A quick fade-in reveals a fog-laden sky. Over it, an aerial shot of a mosque appears as the Azaan fills the air. The call to prayer is overtaken by the mechanical hum of a power loom. In the half-light, a worker bends over the machine. Successive cuts capture hundreds of workers, their bodies pressed against a closed door, eyes fixed on the threshold. They seem to wait for the loom, an ordinary ritual, but before intent becomes clear, a title card appears: Supermen of Malegaon. A bell rings over the title, a sound identical to those marking the shifts in the looms. But this is a trick of cinema. As the screen fades in again, the door opens, and the same sea of workers surges forward — not toward the looms, but into the dark embrace of a cinema hall.

A voice-over kicks in soon dissolving into a talking head. Malegaon, the voice tells us, is a town shaped by two obsessions: looms and cinema. Each Friday, after the Jumma prayers, workers gather at the theatre's gates, yearning for the brief escape offered by new releases. The voice traces unseen lines across the town: a Hindu-majority on one side, a Muslim-majority on the other. The divisions are stark, the communal tensions ever-present. 

Deception As Art

These opening two minutes of Faiza Ahmed Khan's Supermen of Malegaon deceive you in more ways than one. Chief among them is how effortlessly they convince you that you're watching a work of fiction. And that is precisely the film's brilliance. It stretches the language of non-fiction without ever announcing its intentions. Because everything about these two minutes suggests that this cannot be real. Where else would you find a town where people cling to the gates of a cinema hall long before a show begins, as if the screen holds something vital? Where else would communal tensions fade away under the dark glow of a projector? 

But look closer, and you'll see that Malegaon is not a place from a film but a place about films. Look closer, and you'll realise this could only exist in a country like India, where the movies are not just watched but lived. Because Malegaon, in all its contradictions, is nothing less than a microcosm of India itself. A place where endless hours of labour define survival, Hindu-Muslim divisions define existence, and cinema ultimately delineates life.

More Than An Underdog Story

Released in 2008, the documentary has since earned numerous international accolades and attained cult status among cinephiles — and rightfully so. On the surface, it is the underdog story of Sheikh Nasir and his group of friends, who once shot and edited wedding videos. It was their sheer love for cinema that led them to establish a unique tradition of crafting irreverent parodies of iconic Bollywood classics. The documentary captures them at a crucial juncture as they move from VCRs to digital editing, from Bollywood to Hollywood, while embarking on the ambitious task of creating Malegaon Ka Superman, a local reimagining of the beloved superhero myth.

But subtextually, the film is about filmmaking itself. It is about bending and breaking the rules of the medium. It is about the small, often invisible struggles that shape the process: scraping together funds, rescuing a camera after it falls into a pond, writing a screenplay that balances heart with spectacle, finding the right costumes, making a hero fly, casting a heroine in a town where women aren't allowed to act, or giving a villain a conflict the audience can both laugh at and believe in. It is a story of a community bound by a shared obsession. Because, for them, filmmaking is neither an industry nor a profession, it is resistance. It is about the democratisation of cinema: an art form that, at its heart, should always be by the people, for the people, and of the people.

Sincere Intentions

Credit must go to Khan's lens: it never patronises, never exoticises.  She stands back, letting the story emerge, revealing a portrait of Malegaon that is as socially conscious as it is cinematically wondrous. After all, her craft is almost as inventive as Nasir's. Her intention, too, is as sincere — to tell a story where cinema, against all odds, triumphs. And now, nearly 17 years later, the tables have turned. In a striking reversal, Bollywood, creatively stagnant for years, finds itself looking towards Malegaon for reinvention. The very industry that once provided the raw material for Malegaon's parodies is now drawing inspiration from its audacious spirit.

This Friday, Superboys of Malegaon, directed by Reema Kagti and written by Varun Grover, arrives in cinemas. Both Kagti and Grover have for long championed reinvention, making them the perfect storytellers for this tale of Nasir, Malegaon, and a community that knows nothing but the power of imagination. The film is co-produced by Zoya Akhtar and Farhan Akhtar, whose father's stories were once remade as parodies by Nasir. For years, the sister-brother duo has championed stories of underdog ambition, making them the perfect storytellers to capture the spirit of a town that has little except the courage to dream.

A Crucial Reminder

Perhaps it might inspire those filmmakers struggling to make it big. Perhaps, it might even make producers value screenwriters. Perhaps, it might compel big studios to return to the drawing board. Perhaps it might teach the entire industry that even remakes require imagination. But beyond all that, it is a story Bollywood may need — but one this country deserves to know. To know that there is a town where, if only for a moment, every division fades away. To know that not all fandoms are toxic; some are born purely out of love. To know that there was a time when crowded streets were animated not by hate-filled slogans but by vibrant stills of movie stars. To know that there was once a cinema that wasn't hate-fueled — it inspired, it united, it loved.

(Anas Arif is a film writer and a media graduate from AJKMCRC, Jamia Millia Islamia)

Disclaimer: These are the personal opinions of the author