The Tragic Fate of Cinematic Craft in India,
In the world of cinema, it’s almost a given that the better a film is, the less likely it is to find an audience. Sounds counterintuitive? Well, welcome to the bizarre universe of Indian filmmaking. Here, the perfect blend of acting, cinematography, and direction often gets buried under an avalanche of formulaic blockbusters and “loud” cinema. And it’s no surprise—the well-made film is cursed. A film that’s polished, restrained, and thoughtfully executed doesn’t exactly fit in with what the Indian film industry loves to celebrate.
Indian cinema’s collective attitude toward filmmaking is akin to a man deciding that only the roughest, most chaotic marriages are real, and all those happy, stable couples are just pretending. You know, in some alternate universe, that might be true. But back here in reality, it’s absolute nonsense.
The Invisible Standard
So, you’ve made a film that ticks all the boxes—stellar performances, crisp editing, a compelling script, and a visual style that doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out. Great, right? Well, in a world that celebrates style over substance and shock over subtlety, too much finesse might just be your downfall. Why? Because your film is now “too well-made.” That’s a phrase that means you’ve missed the memo—this isn’t the place for restraint and maturity.
You know what works? Slap some flashy camera angles, put in a melodramatic monologue, and—bam—suddenly you’re in the realm of “impactful” cinema. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense or feels genuine. What matters is that the film has a story you can summarize in one line, preferably with the words “revolution,” “struggle,” or “broken dreams” in it. Anything more complicated? Well, good luck. No one’s here for “good cinema” unless it comes with a side of immediate entertainment. You know, something easily digestible that doesn’t make you think too much.
The well-made film? It’s like that quiet kid in class who reads poetry and wears glasses—mysterious, deep, and quiet. But unfortunately, people in this industry are more interested in the kid who screams “drama!” every chance they get. There’s no room for quiet brilliance. Not in a world that thrives on loud noise.
The Fallacy of ‘Rough = Real’
Let’s talk about the “authenticity” issue. The film industry in India is obsessed with the idea of rawness. It’s as though rough automatically equals real. For some reason, every indie film that’s a little grainy, a little too “imperfect,” or—heaven forbid—underfunded, is deemed a work of genius. Those shaky handheld shots? That’s the “real” cinema. The fact that someone couldn’t afford sound mixing? Authentic. No one cares that the plot has holes bigger than the Grand Canyon—what matters is the “grit” of the movie.
But God forbid you use the actual art of filmmaking to tell your story in a technically sound, aesthetically pleasing manner. You know, with decent sound, proper lighting, and sharp editing. That’s suddenly “too polished,” “too commercial,” “too formulaic.” You must be one of those sell-outs trying to please the mainstream—the ones who dare to think that good craft might just be a form of sincerity. You know what the world really wants? The mess. Because real art is found in the chaos.
Except, that’s not how art works, is it? If you look at truly great cinema—be it by auteurs like Majid Majidi (Iran) or Kore-eda (Japan)—there’s a meticulousness to it, a sense that every shot, every frame, every moment is deliberate. Craft isn’t just about the tools; it’s about the intention behind them. But in Indian cinema, intention is too much of a luxury. The better the craft, the more it feels like you’re trying too hard. And trying too hard is, apparently, a crime.
Craft as an Act of Love: A Lost Cause
Let’s break it down for a second: why does one make a film that’s “well-made”? For love, of course. A filmmaker who cares about their craft creates a world that is coherent, visually interesting, emotionally engaging, and thought-provoking. But guess what happens when you put love into the work? People accuse you of being too earnest, too careful. It’s as if they want you to make a mess, throw the paint at the canvas, and let it look like you didn’t give a damn about anything. They want grit, sweat, and loudness. They want to be hit over the head with a concept, rather than gently guided into an emotional experience.
Sure, the world loves a good story, but does it love one told well? Not really. Not unless it has shock value. Not unless it has an insane plot twist or some senseless violence that makes people go “wow, I didn’t see that coming.” The well-made film is an act of love, but the love isn’t reciprocated. There’s a certain quiet dignity in crafting something that doesn’t have to scream at you to be heard. It’s like trying to have a deep conversation at a rock concert. The world just doesn’t care. And it’s exhausting.
The Real Tragedy
You want to know the true heartbreak of a well-made film? It’s not just about the lack of commercial success—it’s that the audience never even gets the chance to see it. They want good films. They want films that stir their emotions, that make them think, and that resonate long after the credits roll. But these films, the ones crafted with care and precision, rarely make it to them. Why? Because the industry is too busy pumping out what’s easily marketable, what’s got a viral hook, what’s loud enough to grab attention. The films that deserve to be seen, the ones that require an audience to lean in and pay attention, simply don’t make it to the screen.
Festivals? They’ll pass on your film because it doesn’t speak to some urgent political agenda. Distributors will avoid it because it doesn’t have the star power to carry it across the finish line. These well-made films, the ones that rely on subtlety and emotional depth, never find their audience because the system is too focused on loudness and spectacle. The audience is there, wanting something more, something real. But the system just won’t let it happen.
A Filmmaker’s Solitude
So here we are. The well-made film—a tragic victim of the system. It sits in limbo, not quite fitting into the low-budget, shaky-cam indie scene, and certainly not landing in the loud, over-the-top commercial zone. It doesn’t scream. It doesn’t fight for attention. It just exists. And in the world of Indian cinema, that’s often the worst crime of all.
But here’s the thing: as a filmmaker, you can’t help it. You still make these films. Because you believe that cinema should be more than just noise. You make them because somewhere, deep down, you know that craft matters. You make them because, despite everything, you’re still in love with the art of it all. Even if the world refuses to love you back.
Here’s to the well-made film—the cursed child of the Indian film industry. Maybe one day, someone will find it. Maybe not. But the love for cinema? That’s never going away. And in the end, that’s what keeps the curse alive.
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