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Pakistani Film

Article  in  BioScope: South Asian Screen Studies · January 2015

DOI: 10.1177/0974927614550752

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Leadership Insights from Jaina text Saman Suttam
Article 1

Pakistani Film BioScope

5(2) 1–4
© 2014 Screen South Asia Trust
SAGE Publications
Los Angeles, London,
New Delhi, Singapore,
Saadat Hassan Manto Washington DC
DOI: 10.1177/0974927614550752
(Introduced, translated and annotated http://bioscope.sagepub.com
by Ali Nobil Ahmad)

Saadat Hassan Manto (1912–1955) is widely regarded as one of the finest Urdu writers in history
(Image 1). Best known for short stories penned after his arrival in Lahore in 1948, Manto’s life was
spliced in two by partition—the subject of many
of his most powerful and insightful fictional nar-
ratives and sketches. Versatile and prolific,
Manto’s background as a radio and screenwriter
in Bombay gave him considerable insight into the
realities of filmmaking, which—along with a
range of cultural, political, and social issues—
he wrote about in newspaper commentaries as
journalist in newly independent Pakistan. Manto
published “Pakistan ke Film” [Pakistani Film]
some eight months after his arrival, on August 15,
1948. The essay came out in an Urdu daily from
Lahore, Imroze, under the editorship of cele-
brated poet Faiz Ahmad Faiz. Despite its brevity
and deceptively conversational tone, the text is
evidence of Manto’s considerable insight into the
political, social, and practical financial issues at
stake when it came to film industry’s prospects.
Touching upon many of the problems that remain
principal concerns of anyone preoccupied with
the condition of cinema in Pakistan today (includ-
ing several contributors to this volume), Manto
addresses issues of religious identity and ortho-
Image 1. Manto in Lahore doxy, lack of state funding and infrastructural
frailties, private investment, marketing, distribu-
Courtesy the Manto family archives
tion, and subject matter. He also confronts the
daunting psychological and material supremacy of “Hindustani” cinematic power with a cool head;
more than can be said for most commentators in contemporary Pakistan. More hopeful than optimistic,
Manto offers no easy solutions; the specificity of Pakistan’s cultural and material dilemmas, he seems
to have understood early, were quite distinct from those of India, owing to their respective industrial
inheritances, market shares, and societal dynamics.

Ali Nobil Ahmad, Zentrum Moderner Orient, Berlin, Germany. E-mail: MISSING.
2 Saadat Hassan Manto

Trying to imagine an authentic Pakistani film is like quenching your thirst before digging a well.1
It has been a whole year since Pakistan came into existence, but in this time we have yet to witness
the emergence of an identifiably Pakistani film production house with a stamp of its own. [Why?]
Prior to partition, there was some degree of difference between Muslims and Hindus in matters of
religion, but little when it came to daily life; films have to do with the latter. For this reason, [historically]
all [our] films2 have appealed to people of every religion and every creed. For commercial reasons, films
that everyone would want to see were made—an approach that will remain in place for a very long time.
Now partition has occurred and populations have been exchanged, but here [in Pakistan] and there
[in Hindustan], the approach of filmmakers has not changed. Why would it when the issue for them is
how to make a living? If somebody in Hindustan were to make an anti-Pakistan film, then obviously it
would not be successful here. In exactly the same way, if anyone in Pakistan were to make a film that
offends the sensibilities of Hindustanis, it goes without saying there would be little sense in trying to sell
it in Hindustan—above all because the censors would not allow a film like that to be released.
Before partition, the market for Hindustani films was just Hindustan and maybe Iran and Afghanistan
as well as the smaller markets of East Africa. Compared with this, the circulation of American and
British films—which spans the entire world—was, and still, is vast; its size accounts for the inability of
Hindi film to develop and prosper to the extent it might otherwise have. Both here [in Pakistan] and there
[in Hindustan], the film industry today is even weaker for having been divided into two.
Pakistan’s share of everything is meager. The industry is practically non-existent, its future unclear.
Lahore had three or four studios. One was burned in the riots. Now there is just one left—Pancholi,3 in
which a few Muslim filmmakers are currently working. It has two poorly equipped sets. What little there
is has been put into working order by filmmakers who, though wringing their hands as they work, are
actually making films.
It might be that in a few years, once the situation has improved, these very filmmakers who are impro-
vising to cobble together half-baked productions will be standing on their own feet; maybe they will one
day strengthen the collapsing walls of Pakistan’s film industry. But when you hear these Maulvis giving
speeches wanting to impose their so-called Sharia law, one feels the very future of art is thrown into
complete uncertainty. Just the other day, an elderly man seen brandishing a great big pair of scissors
threatened “to cut off the pony tail of any Muslim girl I see without purdah.”4 Will actresses too have to
work in Burkas?
Contemplating the impact of so-called Sharia with this incident in mind, the future of musical con-
certs also appears bleak. If, God forbid, the wrong kind of religiosity begins to hold sway, then the art of
music into which Muslims once breathed life will become completely extinct here [in Pakistan]. And if
it does then making films is out of the question. This is the downside of things.
Nor are there many grounds for optimism when we try to look for positives. The basis of a film is its
story—so what kinds of stories might be made into films? There are a great many subjects to cover here
[in Pakistan], but who will make films about them? Every single one of them is linked to some vexatious
matter or another. Write something about the veil and project it on screen—you can guess yourself
what the reaction will be. Divorce is an equally good subject, but if we cannot make a bold film about
it and instead someone makes one that plays it safe, an additional danger presents itself: it could spread
the wrong message and misinform people.
Filmmakers in Hindustan do not face the number of difficulties that confront their counterparts here
at every step. They can continue to make films like those made previously since these were mostly about
Hindu society. Muslim filmmakers too for the most part also made these kinds of films; indeed, it became

BioScope, 5, 2 (2014): 1–4

Pakistani Film 3

their own mode of expression. But what kind of films will they make in Pakistan? This is a question to
which nobody yet has a clear answer.
If one individual is making a version of Heer Ranjha,5 another might be making a film called
Jihad,6 and another still, Teri Yaad, a film based on Hindu society.7 Teri Yaad might cross the border, as
can Heer Ranjha (two lovers partition will not divide). But a film like Jihad will only be successful in
Pakistan; distributors over there will not touch it with a barge pole. And if, God forbid, one such film
were to flop completely, there is one thing you can be certain of—it will finish off whoever made it.
One reason filmmakers here do not see a clear agenda before them is that the government has not yet
been able to fix one for itself. But filmmakers need to take responsibility for their own profits and
losses—governmental support was never there to begin with and nor will it be in times to come. Perhaps,
the reason the government does not give the plight of films much attention because it faces many other
complicated problems which need to be fixed as a priority. In addition to this, it takes a dim view of the
film industry and imposes tax without thinking to do anything for its improvement. For this reason, film-
makers obviously need to put their heads together to find a pathway to their own prosperity and that of
their industry.
Of these, there are several. One is to let whatever will be, be: do what you can and the people
themselves will tell us which way is right and which is wrong. This path, like others, is not without its
drawbacks: experimentation thrives when times are good, that is, when there is abundance—the com-
plete opposite of the situation here. If two or three films were to fail in succession, the whole industry
would go down the drain.
There is another route, and that is to make films exclusively about the Moguls. But this would require
inestimable funds our filmmakers do not, at the current time, possess. Suppose somebody bites the bullet
and makes one, what will become of the innovation that has been a feature of Mogul films since Pukar?8
The filmmaker will end up having no choice but to distort history by inserting Rajput characters as rivals
to the Moguls to keep the other side happy.
There are other pathways. But every single one is thorny. There [in Hindustan], films will continue to
be made; here [in Pakistan], we will carry on dithering. I say this without irony: the situation is extremely
unstable. Here [in Pakistan], there is the war in Kashmir; there, there is the occupation of Hyderabad.
Sometimes, the water gets cut off; sometimes, it is allowed to flow freely. If you want to go there, you
will need to get yourself a permit; cross-border trade can get halted at random. Which capitalist would
possibly invest in this unpredictable and chaotic world? Who would invest their savings in making
films? Everywhere, there is doubt and uncertainty; the film world is well and truly on its knees.
Should one build a studio or not? And if one does, is there a place that, in the event of war breaking
out between the two domains, will remain safe and secure? Should there be Hindu characters in films?
You cannot have people on this side of the border not liking it. There is no problem in having Islamic
characters, but those on other side must not get offended. Those who plan to make Islamic films, I sus-
pect, are now wondering whether or not they can show an actress reading the Quran or praying and even
now many producers have not yet been able to decide whether they will work here or there. It is not
possible, at this point in time, to say what kind of films will be made in Pakistan. Nor is it possible to
predict what will happen tomorrow. And we are a long way from knowing what it is about our cinema
that is authentically Pakistani.
Nonetheless, our film companies over here, which are few in number, are doing all they can to
survive, and their efforts to do so are impressive, because they are shooting completely in the dark.9 If
they proceed sensibly and there is at least a partial reduction in the government’s neglect, there might just

BioScope, 5, 2 (2014): 1–4

 4 Saadat Hassan Manto

be grounds for optimism; life could be breathed into a film industry which, once resuscitated, would be
in a position to stand on its own two feet.

Notes
1. Translation of the opening sentence has sought to simplify what is an odd and somewhat confusing simile
in which the author likens imagining an authentic Pakistani film to becoming “independent of,” or “indifferent”
(be niyãz) to one’s thirst before digging a well.
2. The author speaks of “all films”; he means all South Asian films.
3. Born in Karachi, Dalsukh M. Pancholi (1906–1959) studied scriptwriting and cinematography at New York.
His distribution firm, Empire Talkies, was founded in Lahore in 1931 and became the largest distributor of
American films in northern India. Among the films he directed as head of his own production company, Pancholi
Art pictures, was a feature called Gul Bakauli (1938) in which Noorjahan starred as a child. He fled to Bombay
during partition, leaving his studios in the care of his legal advisor, Deewan Sardari Lal, who produced the first
film to be released in Pakistan, Teri Yaad (1948). Sardari Lal released a second feature, Ghulat Fehmi (1949)
before both of Pancholi’s studios were declared evacuee property. The one located on Upper Mall was allot-
ted to singer Malika Pukhraj who migrated to Lahore after partition (1912–2004). See Mushtaq Gazdar (1997,
pp. 19–21).
4. The precise meaning of “without purdah” here is somewhat unclear. It probably refers to a woman “with her
head uncovered.” More broadly, however, it could be taken to imply a refusal of seclusion within the home.
5. Heer Ranjha is a Punjabi folk tale about Romeo and Juliet-like lovers that has been adapted for the screen
several times in both India and Pakistan.
6. Jihad, Zahoor Raja’s second film starring Yasmin Shaukat, was released in 1950.
7. Directed by Deewan Sardari Lal, Teri Yaad (1948) was the first ever feature released in Pakistan. It starred
Asha Poslay and Nasir Khan, Dilip Kumar’s brother. For a discussion of Pakistani cinema’s early years, see
Mushtaq Gazdar (1997).
8. Pukar/The Call (Sohrab Modi, 1939) was a historical film about the challenges posed by Jehangir’s inflex-
ible codes of justice to Mughal–Rajput relations. Modi made several other spectacular historicals through
his company, Minerva Movietone, including Sikander (1941), Prithvi Vallabh (1943), and Jhansi Ki Rani/
Queen of Jhansi (1953). Pukar has been described as a “Muslim historical” distinct from the “First Wave” of
“Muslim Social” films which largely used modern feudal settings for their stories, as distinct from “New Wave”
Muslim Socials which, since the 1970s, have depicted contemporary Muslim life in post-colonial India. For
a discussion, see Ira Bhaskar and Richard Allen (2009).
9. The pun on “shoot” is unintended but welcome.

References
Bhaskar, Ira, & Allen, Richard (2009). Islamicate cultures of Bombay cinema. New Delhi: Tulika Books.
Gazdar, Mushtaq (1997). Pakistan cinema 1947–1997. Karachi: OUP.
Lal, Deewan Sardari (1948). Teri Yaad [Motion Picture].
———. (1949) Ghulat Fehmi [Motion Picture].
Modi, Sohrab (1939). Pukar/The Call [Motion Picture].
———. (1941). Sikander [Motion Picture].
———. (1943). Prithvi Vallabh [Motion Picture].
———. (1953). Jhansi Ki Rani/Queen of Jhansi [Motion Picture].
Pancholi, Dalsukh M. (1938). Gul Bakauli [Motion Picture].
Raja, Zahoor (1950). Jihad [Motion Picture].

BioScope, 5, 2 (2014): 1–4

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