Opinion In protecting ‘Thug Life’, Supreme Court has protected more than entertainment
The right of filmmakers to express their views is constitutional. The right of the audience to disagree is democratic. But the right to suppress is neither constitutional nor democratic
The CBFC, supported by a statutorily empowered Appellate Tribunal for appeals, is tasked with certifying films. When a film passes that test, no state government can step in to unilaterally nullify it 
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The cinema screen is no stranger to censorship in India — both lawful and unlawful. What has changed, however, is the form of silencing. Increasingly, it is not only formal state bans but the louder and more insidious forces of the mob — self-appointed vigilantes who threaten theatres, intimidate viewers, and police speech. The case of Thug Life, a Tamil feature film starring Kamal Haasan, is a troubling iteration of this pattern. The Supreme Court’s recent intervention is not merely about one film, but a timely reminder of the constitutional bulwarks protecting free expression, and the enduring obligation of the state to uphold them.
The Supreme Court is presently seized of a petition filed by one Mahesh Reddy, who sought protection for the film’s screening in Karnataka. Despite receiving certification from the Central Board of Film Certification (CBFC), the film could not be released in the state. The reason: Pro-Kannada groups issued threats of violence in response to Haasan’s recent public remark that Kannada was born out of Tamil. This provoked an intense backlash, and theatre owners, fearing arson and protest, pulled the film. Not only did the Karnataka High Court, when approached, fail to dismiss the “extra-judicial ban” in the State, but shockingly nudged Haasan to apologise — a move that the Supreme Court found wholly inappropriate.
In transferring the matter from the High Court to itself, the bench of Justices Ujjal Bhuyan and Manmohan, on June 17, made it abundantly clear that law and order cannot be hijacked by public sentiment. “We can’t allow mobs to take over,” the Court said. That statement, though directed at the Karnataka state government, reverberates far beyond this individual case.
This is not the first time that India’s highest court has come to the rescue of filmmakers facing illegal censorship. Nor is this the first time that states, despite repeated judicial warnings, have failed in their constitutional duties. In Union of India v. K M Shankarappa (2001), the Court laid down the principle in no uncertain terms: Once an expert body such as the CBFC has considered the impact of a film on the public and cleared it, it is no excuse to cite law and order problems by the state governments. The job of the respective states is to protect expression, not shrink from it. “The executive cannot sit in appeal or revision over [a certification],” the Court warned.
Yet, time and again, states have violated this boundary. In 2011, Aarakshan, a film starring Amitabh Bachchan addressing caste-based reservation, was banned in Uttar Pradesh and Andhra Pradesh despite CBFC clearance. The Supreme Court intervened, noting the state’s duty was not to muzzle expression but to maintain law and order. In 2018, the Padmaavat controversy unfolded similarly, as several states rushed to ban the film due to community outrage. The Court stepped in again, reiterating that once a CBFC certificate is granted, the presumption is that all constitutional standards, including concerns around public order, have already been accounted for.
More recently, in 2023, the film The Kerala Story faced a blanket ban in West Bengal and a de facto ban in Tamil Nadu. The Supreme Court stayed the West Bengal order and directed Tamil Nadu to ensure security for screenings. It also recommended a disclaimer to address concerns regarding the film’s factual accuracy, but refused to entertain demands for a ban. It was, as always, a call to protect speech, not please sentiment.
The common thread in all these cases, including Thug Life, is not the controversy over content, but the constitutional clarity on process. The law places faith in a regulatory framework. The CBFC, supported by a statutorily empowered Appellate Tribunal for appeals, is tasked with certifying films. When a film passes that test, no state government can step in to unilaterally nullify it, either directly or by failing to prevent others from doing so.
When the law protects cinema, it protects more than entertainment. It defends imagination, dissent, and truth-telling. In a nation as diverse and fraught as ours, films do what few institutions can: They provoke thought, evoke empathy, challenge dominant narratives, and give voice to those on the margins.
The Supreme Court has once again affirmed that freedom of speech is not an empty promise. It comes with the expectation that the state will act, not to judge or justify the expression, but to protect the space in which it can exist. As Justice Manmohan aptly put it, whether to watch a film or not is a personal choice. The right of filmmakers to express their views is constitutional. The right of the audience to disagree is democratic. But the right to suppress is neither constitutional nor democratic.
The writer is a Delhi-based Advocate and research fellow at Vidhi Centre for Legal Policy
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