espite all the fervour, only two films appear to have been released on Eid-ul-Azha this year.

Over the last two decades, numerous attempts have been made to revive and revitalise the country’s cinema industry. Successive governments of varying political orientations have introduced initiatives and cultural policies focused primarily on the resuscitation of film.

There is a sense of nostalgia when recalling how many more films were released in the past, particularly up until the end of the 1970s. It was not uncommon for more than a hundred films to be released annually, with the focal release days being the two Eids, occasions of festivity and cultural celebration.

Typically, films in the subcontinent were released on Fridays, with Eid and certain Hindu festivals being notable exceptions. Audiences would flock to cinema houses, queuing to purchase tickets. When crowds became unmanageable, the phenomenon was dubbed khirki tor, referring to the ticket window being overwhelmed. If this level of demand lasted the entire week, it became known as khirki tor hafta suggesting the rush was so intense it could have broken the ticket window.

It was the lowest-priced seating that often made or broke a film. Though the actual ticket value was lower in earlier days, by the post-Partition era and through the 1950s and 60s, the standard price was bara aanay three-quarters of a rupee. The volume of tickets sold at that price determined a film’s box office success. Regardless of how well a film performed among those in the gallery who paid two-and-a-half to three rupees it was always the masses, in greater numbers and at lower price points, who ultimately decided a film’s fate.

Film in the subcontinent was long considered low culture, a prejudice that had earlier coloured perceptions of theatre and salon music performances, and which carried over into cinema. The so-called upper classes generally did not attend film screenings; only social outliers and quiet rebels went, often on the sly. The typical song-and-dance routines and overtly sentimental expressions of emotion were viewed as too lowbrow. Their tastes, to some extent, were instead satisfied by English-language films, which ran for a week or two in cinemas across the subcontinent.

When radio was introduced in the 1930s, it partially catered to the tastes of the upper classes and was considered more respectable to listen to, although it still caused cultural disruptions in families and communities. It was accused of bringing fahashi (vulgarity) and berahrawi (waywardness) from the cinemas into the four walls of the home. As a compromise, radios were often allowed only in the mardana (male) section of the house, keeping women safely away from this supposed moral decline.

Television arrived with similar resistance, though the backlash was arguably less intense and shorter-lived than that faced by radio. Television sets swiftly moved from drawing rooms to bedrooms, in part because the layout of homes had changed. The traditional mardana/zanana division had given way to more integrated living spaces, closer in style to European residential design, as introduced during the colonial era.

In India, a much greater volume of production incorporated a variety that was largely lacking in Pakistan. The arrival of the VCR and, later, the satellite television revolution changed the rules and opened up broader possibilities. Cinema could no longer survive under protectionist policies and was forced to compete. In Pakistan, the industry struggled, constrained by its smaller scale and heavy censorship.

The digital age, particularly the rise of mobile phones, has further redefined viewership along with the medium and style of entertainment. The isolation imposed by the Covid-19 pandemic dealt a serious blow to traditional cinema-going habits so that even the largest film industries are now feeling the pressure.

Ironically, those who once dismissed our films as low culture now yearn for their return. How the years change our perceptions – gilding the past as it recedes further into memory.

The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore.