So, it was a long weekend, and I was browsing for something good to watch. My rule is simple: I give the first 10 minutes to any film or series and see if it compels me to continue. If not, I skip it.
This time, I stumbled upon Tehran (2025), a film by John Abraham Entertainment. That was reason enough for me to give it a shot. So I hit play, and before I realized it, the film was over. I had sat through the entire thing.
I think that’s what we expect from content as an audience: to keep us engaged. And Tehran did that, despite it not being my preferred genre. I’m more of a slice-of-life, dramedy audience.
A while ago, I finished a piece on Brand Character, citing that a brand is a hero when no one’s watching. And when I scan the Bollywood terrain, John Abraham stands tall.
John started as a model turned actor, entering via glamour rather than theatre. That came with skepticism about his acting chops. In the early 2000s, he was mocked more than celebrated. The “handsome but wooden” label stuck. Several films didn’t click, reinforcing the “uncertain star” perception.
For any other self-made star, this would have been the end. Especially when following a no-PR-circus ideology. John stayed absent from the gossip machinery that fuels Bollywood careers. No Koffee with Karan, no orchestrated pap walks, no fake rivalries. That withdrawal itself became branding.
But John was wired differently. He maintained balance between mainstream (Dhoom, Garam Masala) and offbeat (No Smoking, Water, Kabul Express). When tagged as a “non-actor,” he didn’t go defensive. He absorbed the label and kept moving, leaning into areas where his natural presence worked: stoic, brooding, physical roles.
Then he turned producer. Vicky Donor (2012): low budget, no superstar, but relevant fresh subject. Suddenly, he was “the guy backing stories others wouldn’t.” JA Entertainment alternated between action entertainers and content-driven risks. He chose scripts where performances weren’t about flamboyance but concept strength.
Over time, he earned his tribe through respect, not mania. He stopped trying to prove he could do everything and built a selective filmography around what felt authentic. That gave him more credibility than chasing validation ever could.
In brand terms: a company that stops apologizing for not being flashy and doubles down on being reliable in its lane. John has become that kind of brand.
But this isn’t about John, his production company, or its latest offering Tehran. This is about us – the audience.
What kind of consumer brand are we becoming? Because there is one, and it dictates what gets produced.
Think of it as the collective personality we project through our choices. Every ticket purchase, every click, every early walkout sends an economic signal. Industries read these like market research, then commission accordingly.
Korean audiences built the gold standard. They stopped settling for mediocre local content in the 1990s, started importing Hollywood and Japanese films instead. This forced Korean filmmakers to level up or lose their own market. The result? A generation that gave us Parasite, Oldboy, and Squid Game. Korean viewers now treat cinema as premium events—they’ll wait for something worth their time rather than consume whatever’s available.
Meanwhile, American audiences taught Hollywood they’ll only show up for event cinema. Pack theatres for Marvel spectacles, skip everything else. So that’s exactly what they get: tentpoles and tumbleweeds.
The most dramatic shift happened in India. For decades, Bollywood dominated because Hindi was the “national” language. But South Indian viewers demanded technical excellence, mythological depth, unapologetic scale. When Baahubali proved Telugu films could capture the entire country—not just South states—it permanently altered Indian cinema economics. Suddenly everyone chased the “pan-India” formula because consumers proved they’ll cross language barriers for superior craft.
Now Bollywood copies not just Hollywood and South Korea, but South Indian cinema too. Because that’s what they’ve convinced themselves we want.
But here’s the uncomfortable question: If the content is being produced based on audience’s preference, then what does it say about Bollywood.
If South Korean viewers could mature their expectations, why do we still fund mediocrity?
Instead of declaring Bollywood dead, can we look at ourselves and question: should we root for War 2, Coolie, and Bhootni, or should we support Lunchbox, Masaan, Newton, The Diplomat, Tehran—films that actually give something worthwhile?
Because every time we choose familiar over challenging, we’re voting. Every War 2 ticket validates the remake economy. Every mindless Netflix scroll teaches algorithms we prefer background noise to focused attention. We claim to want better stories, then pre-book Coolie because it’s “guaranteed entertainment.” We complain about formula-driven content while creating the demand that makes formulas profitable.
The Tehran experience reminded me we already know how to choose better. I broke my own genre preferences because something felt different. And it delivered.
The storytellers are brave enough to explore uncharted territories. As consumers, are we brave enough to follow them there?