House Full
Pakistan once had 2,500 cinemas bringing romance, music,
tragedy and action to both city and town, all but replaced today by a handful
of multi screens in a few big cities, with ticket prices only a few can afford.
As journalist Qaisar Kamran wrote, there was a time “when a ticket cost less
than a meal” and “for a few hours, everyone could sit in the dark and disappear
into a story”.
Movie reviewer, Muhammad Suhayb, takes us on a
cinema-hopping journey of the past: to Empire Cinema near Civil Hospital where Pakistan’s
first-ever film, Teri Yaad (1948) was screened, to Regal, now Regal Trade
Center, where Dilip Kumar and Noor
Jehan’s Jugnu (1947) completed its Silver Jubilee. Naz (now Naz shopping center)
and Nishat ( now a commercial building after it burnt down in 2012) were called
Radha and Krishna after the names of the owner’s children.
The central role of cinema is best understood by a story of
Mehboob Khan’s Ailan, released all over India on August 14, 1947. The reels lay
on Lahore’s chaotic train platform where families traumatized by rioting
arrived, some dead some alive. Undeterred, Chaudhrey Eid Mohammed, owner of
Rattan cinema, Lahore, somehow smuggled out the reels, and announced its
opening at his cinema.
In 1947 alone, 184 films were released in the midst of the
deadly riots of Partition. Someone was writing scripts and songs, acting,
directing filming and producing films. Cinema became a temporary sanctuary and
a reassuring continuity when so much was falling apart.
South Asian cinema has been called a centrifugal force spreading
its influence into the very fabric of society. Audiences easily identified with
the heroes and heroines, pushing back against injustice or holding on to love
against all odds. Reality became acceptable
through melodrama and poetic song. The song from Arsi (1947) spoke to the
displaced “Tu hi bata ai asman hum be watan jain kahan” ( tell me O sky, where should we who are
without a country go?)
Cinema remained an integral part of people’s lives in both
Pakistan and India. As much as the story, the cinema house itself created a
sense of community, a shared experience. The matinee show saw a largely female audience,
while evening shows were a family outing. The seating system of upper circle, circle and
stalls, brought together all economic segments of society. Once called the char
char annay walay, referring to the 4 anna cost of a ticket, the stalls were the
liveliest part of the audience. Spontaneous applause, comments to get on with
it if the action was to slow, whistles or boos determined if the film was a hit
or a flop. Today a film is deemed successful based on its box office earnings,
instead of how many of its dialogues and songs were remembered, once aided by
little booklets containing the lyrics. It is difficult to imagine a film in a multiplex
achieving a platinum jubilee like Arman did in the 60s.
When Nishat Cinema finally called it a day, what we lost was
not just a cinema theatre, but a way of life, an intimate friend, a space of
shared emotions. Finding a scene funny, tragic, or romantic in the digital
isolation of film streaming, or watching TV dramas at home, does not compare
with sharing these emotions with a cinema full of people, essentially a
gathering of strangers. There is wonder at what film critic, Charles Taylor,
points out is a sense of ‘Wow, isn’t it amazing that we all find this funny!’ or sad, frightening or heroic.
The erasure of community makes people feel invisible One may speculate that elite driven societies
are unmotivated to create community spaces that make individuals feel valued
and connected to something larger than themselves. There is no intention to revive traditional
cinema, develop sports centres or improve museums. A fragmented, atomized
population is redirected to prescribed gatherings in mosques, workspaces and shopping
malls. Like the film Doraha we are at a
crossroads:
Bhooli huwi hoon dastan guzra huwa khayal hoon
Jis ko na tum sumjh sakay main aisa aik sawal hoon
I am a forgotten story, a thought that has passed
I am the question that you could not understand
Durriya Kazi
January 26,
2026
Karachi
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