Over the last decade, Bollywood screenwriters have found a new short-hand: social media. Whether it’s Ranbir Kapoor’s expedited ascent as a musician in Ae Dil Hai Mushkil (2016) or a rival politician’s fall from grace because of a leaked sex tape in Mirzapur (2018-present), social media’s omnipresence in mainstream films and shows reflects our hyper-digital era. But it has also become a source for narrative convenience, where a ‘viral’ clip or a tweet ends up (usually) overestimating its impact in the real world. In the last few years, Bollywood has zoomed in further by including the social media sphere as a part of the setting, where there’s at least one influencer character in the primary cast. Films like Kho Gaye Hum Kahan (2023), the web series Call Me Bae (2024), and the recent Vikramaditya Motwane film, Ctrl (2024) – all feature influencers as principal characters (coincidentally all three films also star Ananya Panday). Mainstream films and shows rarely distil subcultures with nuance and care, therefore it’s no suꦉrprise that they haven’t done justice to the depiction of social media—a dark, lonely place beyond its bright pixels. And showcase influencers beyond the stereotypical portrayal as someone shallow, transactional, or too uninformed—ending up as a comic relief.
One thing that bothered me no end about Motwane’s film is an influencer asking a brand-new AI tool about TOR—a browser for the dark web. While I empathise with the intent of the makers to explain it to an audience unfamiliar with what the ‘dark web’ might be, I feel it could’ve been done in a less clumsy way. By getting Nella (Panday) to ask her AI assistant, who is ready with a Wikipedia answer, it felt like Motwane was trying to move on to the next thing in the fastest way possible, without fully investigating the reason behind his choice. “I don’t think this level of idiot-proofing is necessary,” says creator Arushi Kapoor, “but it’s becoming a trend these days.꧃” She also talks about how most people watching Netflix would have been in the vicinity of a joke being cracked around the dark web or digital surveillance.
Akshay Nayar, a filmmaker/creator, argues that while we used to be surprised about seeing targeted ads on our social media feeds four-five years ago, it’s become normal today. “These da⛎ys, we scream the names of things whose ads we wish to see,” he says half-jokingly. “I think, consciously or subconsciously, we’ve accepted the dystopia.” One thing that irked N♏ayar was how Nella would keep her camera on all the time—without the slightest bit of paranoia. But then he rationalises it with the fact that how GenZ aggressively overshares their lives online, mainly out of ignorance. “I’ve seen people with 600 subscribers giving a tour of their home, their family, tagging and posting every place they’re in. If someone wants to get you, they just need to go through your feed. People have gotten robbed because of this.”
Even though Nayar didn’t love Ctrl, he isn’t dismissive of it because his own mother was spooked by the film. “The concept felt a little dated to me, but that’s probably because I’d seen Black Mirror almost a decade ago. So, maybe you and I are not the audience for Ctrl,” he says. “On the other hand, my mother is now seeing her Alexa device in a totally new light.” Bedi, who acted in Thank You For Coming (2022) and Trial By Fire (2023), concedes that while most films capture some nuances of the influencer world, there’s some pigeonholing. “Not everything comes from a performative place, it’s what makes us relatable.” She adds how social media has disrupted the hegemony of celebrityhood, but it’s still seen as a non-serious profession, which contributes to its distasteful depictions. Kapoor echoes Bedi’s statement, explaining how each time she meets a prospective client who isn’t clued into social media, she has to do this ‘dance’ of explaining her journey into the creator economy. “I feel everyone views it a bit negatively—there’s a presumption that little work goes into it. It doesn’t need much thinking or strategising. As if my whole journey 𒊎is a result of some accidental fame.”
One thing that irks all these creators is the myth of ‘viral’ videos on the Internet, and how life changes after. “Gone are the times where one viral video makes a star out of a creator,” says Bedi, “Given how the creator scene is today (and has been for a while), one such video gets you attention for two days, without any guarantee of followers or fame.” Kapoor concurs: “It’s a very Ted Talk-ish thing to say, but people talk about the one video that got ten million hits. But they also need to focus on the many videos that didn’t work. Like Yashraj Mukhate, he went viral with Rasode mein kaun tha—but it took him a few years to reach there.”
It’s obviously not all hopeless—Bollywood has made a few realistic films depicting the social media jungle. Like Zoya Akhtar’s Gully Boy (2019) that showcases Murad’s gradual rise from the shanties of Dharavi to becoming the opening act for an international artist. Similarly, in Bhakshak (2024), a stringer in Bihar exposes an abuse ring through her YouTube channel but doesn’t go viral till the very end. Even after the national dailies pick the news up from her channel. Dibakar Banerjee’s Love, Sex Aur Dhokha 2 (2024) does a splendid job of cutting the influencer culture to size, carving personas🌟 out of people, mining them for their insecurities, fears and their sheer desperation parading as ambition.
Bedi believes the short shelf-life of a content creator in today’s times is one trick that filmmakers have missed till now—depicting the anxiety of a creator [except LSD 2]. “It could be because of anything; the algorithm could change or there could be a new trend. You’re running a business, and you have to be wireﷺd in all the time.” Nayar makes a bold prediction for the influencer economy in the next decade, saying many will come to terms with burnout, and꧒ it’s going to be a rollercoaster. “Everyone seems to be chasing this mirage”. Is Bollywood watching closely?
