Can content and commerce co-exist? This was one of the main topics of discussion at the recently held THE WEEK Salon presented by Bandhan Bank. “We are not an NGO. Films need to make money,” said Karan Johar in a conversation with Mumbai-based writer and editor Priyanka R. Khanna. In one sharp line, he distilled an industry-wide shift away from the moral anxiety of making “meaningful” cinema and towards the unapologetic pursuit of box office returns. His studio Dharma Productions, he said, would lean more decisively into commercial filmmaking in future. Johar may have been the one to say it aloud, but the sentiment has been building for a while.
Hindi cinema, say experts, is emerging from a period of deep uncertainty. The pandemic disrupted theatrical viewing, accelerated the rise of streaming platforms and briefly created space for mid-budget, content-driven films to flourish. But the post-pandemic box office has told a different story—one where spectacle, scale and star power have regained dominance, while smaller films struggle to pull audiences to theatres. The result is an industry that is becoming more risk-averse.
With tentpole films mounted on massive budgets playing in theatres and niche stories pushed to streaming platforms, the middle ground for urban dramas, family films and experimental narratives—what Dharma specialises in—is rapidly shrinking. When Johar said that they don’t run an NGO, they run an enterprise, he was underscoring his production house’s financial accountability to partners and exhibitors in an increasingly volatile market. “Every now and then, I feel morally responsible to make a film without expectations,” he admitted. “But largely, we make films that give us that big Friday.”
For films and series like Guilty (2020) or Call Me Bae (2024)—which align with Dharma’s sensibility but are not crowd pullers, lacking scale, familiarity and broader appeal—OTT might be a more suitable space. “We can get away with it in streaming,” said Johar. But even the streaming space is far from creatively autonomous. “We are at the beck and call of the streamers,” he said, describing a system driven heavily by data, platform-specific strategies and shifting audience metrics. Content creators, in this ecosystem, are increasingly responding to briefs rather than following their creative instinct.
Even internationally, quality is no longer enough to win awards if you are not backed by big studios. Johar has first-hand experience, having backed the Oscar-nominated Homebound (2025) through an aggressive campaign which still failed as the film did not make it to the shortlist. “You have to spend a lot of money,” he said. Visibility, networking and deep pockets now determine global recognition as much as the film itself. The Homebound experience was a reminder that even prestige cinema operates within a financial ecosystem where influence must be bought.
Back home, this economic realism is shaping not just what gets made, but who it is made for. Johar spoke about the rise of a Gen Z workforce at Dharma. “They are deeply emotional, intense and vulnerable,” he said. This sensibility is increasingly reflected in the stories being told, particularly on streaming, with narratives that embrace ambiguity, discomfort and the “grey” areas of human relationships. “We live in all those 50 shades of grey,” Johar noted. He feels that contemporary storytelling is less about clear moral binaries and more about lived complexity.
Even as Johar acknowledges the market’s tilt towards hyper-masculine spectacle—with theatres dominated by “huge, testosterone-heavy alpha male kind of films”—he is clear about his own creative boundaries. Speaking about the recent success of Dhurandhar, he admitted to feeling both admiration and distance. “I will never be able to depict this kind of bloodshed ever,” he said. The commercial success of such cinema is undeniable, but so is the fact that not every filmmaker can, or should, pivot to meet it. “I am hoping audiences embrace an antithesis to this kind of violent filmmaking,” he added, although he predicts the opposite: that the coming decade of Indian cinema will see an even sharper turn towards spectacle-driven storytelling.
In this profit-driven system, Johar insists on holding on to certain thematic commitments, particularly his inclination for relationship-driven, emotionally-layered and “feminist” storytelling. “I will always tell feminist stories,” he said.
Johar also pointed to the backlash to his film Rocky Aur Rani Kii Prem Kahaani (2023) as a telling marker of audience conditioning. He recalled the criticism for Ranveer Singh’s portrayal, particularly in the scenes where his character embraces vulnerability and even performs classical dance. Johar questioned why such expressions of masculinity still provoke discomfort. The response, he suggested, reveals “how narrowly mainstream cinema continues to define the male hero, even as filmmakers attempt to expand that spectrum”.
In a market currently leaning towards hyper-masculine, action-driven protagonists, such departures are often seen as risky, another reminder that while the industry may occasionally experiment, the gravitational pull of formula remains hard to resist. What emerges, then, is a tightrope walk. Johar might believe that films must make money and that the industry cannot afford idealism at scale, but he is equally aware of how profit-driven cinema can lead to homogenisation. The market, he said, may reward formula, but identity still shapes legacy. And in an industry increasingly driven by what works, the real negotiation may lie in how much of oneself a filmmaker is willing to hold on to while chasing what sells.
For years, Bollywood carried an implicit expectation that it must deliver not just entertainment, but also social messaging. Johar’s assertion cuts through that expectation, reframing filmmaking as a business first. Yet, the move towards overt commercialism raises uncomfortable questions. If major studios retreat from mid-scale storytelling, who sustains narrative diversity? Streaming platforms, once seen as the natural home for such stories, are themselves favouring safer bets, moving away from the experimental zeal of their early years.
By openly prioritising commerce, Johar is articulating what many producers seldom admit. The question is not whether Bollywood will become more commercial than what it is currently, but whether it can do so without losing the creative instinct. Johar’s declaration choosing profit over plot has reignited an old debate about whether cinema can be both meaningful and profitable, or must it pick a side?