25 years of Karan Johar: Shubhra Gupta interprets filmmaker’s evolution, predicts if it’s time for Karan Johar 2.0

Over the years, I have been confronted by a few filmmakers who were angry or sarcastic about the review their film received. This was the first time a bald statement like this was made with a twinkle and a smile, and grace. It was more a talking point than anything else, through which two people who occupy adversarial positions (and there can be nothing more adversarial than a filmmaker and a critic, just by virtue of what they do) could find a common ground from which they could branch off in various directions, culminating in informative, illustrative conversations.

Since then, this ‘not liking anything I do’ has been a running joke between us: it’s spoken out loud, leading to expected mirth even as it sets both boundaries as well context. But what it belies is the mutual respect and affection between a combative critic and a filmmaker who has always been of the moment, from his first film ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’, which came out 25 years back on this day, and created the template for the modern Bollywood romance.

Between the Rahul and Anjali of 1998, to Rocky and Rani of 2023, so much has changed, and so much has remained the same. Johar has apologised for the loser tomboy trope he set into motion in KKHH with Kajol’s character, with the tomboy Anjali getting her Rahul only after she switched to swirly chiffons and coyness.

Kajol in a still from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.

But what KKHH did back then was notable: it created a contemporary love-story which reflected a slice of India of that time, which was brand-conscious, aspirational, and, most crucially, easy, breezy while doing the whole the girl-meets-boy schtick.

Of course, Johar leveraged his old-school ways while forging a new path, reflecting the kind of modernity that is never in-you-face: just enough but not too much. It was okay for It Girl Rani Mukerji to wear minis, but she was also someone who knew her ‘Om Jai Jagdish Hare’. It was a creation made for those Indian viewers (as well as dripping-with-nostalgia NRIs) who hankered for newness but didn’t want to be shocked by it, and Johar found his sweet spot in that gap.

Rani Mukerji in a still from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.

The Bollywood films which have long legs, despite their obvious datedness, have always been aware of dominant social trends. Even in his directorials, where Johar has mostly always played safe, you could pick up what was then au courant, or what would be. Despite its schmaltziness, when Jaya Bachchan just knows the exact moment her sonny boy, played in Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (that annoying ‘e’ in that second Kabhi has always stuck in the craw) by Shah Rukh Khan, has hopped off his helicopter and was racing towards her embrace, it was a moment. Johar knew exactly how big to go, and it was always going to be bigger.

Shah Rukh Khan in a still from Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham.

Getting six of the biggest stars in one room seemed to be the whole point of K3G. Despite all the pooh-poohing, our love for big-budget-starriness is what Johar was banking on. And he was, of course, on to something. But even Johar wouldn’t have foreseen so much abiding love for Poo, who would be booed out of all the mean girl assemblies today. More than the wafer-thin spaghettis that Kareena Kapoor’s character wore in K3G, the real cultural ziplock was created with practically all of India’s brides continuing to choose zardozi as embellishment on their wedding lehengas.

It was also the movie that made the very Punjabi, North Indian sangeet popular even in the South. And god knows how many young women started doing karva Chauth after the Johar onslaught on the mandap-mangalustra market. With KKHH and K3G, Johar became as much of a star as those who worked on screen, and quite soon realised that if he broke away from the shiny surface baubles of what had made him popular in the first place, his fans would be unhappy. His 2006 ‘Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna’ was a Johar trying to grow up, by plonking his stars, SRK, Rani Mukerji, Preity Zinta, Abhishek Bachchan and Amitabh Bachchan, into a messy plot full of deceit and duplicity and infidelity. It was roundly rejected by the audience: I think, despite its flaws, it is one of Johar’s best films.

The one time his desire to create difference worked was in the 2010 film, ‘My Name Is Khan’, which released only after fending off attacks from right wing groups, disability rights groups, anti SRK groups, and went on eventually to become one of Dharma Productions’ most successful films. The difficulties of going off the beaten path, even for an established production house, came up during one of our meetings soon after the release of ‘Khan’, where we also spoke about the 2008 ‘Dostana’, the creation of his faux gay leading men, and the consequent opening up of chatter around homosexuality, despite the movie’s characters being targeted by gay rights groups of stereotypical portrayal. His own sexual orientation, which he is startlingly open about, without actually naming it, was clearly given wings in this film. And just like the big Bollywood movie which ends up being a springboard for thorny topics, ‘Dostana’ will always be remembered for the word ‘gay’, and its implications, spreading out wide, memes or no memes.

Shah Rukh Khan in a still from My Name Is Khan.

I remember coming out of that early conversation, impressed with the ease with which he tackled my (mostly) tough questions. From my faraway perspective of a critic evaluating Hindi films, it turned out to be an eye-opener not just about the making of his own kind of cinema, but an incisive assessment of the state of the film industry. Johar came off as a guy with a razor-sharp instinct of what made his complex eco-system work. He spoke candidly about the dependence on stars and star-kids (the only kind he took for his directorials): sadly, the ‘n’ word and the necessity of the film industry to think about nepotism in a constructive manner, has now become just one more stick to beat Bollywood with.

Today, Johar is uniquely positioned. He is not just a mega-successful director and producer, he is also a fashion maven. And a parent, with his Instagram feed full of warm fuzzies. And the host of a talkshow on which all of Bollywood is invited to spill their secrets: a new season of ‘Koffee With Karan’ is almost upon us. And perhaps a filmmaker who is actively engaging with the urgent issues that we really need more of? Is this the beginning of Karan 2.0?

In ‘Rocky and Rani’, we’ve got the most joyous, most subversive sequence of Bollywood 2023, in which Ranveer Singh and Tota Roy Chaudhury twirl around the stage: the dominant colours of their blood-red lehengas matching the beats, pushing back against centuries of sexism, smashing the patriarchy. Yes, it is a constructed moment, but it is powerful, and impactful. And it will always stay with me.

There, Karan Johar, I’ve said it.