Originally built during the British Raj, Nishat Cinema was long considered one of Karachi's premier and most iconic single-screen theaters
Pakistan has never been short of people who love films. From the packed cinema halls of Lahore and Karachi to the film magazines that circulated across the country, cinema has long been part of our popular culture. We have celebrated actors, followed film releases, discussed songs, argued over performances and remembered films long after they left the screens.
But there is a question worth asking: how often do we actually sit down and critically discuss the films we watch?
Today, a film's reception is increasingly shaped by trailers, celebrity interviews, social media reactions, promotional campaigns and online reviews. A new release can generate thousands of opinions within hours. People share their favourite scenes, rate performances, recommend films and tell others whether something is worth watching.
There is nothing inherently wrong with this. In fact, the ability of ordinary viewers to participate in conversations about cinema is valuable. Film discussion should never be restricted to academics, journalists or people with formal qualifications.
However, there is a difference between telling someone whether a film is worth watching and examining what that film is actually saying.
A review might tell us that the acting was convincing, the cinematography was beautiful or the story was disappointing. Criticism asks different questions. What does the film reveal about the society in which it was made? Whose perspective does it represent? What ideas does it reinforce? What does it leave out? And why does any of this matter?
This distinction is particularly important in Pakistan, where cinema has a history that deserves more than occasional nostalgia, promotional coverage and discussions about box-office performance.
We have learned how to announce that a film is worth watching. We have not learned, nearly enough, how to talk about what that film is actually doing.
Pakistan has a history of film journalism.
Before social media, before YouTube reviews and before online entertainment portals, Pakistan had an established tradition of film journalism.
One of its most important figures was Ilyas Rashidi, widely known as Baba-e-Filmi Sahafat (the pioneer of film journalism in Pakistan). In 1948, he founded Nigar Weekly in Karachi, a publication dedicated to cinema at a time when Pakistan's own film industry was still finding its footing.
The circumstances surrounding its establishment are worth remembering. Following Partition, many established film-production centres, including Bombay and Calcutta, became part of India. Lahore was the principal film-production centre inherited by Pakistan. The newly established industry faced a shortage of films and the challenge of building its own production infrastructure.
Initially, Nigar Weekly published material from Indian film magazines, including stories about Hindi film actors. As Pakistani studios and local productions developed, the publication increasingly turned its attention towards Pakistani films, actors and filmmakers.
It published film news, reviews, readers' opinions and satirical illustrations. It became a place where audiences could follow the developing industry and participate in conversations about cinema.
Rashidi also established the Nigar Awards in 1958, recognising films released in 1957. The awards became an important institution of Pakistani film culture and continued for decades.
This history matters because it demonstrates that film journalism in Pakistan was not simply about promoting celebrities. It developed alongside the country's film industry, documenting its people, productions, achievements and changing circumstances.
However, it would be inaccurate to romanticise this history as a perfect model of independent criticism. Nigar Weekly maintained close relationships with film personalities and producers. Its relationship with the industry was reciprocal: the publication promoted films, while industry figures provided access to information and personal stories.
That relationship is worth examining today. It reminds us that the tension between journalism, promotion and professional relationships is not something social media invented. It has existed within Pakistani film journalism for decades.
In February 2023, Dawn Images published an article titled What Happened to Nigar Weekly?, revisiting the publication's history and its declining circumstances. The article discussed its financial difficulties, the changing media environment and the loss of the Nigar Awards as an important source of revenue.
The story of Nigar is not just about an old magazine. It is also about the institutions that once gave Pakistani cinema a public record and a regular space for discussion.
When publications disappear, we do not simply lose entertainment journalism. We risk losing the material through which future generations might understand their own cinematic history.
Film criticism is more than a personal opinion
One of the problems with contemporary film conversations is that the words review and criticism are often treated as interchangeable.
They are related, but they are not identical.
A review generally evaluates a particular film. It might discuss its direction, performances, screenplay, editing, music and overall effectiveness. It helps an audience decide whether to watch something.
Film criticism goes further. It examines the film's artistic choices, cultural context, political implications and relationship with the society around it.
Consider a Pakistani film that tells the story of a wealthy family.
A review might discuss the performances, production design and quality of the screenplay.
A critical essay might ask why wealthy families occupy so much space in our popular entertainment. It might examine how wealth is represented, how domestic workers appear in the background, whose problems are treated as important and whose lives remain invisible.
Neither approach is necessarily more valuable in every situation. Audiences need reviews, and filmmakers deserve recognition for their technical and artistic achievements.
But without deeper criticism, our understanding of cinema remains limited to whether we enjoyed what we watched.
A film is not simply a sequence of events performed by actors. It is a collection of decisions: what the camera shows, where it looks, which characters receive attention, which voices are heard and which realities are excluded.
These decisions can reveal a great deal about the culture in which a film is produced.
This is where criticism becomes particularly relevant to Pakistani cinema. Our films are created within a society shaped by class differences, regional identities, religious values, political tensions and changing ideas about gender and family.
A critic does not need to turn every film into a political argument. But they should be willing to recognise that films do not exist outside the world that produces them.
The critic's responsibility is to ask uncomfortable questions
Pakistan's cinematic history provides several examples of why serious criticism matters.
Consider three films: Maula Jatt (1979), Khamosh Pani (2003) and Zindagi Tamasha (2019).
Maula Jatt (1979)
Directed by Younis Malik, the film is an important example of Punjabi popular cinema. Its violence, rivalries, language and rural setting offer opportunities to examine how power, masculinity, honour and justice are represented in popular storytelling.
Khamosh Pani (2003)
Directed by Sabiha Sumar, the film explores the legacy of Partition through the life of a woman in a Pakistani village. It provides an opportunity to discuss memory, religious identity, gender and the long-term consequences of historical violence.
Zindagi Tamasha (2019)
Directed by Sarmad Khoosat, the film examines social respectability, religious identity and public judgement through the story of an ordinary man whose private life becomes the subject of public scrutiny.
These films are different in style, subject and historical context. But each offers more than a plot to summarise or performances to rate.
A critic could examine the social ideas within Maula Jatt, the historical memory explored in Khamosh Pani, or the relationship between public morality and individual identity in Zindagi Tamasha.
The purpose would not be to force a particular interpretation onto the films. It would be to open up conversations that might otherwise remain unexplored.
This is also why criticism should not be confused with finding faults. A critic is not someone whose job is to dislike films or demonstrate intellectual superiority over an audience.
A good critic takes a film seriously enough to understand what it attempts, where it succeeds, where it fails and what its limitations reveal.
Sometimes that means praising a film that challenges familiar conventions. Sometimes it means questioning a film that receives widespread praise.
Both are necessary.
When everyone becomes a reviewer, what happens to criticism?
The rise of social media has changed the way people discover and discuss cinema.
YouTube, Instagram, TikTok and other digital platforms have made it possible for individuals to share their opinions without needing access to a newspaper, magazine or established publication.
This has opened doors for people who might previously have had no platform through which to express their interest in films.
In Pakistan, this is particularly relevant because film discussion can now take place beyond traditional entertainment journalism. Viewers can discuss a film in Urdu, Punjabi, Sindhi, Pashto or English, make video essays, share interpretations and introduce audiences to films that receive little mainstream attention.
It would be unfair to dismiss all this as superficial.
A creator who makes accessible videos about Pakistani film history can contribute something valuable. Someone who introduces audiences to independent cinema can help expand their understanding of the medium. A short video discussing a particular scene might encourage someone to watch a film more carefully.
The problem begins when visibility becomes confused with authority.
Having a large following does not automatically make someone a knowledgeable film critic. Equally, having a small audience does not make someone's analysis less valuable.
The number of views a review receives cannot establish whether its argument is accurate. A viral reaction cannot replace research, and a promotional interview cannot automatically be treated as independent criticism.
There is also a practical distinction between different kinds of content. A promotional video exists to generate interest. An audience reaction records an individual's response. A review evaluates a film. A critical essay examines it in greater depth.
All these formats have a place in film culture. The difficulty arises when audiences are not given enough distinction between them.
This is not an argument against influencers. It is an argument for greater transparency, stronger research and a wider range of voices.
If someone has received promotional access, is collaborating with a film's production team or is publishing sponsored content, audiences should be able to understand that context. It does not automatically invalidate their opinion, but it helps readers assess the relationship between the content and the film being discussed.
Ultimately, the question should not be whether someone is a journalist, an influencer or an ordinary film enthusiast. It should be whether they are offering an informed, honest and clearly presented perspective.
The problem of honest criticism in Pakistan
There is another question that deserves attention: how independent can film criticism be when the critic operates within the same industry they are writing about?
Pakistani cinema is a relatively interconnected creative field. Filmmakers, actors, producers, journalists, publicists and media organisations often interact through screenings, interviews, festivals and promotional events.
Professional relationships are not inherently problematic. Journalists need access to filmmakers, and critics need opportunities to watch and discuss films.
However, those relationships should not determine what can or cannot be said about a film.
A critic should be able to identify weaknesses in a production without worrying that an honest assessment will affect their future access to the industry. Similarly, filmmakers should be able to engage with criticism without treating every disagreement as a personal attack.
This is particularly important when discussing films that deal with controversial subjects.
Pakistan has a documented history of films encountering censorship and public controversy. The discussion around Zindagi Tamasha, for example, demonstrated that a film's public reception can become about much more than its direction, screenplay or performances.
Its controversy raised questions about religious sensitivities, public morality, the authority to determine what audiences can watch and the limits of artistic expression.
A 2024 research project at the Institute of Business Administration, titled 'Pakistani' Cinema: A Tamasha of Censor Boards?, examined censorship through films including Yeh Aman (1971), Maula Jatt (1979) and Zindagi Tamasha (2019).
This is precisely the kind of conversation that film criticism can contribute to.
Rather than limiting the discussion to whether a film should be released or banned, criticism can examine the film itself, the historical circumstances surrounding it, the arguments made by its opponents and supporters, and the larger questions it raises about cinema in Pakistan.
A serious film culture needs room for these conversations, including disagreement.
We are losing more than films.
Perhaps one of the strongest reasons Pakistan needs more film critics is the condition of its cinematic archive.
Pakistani cinema has a rich history, but accessing and documenting that history is not always straightforward.
In 2024, Dawn published a review of Filmi Tabsiray, a collection compiled by Lahore-based journalist Shaukat Ali Chinna. The book brings together contemporary reviews of Pakistani films released between 1948 and 1971.
The significance of this collection is worth considering.
There is a difference between reading a review written when a film was first released and reading an assessment written decades later. The former records how a film was received in its own time. It preserves the language, expectations, disagreements and cultural attitudes of the period.
The latter offers the benefit of historical distance, but it cannot entirely reproduce the original experience.
This is why contemporary film criticism is also a form of documentation.
If we do not write about the films being made today, future researchers will have fewer records of how audiences and critics responded to them.
The problem extends beyond written reviews. Old film posters, magazines, production photographs, scripts, newspaper clippings and surviving film prints are all part of the country's cinematic heritage.
Researcher Salma Siddique's academic study, Nigar Hai Toh Industry Hai, published in BioScope: South Asian Screen Studies, examines the historical significance of Nigar Weekly and its relationship with Pakistani film culture.
The University of Washington's Lahore Cinema project also discusses the absence of a comprehensive national film archive and the difficulties this creates for research into Pakistan's cinematic history.
There are, however, people and initiatives working to preserve this material.
The Princeton University Library's Pakistani Film Ephemera Collection identifies resources including the Guddu Film Archive, Khajistan, Pakistan Film Magazine and Nigar Weekly.
One particularly interesting example is Pakistan Film Magazine, an independent archival project established by Mazhar Iqbal. Its collection documents thousands of Pakistani films, artists and songs.
These initiatives demonstrate that preserving film history does not depend exclusively on large institutions. Individual researchers, collectors and enthusiasts also have an important role.
But preservation alone is not enough. An archive needs people who can study its material, interpret it and make it meaningful to new generations.
A poster can tell us when a film was released. A review can tell us how it was received. A critical essay can help explain what the film meant within the society that produced it.
All three matter.
Film criticism is a form of cultural education
There is something else missing from many conversations about cinema: the opportunity to develop an audience that watches films with curiosity rather than simply consuming them.
Film appreciation does not mean that everyone needs to study filmmaking formally. It means understanding that cinema has a language of its own.
The positioning of a camera, the use of sound, the length of a scene, the decision to withhold information, the choice of a particular location and the treatment of a character can all influence how a story is understood.
Consider the difference between watching a film and examining how it was constructed.
Why does a director choose to keep the camera at a distance from a character? Why is a particular conversation interrupted? Why does a film use silence instead of music? Why does a story unfold through the memories of one person rather than through an objective account of events?
These questions can change the way an audience experiences cinema.
They can also help audiences move beyond the idea that a film is successful only when it provides entertainment, emotional satisfaction or an easily understood conclusion.
Pakistan has people working towards this kind of understanding. Film critic and academic Aijaz Gul, for example, studied cinema at the University of Southern California and has written books on Pakistani film history. He has also taught film studies at institutions including Riphah University and SZABIST.
His work represents an important connection between film criticism, education and historical documentation.
In an interview published in 2005, Gul spoke about the lack of serious film criticism in Pakistan and argued for stronger training in film history and film appreciation.
That observation remains relevant to the question of what kind of film culture we want to develop.
We need more people who can discuss not just whether a film was entertaining, but how it works as cinema.
What does the current state of Pakistani cinema tell us?
The need for serious film discussion becomes even more important when we consider the difficulties facing the country's cinema exhibition industry.
A report published by Dawn on June 7, 2025, titled 'Lights, camera, action' needed to bring folk back to big screens, discussed the decline in cinema attendance, the closure of traditional cinema halls, the rise of multiplexes and competition from streaming platforms.
The report quoted film distributor Sheikh Abid, who said that 67 cinemas had closed across Pakistan in the preceding seven years.
It also discussed the changing economics of cinema-going and the difficulty of attracting audiences to local productions.
These developments raise questions that deserve more attention than simply asking whether a particular film was a box-office success.
What kind of films are audiences interested in watching? Are cinema halls accessible to people beyond affluent urban audiences? How are independent filmmakers supposed to reach viewers? What role can streaming platforms play in the future of Pakistani cinema?
And perhaps most importantly, what are we doing to develop an audience that is interested in more than a handful of commercially successful productions?
Criticism cannot solve the structural problems of the film industry. It cannot independently reopen cinema halls, finance productions or guarantee distribution.
But it can contribute to a culture in which films are discussed, remembered and taken seriously.
It can introduce audiences to lesser-known filmmakers, document regional cinema, question industry practices and encourage conversations that extend beyond opening-weekend figures.
If cinema is to survive as a cultural institution rather than simply a commercial product, it needs an engaged audience and an equally engaged critical culture.
Who gets to decide what good cinema looks like?
There is another issue that Pakistani film criticism needs to address: the question of taste.
For a long time, discussions about cinema have often relied on a relatively narrow understanding of what constitutes a good film.
Big productions, popular actors, commercial success and polished technical execution can dominate conversations about cinematic achievement.
But what about a small independent film made with limited resources? What about a documentary that explores a community rarely represented on screen? What about a regional-language film that does not have the distribution or promotional machinery of a mainstream Urdu production?
Does a film become less important because fewer people have watched it?
Does commercial failure automatically mean artistic failure?
Does international recognition automatically establish a film's cultural value within Pakistan?
These are questions critics should be willing to explore.
Film criticism should not become another system of gatekeeping in which a small group of people decides what everyone else should appreciate.
Nor should it dismiss popular cinema simply because it is popular.
Pakistani cinema includes commercial Urdu and Punjabi films, independent productions, documentaries, experimental work and films made in regional languages. Each has its own traditions, audiences and artistic possibilities.
A meaningful critical culture must be able to engage with all of them.
It should be possible to appreciate a commercially successful film while questioning its representation of women. It should be possible to admire an independent film while identifying weaknesses in its storytelling. It should also be possible to recognise the cultural importance of a film that is neither technically perfect nor commercially successful.
The purpose of criticism is not to establish a hierarchy in which certain kinds of cinema are automatically superior.
It is to develop the language and understanding needed to discuss cinema honestly.
What Pakistan needs is not fewer influencers, but more independent thought
It is tempting to frame this entire discussion as a conflict between traditional journalists and contemporary content creators.
That would be a mistake.
The medium through which someone discusses cinema is less important than the quality of the discussion itself.
A well-researched YouTube video can be more insightful than a poorly written newspaper review. An independent film enthusiast can offer an interpretation that an established critic has overlooked. A short social media post can introduce someone to an important film.
Likewise, a professionally published review can be superficial, and an enthusiastic promotional video can tell audiences very little about the actual film.
The distinction is not between old media and new media. It is between informed discussion and content that does not attempt to go beyond immediate reactions.
Pakistan needs more spaces where people can disagree about films without turning every disagreement into a personal dispute. It needs critics who are willing to research the history behind a film, question its artistic decisions and examine the society it reflects.
It also needs greater transparency around promotional relationships, more accessible film archives and opportunities for younger writers to develop their critical voices.
These are not unrealistic demands. They are practical ways of strengthening the country's relationship with its own cinema.
What could an orgnization like Pakistan Film Society contribute?
This is where organisations such as Pakistan Film Society have an opportunity.
A film society should not simply become another place where people find out which films are releasing or read short recommendations about what to watch.
It can become a space for developing a deeper relationship with cinema.
There are several ways this could happen:
Long-form film criticism: Publish essays that examine films through their social, historical, political and artistic contexts.
Revisiting Pakistani cinema: Re-examine older Pakistani films and discuss how their themes, representations and filmmaking techniques relate to the present.
Documenting overlooked filmmakers: Give attention to filmmakers, cinematographers, screenwriters, editors and other creative professionals whose contributions deserve further research.
Regional cinema: Encourage discussions about Punjabi, Sindhi, Pashto, Balochi and other regional-language filmmaking.
Independent voices: Publish emerging writers and film enthusiasts who can offer original perspectives, regardless of whether they have formal academic backgrounds.
Critical conversations: Create room for disagreements, alternative interpretations and constructive criticism.
Film history and preservation: Encourage research into old publications, film posters, archival photographs, interviews and surviving film records.
The goal should not be to create a publication that only praises independent cinema or criticises commercial filmmaking. It should be to develop a publication that takes all forms of cinema seriously enough to examine them.
Pakistan has a cinematic history that deserves to be documented, questioned and understood. Its contemporary filmmakers deserve audiences who engage with their work beyond promotional campaigns. And its emerging writers deserve spaces where they can develop the ability to think and write critically.
A film society can help bring these elements together.
We need to learn how to talk about cinema
Perhaps the most important thing to recognise is that film criticism is not separate from the experience of watching films. It is an extension of it.
We watch films because they entertain us, move us, frighten us, challenge us or allow us to experience lives different from our own. But the conversation should not end when the credits begin.
We should be able to ask why a film affected us, what it revealed, what it misunderstood and what it failed to acknowledge.
We should be able to appreciate a filmmaker without agreeing with every decision they make. We should be able to criticise a film without dismissing the effort behind it. And we should be able to discuss Pakistani cinema without constantly measuring it against the standards of other film industries.
Influencers can introduce audiences to films. Reviewers can help people decide what to watch. Filmmakers can create the stories that become part of our cultural memory.
But critics have another responsibility: to keep asking questions after the excitement surrounding a film has passed.
Pakistan does not need to choose between film influencers and film critics. It needs a culture in which both can contribute, while audiences are encouraged to distinguish promotion from journalism, personal opinion from researched analysis, and popularity from artistic significance.
We have had film journalism since the earliest years of Pakistani cinema. We have had publications such as Nigar, critics and historians such as Aijaz Gul, and individuals who have worked to preserve the films and publications of our past.
What we need now is to build upon that history rather than allow it to become another subject we only revisit nostalgically.
Because a country's cinema is not defined only by the films it produces. It is also defined by the conversations it has about them.
