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I recently watched Deadpool & Wolverine at home due to the ongoing boycott and realised it had been a long time since I sat down and dedicated time to watch a movie. It took me back to when I was eight, holding my dad’s hand as we bought samosas outside Venus cinema, excited to watch a regional film. The movie likely had a few loud songs and fight scenes, with no real plot or story development, but for me, it’s steeped in nostalgia.

As a Gen Z kid born in 2000, I grew up watching Salman Khan’s movies in cinemas every Eid — it was a family tradition. While we’ve kept this tradition alive through an LED screen where I now show my sisters the films, the culture of going to the cinema has long faded.

Capri, once a go-to spot for middle-class families, closed long ago. Cinepax, located at the prime Water Pump location, also shut its doors, and more recently, Atrium Cinema followed suit as footfall wasn’t what it once was, and in the words of the owner, “It is less expensive to shut a cinema in Pakistan than to keep running it.”

“My family built Capri from the ground up, and we ran it for a solid 56 years,” Capri’s owner Farrukh Rauf told Images. Now, the cinema’s building stands as a haunting reminder of what it once was, remnants of old movie posters covered with a layer of dust lining the corridors, evidence of a place that once buzzed with life.

“Our cinema catered to people like a husband and wife who travelled by motorbike, looking to enjoy a movie within a Rs1,000 budget. With two tickets priced under Rs800 and food for two easily bought for Rs200, it made watching a film an affordable and enjoyable experience,” he explained.

Movie tickets no longer cost that much. For the past five years, the far flashier Nueplex Cinema has been charging between Rs800 and Rs1,000 for standard cinema seats for digital 2D movies. Back in 2021, a single ticket cost around Rs700, and when you factor in the cost of snacks, you would have spent at least Rs1,500 on a single movie for one person, which isn’t exactly budget friendly.

Capri Cinema ceased operations in June 2023, and according to Rauf, ticket prices remained between Rs200, Rs300, and at most Rs400 until the very end. Even as electricity rates rose, the staff tried their best to keep the cinema open for the public. “However, over time, it became nearly impossible because electricity rates were increasing every few months. As a cinema owner, I had to recover at least 50 per cent of the costs I was putting in. Against our will, we had to raise ticket prices, which, unsurprisingly, significantly impacted footfall,” he explained.

Nadeem Mandviwalla, the owner of Atrium Cinemas in Karachi and Centaurus Cinemas in Islamabad, believes that closing a cinema is more cost effective than keeping it operational. “With 44 years in the industry, I can confidently say that due to restrictions and lack of acknowledgment, cinemas in Pakistan have never progressed.”

The ‘golden era’ of cinema

“My most vivid memory from childhood and adolescence was rebelling by watching films every Thursday. I would argue with my parents and go watch the latest movies playing at the cinema. This was part of our culture,” Asiya Bibi told me as she prepared fresh paan. She is a film enthusiast and still gushes over her massive crush on Pakistan’s “chocolate hero” Waheed Murad. Her Saturday routine includes having her grandchildren sit with her to listen to songs like ‘Ye Ada Ye Naaz Ye Andaz Aapka’ and ‘Mujhe Tum Nazar Se Gira Toh Rahe Ho.’

“Kids these days might think the films from our time were silly, but romance without touch and the beauty captured in a few simple shots is unmatched,” she mused. Since 1948, Pakistan has produced over 14,000 Urdu feature films, more than 10,000 in Punjabi, over 8,000 in Pashto, around 4,000 in Sindhi, and 1,000 in Balochi. The first film produced on what is now Pakistani soil was Husn Ka Daku, directed by Abdur Rashid Kardar in Lahore in 1929. Pakistan’s first post-independence film, Teri Yaad, was directed by Daud Chand in 1948.

“My favourite was Nadeem, and I became a fan right after I saw Aaina with my mother in the cinema. I was very young, I can’t remember how old I was, but it was the first time my mother wrapped me in a burqa since it was considered improper for women to visit the cinema back then,” recalled Nosheen Attaullah, a mother of two.

“In 1968, the cinemas were dominated by male audiences mostly. Women would be there, but they’d be accompanied by the men of their families. Very rarely would we see women coming to cinemas themselves,” Rauf said.

He explained how cinema equipment was highly complex back then, and transporting it to cinema halls was even more challenging. Watching a film was a great feat in itself.

“Most films were in black and white, so we had to ensure colour-corrected screens were used. The projectors were imported and required frequent cleaning, which added to the cost,” he said.

Bring in the heroes

From the 90s to well into the 2000s, the craze for Bollywood films brought audiences back to cinemas. Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan, Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar, and other popular heroes drew audiences, particularly women, to the theatres in droves.

“When I took charge of the cinemas, female footfall was very low, and that was something I aimed to change. I began revitalising the cinema by making it safer, creating separate spaces, and charging less for tickets. That’s when women started coming in,” Rauf told Images.

By the end of the 90s and the start of the 2000s, going to the cinema was no longer a major taboo. Women may not have felt safe enough to visit male-dominated spaces like Venus Cinema in Karachi’s Liaquatabad but they did go to Prince, Shama, Bambino, and Capri cinemas, often accompanied by male family members or friends.

“I saw Aamir Khan in Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak and after that, I couldn’t miss any of his films. I didn’t have any restrictions on going to the cinema, but my friend Faria, who was also a huge fan, did. So, we’d sneak out from college to catch a movie at least once a month,” giggled 55-year-old Khursheed.

“But over time, when her mother became a Shah Rukh Khan fan herself, we had one more person to argue with about which film to watch,” she added. The culture of watching Bollywood movies continued for another three generations.

Pakistan began banning films in 1962, with further restrictions imposed in 1979 when General Ziaul Haq set the country on a course of Islamisation, with far stricter censorship rules. Although a ban on Indian films and media had existed since 1965, it was inconsistently enforced. It was loosely lifted for two films — Mughal-e-Azam and Sohni Mahiwal—  in 2006.

In 2008, the ban was lifted and then reimposed in 2016 following the Uri attacks and ‘surgical strikes’ along the Line of Control. In 2017, the ban was lifted by then premier Nawaz Sharif’s government.

One of the conditions of the reinstatement was that cinemas in Pakistan were to equally divide screen time between Indian and Pakistani films.

The ban on Indian films was reinstated in 2019.

The one where Bollywood was banned

For Rauf, the ban on Bollywood lead to the start of cinema culture’s decline. But it wasn’t just Bollywood films being banned — other films experienced periodic bans as well. Tom Hanks’ The Da Vinci Code was banned in 2006 after Pakistani Christians protested its blasphemous content. In 2010, the government banned Bollywood film Tere Bin Laden starring singer Ali Zafar out of concern that it may spark terrorist attacks due to the name.

Despite these individual bans, Bollywood movies thrived in Pakistan pre-2019. Student of the Year drew a huge turnout, with high school kids flocking to cinemas, fantasising about having classmates like Alia Bhatt, Siddharth Malhotra, and Varun Dhawan. Similarly, Bajrangi Bhaijaan saw a great response.

But by 2019, Bollywood films were completely banned and the government launched a crackdown on the sale of Indian films in solidarity with Kashmir.

“When Bollywood films were completely banned, cinema attendance saw a great decline. The positive side was that by then, Pakistani cinema was producing [high] quality films. Jawani Phir Nahi Ani managed to attract audiences, and people were eager to support local cinema, often watching even subpar films,” Mandviwalla said.

He told Images he asked the PTA why cinemas couldn’t screen Indian content, especially when platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime, approved by the board, were already streaming it and it was popular with audiences. “We know there’s a shortage of our own content, so why can’t we show it in cinemas?” he asked.

“If you take a look at Maula Jatt and the business it [generated], you’d know that audiences will come back to the cinemas if you bring them a good film. In 2007, the cinema had a Rs10 million market — within 11 years, the market went from Rs10 million to Rs500 million. This was the time when Pakistan was generating its own content and the government allowed popular films to run in cinemas,” he explained.

2022’s The Legend of Maula Jatt became the highest grossing Punjabi film of all time. That year, the film pulled audiences back to cinemas, something that was initially credited to its star-studded cast featuring two of Pakistan’s biggest stars, Mahira Khan and Fawad Khan. After the glitz wore off, people realised the movie’s cinematography, story and character development were as, if not more, compelling as its stars.

The ‘revival’ of the cinema

“Pakistani film culture is a mixed one and hasn’t fully developed its own identity yet. It has been influenced by many industries, and is still trying to carve out its own through its content,” said Fizza Ali Meerza, producer of Na Maloom Afraad and Na Baligh Afraad.

Meerza compared the cinema industry’s trajectory to that of the country. “Cinema boomed when the country boomed, and it declined when the country went down,” she said.

“I started working in the media in 2001 as a production assistant, and back then everyone was passionate about making films. People were ‘thinking’ films even if they did not know how to execute what they were thinking,” she recalled.

Cinema boomed in the 70s, said Meerza, declined in the 80s and sustained itself through the 90s.

“Editing was still manual, while the rest of the world, including Indian cinema, was shifting to digital. At one point, the quality of Indian films could be compared to Hollywood, but you couldn’t say the same about Pakistani films,” she said. “The point is, the cinema industry is not recognised by the government, and realistically, it’s not feasible in a country without a film board or insurance policies. I’ve met five ministers in my career, and I can tell you, we’re not recognised as an industry,” the producer said.

To Meerza, filmmaking is treated as a hobby in Pakistan.

“At this point, the notion of ‘supporting Pakistani cinema’ is annoying to me. There are so many causes to support in Pakistan, and film is not a charity. If we want support, we’re supposed to make good films. It’s my job to produce the best content, and I’m not doing anyone a favour,” she said.

Director Salman Noorani believes that making a feature film in Pakistan is not a sustainable investment.

“As a striving filmmaker and someone in the field, I don’t think this is a viable business. There is no revenue model, and 90 to 95pc of films are either flops or rarely achieve a breakthrough. So, all in all, it’s not worth your time and energy to make a film in Pakistan.”

He also highlighted the impact of OTT platforms on diminishing attention spans, noting that people now prefer watching content on their TV screens rather than making the effort to visit cinemas.

“I might watch a slow burn movie, but even my attention span is that of an Instagram reel,” he chuckled.

Those who write

An important aspect of the cinema industry that is often overlooked is the role of film journalists, who sit through movies in cinemas to provide reviews. Thanks to them, the public can save money by skipping not-so-great films.

“I am named after a film, so it’s literally in my genes. When I was younger, I would go to Atrium to watch a film every Sunday; it was a family activity. We would have brief discussions about whatever movie we had watched. That experience was unmatched,” recalled Simran Siraj, an entertainment and culture journalist.

“Cinema these days, especially Pakistani cinema, fails to produce content relatable to even a single age group. There are no releases outside of Eid, and it goes flat throughout the year.” She attributed this to the frequency with which content is released, poorly thought out storylines, lack of research and lack of emotionally striking moments.

Sajeer Sheikh, who has reviewed films for The Express Tribune, believes cinema in Pakistan is heavily politicised.

“When I say that Pakistani cinema is politicised, I mean that there are various levels of politics at play. Bollywood is, of course, highly politicised as well and we’ve seen jingoistic narratives come out as a result, as well as religious sentiments being hurt with films like Padmaavat where a bounty was placed on Deepika [Padukone’s] head,” she said.

“It’s a similar but far more zeroed in approach in Pakistan, where anything can be taken out of context and manipulated to further one’s agenda. For instance, the calls for cancellation of Fawad Khan in Barzakh when he had nothing to do with the homosexuality arc, the ban on Zindagi Tamasha and heavy allegations against Sarmad Khoosat that led to an entire fully-made film never being released in cinemas,” she added.

A fresh perspective was offered by Kamran Javaid, a journalist who has been reviewing films for over 20 years in Dawn, and believes that inflation has nothing to do with cinema culture’s decline.

“Inflation is not the problem. People often compare cinema with eating out. When you do the math, eating out is just as expensive, if not more. You’re paying for fuel in either case, the quality of food or the quality of the film will always be subjective — even in tried and tested restaurants, the quality of food would go up or down, so it’s a risk either way,” he said. “The one thing that distinguishes film from food is the entertainment value — and even then, I’ve seen people enjoy bad movies. The mediocre ones are the real problem. How does one enjoy anything mediocre? Pakistan makes mediocre [films] by the dozen every year, and herein lies the problem,” he explained.

“People stay away from the movies because they offer little distinction from television. The actors are the same, the genres are limited to comedy and familial drama, and everyone shoots shallow depth of field — out of focus backgrounds — and labels them ‘cinematic’, and yet makes the same editorial and storytelling blunders. Why, pray tell, would the audience give today’s cinema a chance for its indistinguishability?” he asked.

Gen Z and cinema

Contrary to popular (millennial and boomer) belief, most Gen Z viewers haven’t truly had the chance to experience traditional cinema culture. Going to the cinema has become less accessible due to financial constraints — people’s salaries just can’t compete with rising expenses — and the rise of OTT platforms. It makes more sense to stay in on a Saturday night and watch something on a laptop than to drive across the city just to see a movie.

They’re often told they don’t know what “real films” are, and many agree that they’re missing out.

“Art imitates life, and what I believe is lacking in today’s Pakistani cinema is the portrayal of relatable subjects or harsh realities, like the case of Javed Iqbal, which we might not be ready to confront. That’s why films like these end up getting banned,” said cinema enthusiast Waqar Hussain.

Abu Aleeha’s Javed Iqbal, based on the notorious serial killer who murdered 100 young boys in Lahore and sent evidence of his crimes to the media and police in 1999, was banned a day before its release.

“Our films are heavily influenced by the drama industry, which, to be fair, did work to some extent at first. However, it’s clearly no longer effective, which is why we’re not seeing a revival. We need to evolve, and that evolution needs to happen quickly,” said Maira Pasha, a film enthusiast and promotions executive of the feature film Teri Meri Kahaniyaan.

“I’ll be honest — I stopped going to the cinema because I simply can’t afford it,” said Saad, an accountant with a passion for filmmaking. “While I’d love to spend on films, my limited income doesn’t allow me to indulge in that passion.”

Zoya, a film student at Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture in Karachi, shared these views. “I love cinema and used to save every penny to watch a film,” she said. “I’m studying on financial aid and remain passionate about film, but I just can’t afford it anymore. My daily commute now costs less than a trip to the cinema.”

The debate about what kind of films to produce and what constitutes high-quality content feels endless. Everyone has a different opinion and that variety of opinion is reflected in the variety of content produced — whether it’s Marvel and DC blockbusters or films like It Ends with Us and Pride and Prejudice, the range of genres being explored is vast. Globally, filmmakers are learning as they experiment with different types of stories. But in Pakistan, there’s little diversity in films.

This lack of variety is one of the many factors that have contributed to the decline of cinemas, leaving once-vibrant spaces desolate and empty.

It’s not just the physical doors of these theatres that have closed — it’s an entire communal experience that once unified society that is slowly disappearing. Will it ever return, or has cinema culture in Pakistan been lost for good?