hoped for — an active, diverse and unpredictable landscape where the hardest question is no longer what to watch, but what to choose first.

Consistent in originality and unexpectedness. Consistent in tone that balances intriguing horror and absurdity, yet perfectly timed bits of comedy. Consistent in the Twilight Zone-ish, far-fetched nature of its premise. Consistent with the spirit of independent cinema.

Back in 1991, Francis Ford Coppola predicted that — and I quote (from the documentary Hearts of Darkness: A Filmmaker’s Apocalypse): “One day, some little fat girl in Ohio is going to be the new Mozart of a good movie, and the so-called professionalism will be destroyed, forever, and it will really become an art form.”

Obsession is the film Coppola was talking about. Written, edited and directed by a young YouTube filmmaker — the 26-year-old Curry Barker — whose experience was largely made up of skits and shorts; produced for less than $750,000; picked up by a major studio (Focus Features) for $15 million; and making (as of the time of this writing) $332 million worldwide. It will, perhaps, open the floodgates for aspiring filmmakers from YouTube who want to make films but end up making shorts and spec advertisements, doing corporate documentary work or editing someone else’s YouTube videos. It is a film that will make careers for everyone involved.

Obsession is the Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity of the internet generation

Obsession is the Blair Witch Project or Paranormal Activity of the internet generation, delivered in the off-kilter, independent-minded style of the Hollywood studio A24 (this generation’s Miramax, if you will).

It is a film that delivers solid storytelling and proves that one doesn’t need big budgets or big-name stars to make the audience take notice… though a few tens of millions in marketing didn’t hurt, I am assuming (the film wouldn’t have gotten this big without the big publicity spend).

The genre choice is trendy. A horror that banks more on the supernatural, ambience and disturbing bits of dark comedy than out-and-out horror.

The premise isn’t that original — an inspiration springing from The Simpsons’ Treehouse of Horror II (Lisa’s monkey’s paw segment), which itself is a homage to The Twilight Zone.

More than The Simpsons, though, the premise comes from a ’60s Twilight Zone episode, The Chaser. In it, a man, desperate to get the girl who doesn’t reciprocate his affections, gives her a love potion that makes him her ‘obsession’. In Obsession, the love potion and the light-heartedness get replaced.

Baron ‘Bear’ Bailey (Michael Johnston, quite good), a perpetually afraid, socially awkward, wimpy music store employee, fancies his co-worker Nikki (Inde Navarrette, excellent), and buys a novelty toy that claims to grant one wish per person. What he — and the audience — don’t foresee is the psychological after-effects of the ‘magic’. The divide between Nikki’s soul and her fractured present state makes for a fascinating watch though, by the end, the film takes the easy way out for both characters.

Unlike The Companion — another must-watch horror film — Obsession is very aware of its lack of budget, and chooses to keep the film contained to a bare minimum number of locations and actors. But chances are that most of the film’s audience won’t notice it because of Barker’s really steady, surprisingly assured hand as a filmmaker.

Now that he, his YouTube origins, and the film have gained notoriety, chances are things will get easier for hundreds — if not thousands — of internet-only filmmakers. I just pray that a significant percentage of these young filmmakers do not make horror their go-to genre.

Released by Focus Features and HKC (in Pakistan), Obsession is rated “A”. It is adults-only for a reason.

Originally published in Dawn, ICON, June 28th, 2026

It has surpassed the previous record holder, Oppenheimer, which earned $965 million during its cinema run in 2023.

Michael, which previously held the record for highest-grossing music biopic, also set a record by earning $217 million during its opening weekend in April. The film, directed by Antoine Fuqua and starring Jaafar Jackson, nephew of the late singer, has become production company Lionsgate’s third highest domestic grossing film.

The film spans Michael Jackson’s career from his time in the Jackson 5 with his brothers until his 1988 Bad tour. It ends with the promise of a sequel covering the rest of his life, though it is unclear whether his child sexual abuse allegations will be covered in the next film. Michael drew criticism for not covering the allegations.

According to Rolling Stone, Michael the Jackson estate-approved biopic supported the movie through troubling production, including news that the filmmakers were legally prohibited from portraying the child abuse allegations made against the singer by accuser Jordan Chandler. They were reportedly forced to reshoot the third act, delaying the release by a year.

The One Battle After Another actor ​took home four awards, including the special, noncompetitive honor of Icon of the Year, ‌presented by singer Janet Jackson. She also won the Fashion Vanguard Award, Best Actress, and Video Director of the Year for the short film Escape Room.

“There would be no me without you,” Taylor said to Jackson during a ​tearful acceptance speech for the Icon of the Year award, which BET describes as ​honouring those who have paid homage to music, entertainment, advocacy, and community impact.

“I ⁠worked my a** off 20 years for this. So, I’m not accepting what I’ve earned with ​arrogance; I’m accepting what I’ve earned with gratitude,” she said.

The BET Awards were held at the ​Peacock Theatre in Los Angeles and broadcast live on BET, as well as multiple Paramount-owned channels.

Comedian Druski, the youngest person ever to host the ceremony, opened with his comedic pastor persona, leading the audience in a humorous group ​prayer that blended jokes with tributes to spirituality.

The ceremony featured performances from Cardi B, Raye, T.I., ​Kehlani, Doechii, and Don Toliver.

Boundary-breaking music industry executive Sylvia Rhone was also honoured with the BET Ultimate Icon ‌Award, which ⁠recognises individuals who have made a lasting impact throughout their careers in the entertainment industry and the Black community.

“Tonight’s honour bears my name but really belongs to all of us who create culture. I’ve been fortunate to spend my life around extraordinary artists,” Rhone, 74, said as she accepted ​the award onstage.

“Black creativity ​is one of the ⁠most powerful forces in the world. It has shaped culture,” she said.

She emphasised that while technology is valuable, it is essential for Black creatives ​to preserve the soul and artistry of music for the next generation.

The ​50-year veteran ⁠of the music industry is the first Black woman to have held various top level positions at a number of well-known record labels.

She has held executive roles at Epic Records, Universal Motown, Elektra, Atlantic, and ⁠East ​West, and is known for her mentorship, including her work ​with Missy Elliott, Brandy, and Busta Rhymes.

Other honours of the night included Cardi B winning Best Female Hip-Hop Artist and ​Lauryn Hill taking home the inaugural Living Legend Icon Award.