‘The Ba***ds of Bollywood’ (2025) Netflix Series Review - The Conflicting Vision of Aryan Khan

The OTT platforms are often accused of stifling creative voices, of surrendering to the very formula they once aimed to resist by backing bold, original projects. Take Netflix, the most obvious example. What began with the launch of something like Sacred Games (followed by other interesting swings like Leila and Ghoul) soon descended into mediocrity with Bard of Blood, Khakee: The Bihar Chapter, Mismatched, Kota Factory, Class, and Dabba Cartel (the list is long, but you get the gist). There have been excellent Netflix Originals here and there (Kohrra, Guns & Gulaabs, Delhi Crime, Killer Soup, Yeh Kaali Kaali Ankhein), but these have proved to be exceptions, not the norm. To see just how bad things have become — how creativity has been placed under the control of unimaginative, risk-averse studio heads — watch The Ba***ds of Bollywood, a comedy drama from the mind of Aryan Khan.
 

Directors usually make their debuts with a world or material they are familiar with, as it helps them convey their vision through personal experience. As the son of superstar Shah Rukh Khan, Aryan Khan must have extensive exposure to and deep knowledge of the Hindi film industry — its actors, directors, and studio heads. It makes sense, then, that The Ba***ds of Bollywood is set amidst the egos of actors, the struggles of a newcomer, a high-rise Dharma studio, and the movie mafia. What Aryan has to say about this world is almost inconsequential (who knew that actors bitch about each other and don't always indulge in intellectual discussions — that the macho hero on screen bows before gangsters in the real world and needs bail papers to walk out of a police station!). The Ba***ds of Bollywood is not a fluff piece on filmmaking like The Studio. In fact, Aryan has little interest in talking about the actual filmmaking process (we only go behind the scenes and onto the set at the beginning of Episode 1). The seven-episode series uses the world of movies as a backdrop for clichés. A character promises to "seal his lips" — to keep a secret safe. In the very next scene, he opens his mouth and reveals all the details. Jaraj Saxena (Rajat Bedi) makes a spoof call to Karan Johar by posing as Karishma Talwar (Sahher Bambba). When the real Karishma calls, Johar starts hurling abuses, thinking it's still Jaraj making the call. Karishma sees Aasmaan Singh (Lakshya Lalwani) kissing a girl, jumps to the wrong conclusion, and drives off. Had she waited a few more seconds, she would have seen Aasmaan rejecting the girl (this is the oldest cliché in the book). And during a funeral, we get a brief, cutesy flashback just so we can understand how much two characters supposedly loved each other.

Clichés, however, can yield pleasure when employed with feeling and vigor. Aryan, thankfully, has an affection for the well-worn path, which is why these banalities don't sink the ship; they don't bore. Yet there's a tension between these trite moments and the youthful spin Aryan wants to impose on the material. He likes the old stuff, but he also wants to view his story through a new, energetic lens. That lively spirit is evoked through expletives and dramatic forcefulness. The dialogues are delightfully coarse, and with contracts acting as forces of confinement and suppression, the story takes the shape of a high-stakes thriller. But Aryan isn't content with a single source of stress, so he pulls the narrative tight through Ajay Talwar (Bobby Deol). Ajay hates Aasmaan and doesn't want him to date his daughter, Karishma. The reason, at first, seems to be Aasmaan's opinion on nepotism, which he throws towards Karishma as a taunt (this roundtable reminds you of the one involving Siddhant Chaturvedi and Ananya Panday — the one where he said, "Jahan apne sapne poore hote hai, wahan inke struggle shuru hote hai"). The actual reason, though, is revealed to be something else, which I won't spoil here. However, it's worth mentioning how deftly it's foreshadowed through...certain kinds of situations and dialogue (a brother talks about his sister as if she's a slut, a sister accidentally catches her brother in a "compromising position," and a man considers someone lucky for having a hot mother).
 

With The Ba***ds of Bollywood, Aryan proves himself to be a clever dispenser of plot points — a director who adeptly generates surface-level rewards. Look how smartly he uses the line, "Mai auraton pe haath nahi utha ta," or how he treats an Emraan Hashmi cameo. Even a Badshah bit receives a funny callback later. These moments, though entertaining, don't amount to much. Aryan, at best, generates temporary pleasures. He offers brief shots of joy but doesn't sustain any consistent tone. If one scene asks you to feel sad about a liver problem, the next motivates you to laugh with the shooting of an advertisement. If one moment showcases Gafoor Bhai's (Arshad Warsi) sense of humor, the next offers a glimpse of the devil within him as he asks someone to join him for dinner. The Ba***ds of Bollywood is essentially about control: Ajay wants to control Karishma, and Freddy wants to control Aasmaan. The latter represents a case of a corporation (Sodawallah Productions) trying to hold sway over personal freedom (Aasmaan is not allowed to work in a Karan Johar production). This corporate-versus-personal dynamic is also evident in the contrast between Aryan's eccentricity and Netflix's demands. One can feel Aryan wanting to take more leaps, itching to go as dark as Anurag Kashyap, but something holds him back. It seems as if someone told him to color within the lines—to go wild, but with caution. As a result, we see two conflicting sides of Aryan. One part wants to be gloomy and raw, while the other strives to be a crowd-pleasing entertainer. The Aryan who delivers weak emotional scenes, like the one involving death and a funeral, clashes with the Aryan who offers a dumb but diverting car chase sequence.

The final product, alas, is the worst of both worlds. The weepy drama undermines comedy, and the comedy undermines the weepy drama. This tonal inconsistency is mitigated by cheeky cameos and an illusion of zest (credit goes to editor Nitin Baid). What's more, a character, at one point, mocks those "roaming around the trees" romances, but Aryan's view of romance is equally chaste and simple. Despite all the flirty gazes and sexual undertones, there is no intimacy, no sex, no fiery passion between Karishma and Aasmaan. The reason for this is illuminated by that twist in the climax, though it also discloses how tame Aryan is with his vision. He could have been Park Chan-wook of Oldboy, but he settles for being a seemingly edgy Karan Johar. It's still too early to pass a verdict on this director, but one thing is definitely clear: he shows a lot of promise and talent. Anyway, now that Aryan has made his debut, next time he shouts "Action!" he should make the movie or show he truly wants—as an uninhibited director.

Final Score- [5/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times