Echoes of a Golden Era

If I had a penny for every time I heard someone say in the past few years, “Man, they don’t make movies like they used to”, I’d have enough cash to bribe Bollywood into making one decent script.

It’s a natural rite of passage for the older generation to haughtily disapprove of anything the youth come up with. We’ve all grown up witnessing Bhide from Taarak Mehta ka Oolta Chashmah’s holier-than-thou “Humare zamaane mein…. (translated to: back in my day…)” that earned him more jibes than respect. But what’s peculiar now is the rising trend of even the youngsters distancing themselves from the contemporary media — identifying themselves with tags such as an “old soul” and clinging to things that belong inherently to other generations. In an age where every brand, product, and story is tailor-made for the youth, how has the industry managed to fumble so gloriously that their very demographic wants to renounce itself from it?

Cinema, of course, has taken a major hit. You can’t have a casual conversation without someone sighing about “the good old bollywood days”, how even the exaggerated vivaciousness and over-the-top sentiments had their own charm. They reminisce the days when OG-Bollywood used to reign. When the songs unfolded seamlessly within the story, and the films seemed like they were made out of devotion to the art, not to the profit margins. Not that there has ever been a time where the creatives were not driven by blockbuster sales, but the quality of the art used to be directly proportional to the laurels it got and the crowd it garnered. And even though it is a subjective point of view, the general audience doesn’t seem to think that it happens like that anymore.

Think classic Bollywood — grand productions, elaborate dance sequences, and more chiffon than Sushmita Sen’s entire closet. Think DDLJ— the sacred text of Bollywood romances. It is hailed as a timeless cultural phenomenon, because it embodies everything Bollywood does best: star-crossed lovers, schmaltzy melodrama, impeccable soundtracks, and an exorbitant amount of money spent of international shooting locations.

Now, Saiyaara just dropped, and people have lost their collective minds at how it was received. But there’s nothing out-of-the-blue about its success. It simply revived what Bollywood is all about: excellent storytelling, songs that hit the spot, slightly toxic character archetypes to root for and enough yearning to make your heart ache.

In the past year, the number of movies that have totally tanked just because they mistook “mass youth appeal” for injecting brainrot and meta jokes has been disappointing. The forced satire was so insufferable, it’s almost as if AIB was running the writer’s room. The marketing strategies have merely reduced to saturating everyone’s For You page with the same 30 second clip until it is seared in people’s heads like a pop-up ad you can’t close. The hooksteps have changed to moves designed simply to create buzz on social media. 

We really went from getting on the floor to Chaiyya Chaiyya to the comical LOVEYAPA hand gestures. Even the music videos are framed such that they are best optimized for the reel format. It’s concerning that there are such modifications being made only for the algorithm’s approval.

So yes, cinema might be dying. The songs might be recycled and mediocre. The stories are watered down. But not all hope is lost. There are many arguments one can present to soften the blow. One of them is the fact that cinema and art is ever-changing. This isn’t the first time in history where a huge body of mass has scoffed at what cinema has become. And although it may be hard to admit, but eventually everyone does get used to the change. Give it a few years, and you might just find people reminiscing about the cinema of 2025 with the same reverence they reserve for the 2000s. Things always look rose-tinted in the rear-view mirror, and every sore spot sticks out when it’s in the present. 

Another fact is that nostalgia will never go out of style. The rise in OTT platforms has brought theatre earnings to an all-time low, which is why the movie theatres are willing to re-screen movies to mint more money off the familiarity of the past. I mean, who wouldn’t want to rewatch Om Shanti Om on the big screen? It’s familiar, it’s comforting, and it’s guaranteed serotonin. Yet, back in the day, even Farah Khan got her fair share of eye-rolls. The Golmaal franchise wasn’t “iconic,” it was “cringe.” Singh is Kinng wasn’t comedic excellence, it was regarded as painfully loud and senseless. Any yet in today’s times, these films have graduated to classics.

The point is, as long as artists continue to create without letting authenticity die, their work will always resonate with a certain crowd. All it needs is a soul that is unapologetically tender, and to be made out of pure allegiance to the craft. Because at the end of the day, trends fade, formulas expire, and the industry shifts. No one will remember the fleeting box office numbers or the fickle critical acclaims. What lasts is feeling, and something born out heart and conviction will always cut through.