Superboys of Malegaon reminded me of many other Hindi movies I love: its feelgood, small-town charm and situational comedy made me think of Laapataa Ladies; its central narrative of a Muslim man whose artistic dreams transcend his circumstances is reminiscent of Gully Boy; it captures the irresistible magnetism of the Hindi film industry like Luck by Chance; and—if I’m not already referencing too many other Excel-Tiger Baby productions—its deeply affecting climax evokes that of Rock On!!
However, for all its resemblances, Superboys of Malegaon, written by Varun Grover, doesn’t feel derivative. It stands as its own hilarious and heartfelt self; a love letter to the craft, appeal, and inherent jugaad of filmmaking. It’s also a warm exploration of male friendship, which is, of course, not uncharted territory for its producers.
Directed by Reema Kagti, Superboys of Malegaon is most directly inspired by Faiza Ahmad Khan’s 2008 documentary Supermen of Malegaon, which follows the real-life Nasir Sheikh and his friends in the small town of Malegaon in North Maharashtra as they make their own DIY parodies of famous Hindi films, most prominently Malegaon Ke Sholay.
“At times funny, tragic, contemplative,” the YouTube description of the documentary’s trailer tells us that it explores the bootstrapped production’s “schemes and approaches that are sublimely ingenious, simply bizarre and purely hysterical.”
Grover, Kagti, and co. draw on this rich material to make a spirited film that’s simultaneously besotted by the art, craft, and commerce of filmmaking and also reflective about it.
Superboys of Malegaon isn’t staged as a conventional rags-to-riches story. The film opens with a “forever unemployed” Nasir (Adarsh Gourav) “working” at his brother’s film parlour and screening Keaton and Charlie Chaplin movies that draw scant audiences. Until one day he realizes he can splice together shots from different Hollywood and Bollywood movies to maximise the entertainment quotient for audiences (Eisenstein could never).
One thing leads to another, and Nasir gets a khatarnak idea: why not make a movie of his own? And so, he decides to take bonafide Bollywood blockbusters and infuse them with some Malegaon swag. Enter his filmmaking journey, which is entirely dedicated to the local audience’s pleasure. It’s an exhilarating setup filled with wonderful gags. Within the first act itself—set in 1997—we see Nasir and his friends, “loom worker” Shafique (Shashank Arora), dry fruit seller Shakeel (Saqib Ayub), and “sad, penniless writer” Farogh (Vineet Kumar Singh), successfully make films that draw large audiences in Malegaon.
The narrative cuts to 2004 and later to 2010, but isn’t concerned with the characters “making it” —getting rich and achieving mainstream fame—even across time. Rather, Superboys of Malegaon is invested in this group of men’s different emotional journeys toward becoming the artists they want to be, while honouring each other and their bond. We primarily see Nasir, the director of the films, succumbing to the narcissism of fame and stardom, monopolising the spotlight and spoils of what is meant to be a collaborative enterprise among friends.
The most compelling resulting conflict occurs between Nasir and Farogh, a more purist writer eager to tell the stories of loom workers and the underclass: original stories, inspired from their own lives, rather than slapdash parodies. “Writer baap hota hai!” he yells in one powerful scene, bristling against Nasir’s penchant for trading artistic integrity with formulaic and commercial mass appeal.
Sometimes, it does feel like too many things are happening at once, diluting the potency of certain subplots, like Farogh’s efforts to make it in Mumbai, Nasir’s unconventionally blooming relationship with Shabeena (Muskkaan Jaferi), or his strained relationship with some of his other collaborators, including Akram (Anuj Singh Duhan). But the tight central narrative and standout performances kept me engaged throughout.
Since his striking debut in The White Tiger, Gourav has excelled in a variety of dramatic roles ranging from the troubled son of a gangster in a fictional small town to an aspirational gym trainer in Bandra.
Here, too, he nails Nasir’s convictions, albeit wavering, in the power of the pleasures that cinema delivers. There are a number of scenes of him watching – a Bruce Lee sequence, a Charlie Chaplin bit – the glint in his eyes both joyous and steely. It’s a superb lead performance that forms the backbone of Superboys of Malegaon.
But the most poignant character is Shafique, played achingly well by Arora. His quiet ambition, unrealized love story, and unfulfilled dreams are the film’s beating heart and carry the narrative to its stirring climax. One can fault the writing of his character for being a touch flat, sometimes reducing him to just a naive victim. But Arora’s brilliant performance fills the text’s silences with rich subtext: The admiration and deference with which he looks at Nasir; how he bites his tongue every time he isn’t given his due; and how he constantly reconciles his reality with his yearnings.
The same can be said about the female characters in Superboys of Malegaon, who don’t get much screen time but still make a significant impact: Nasir’s girlfriend Mallika (Riddhi Kumar), who’s forced to marry a more stable, suitable match; his wife Shabeena, who’s equally resolute about becoming a lawyer and supporting Nasir’s films as a producer; and most importantly, Trupti (Manjiri Pupala), the only woman in Nasir’s films, who effectively balances motherhood and an abusive marriage with her own desires to be an actor and maybe even find genuine companionship.
In a welcome departure from recent Tiger Baby productions, the writing in Superboys of Malegaon is measured and restrained. It doesn’t, for the most part, put any character in a box or offer facile moral lessons. Instead, it lets us sit with the various themes and contradictions of its world. The film becomes a thoughtful meditation on the seemingly irreconcilable tussles between cinema-as-art vs cinema-as-commerce and the collaborative nature of filmmaking vs the individualistic nature of stardom.
And, of course, it’s an enduring testament to the importance of entertainment and the power of representation: seeing stories told about you and your people—by you and your own people.
“For them,” Nasir’s friend Farogh says in one scene, referring to the elite Hindi film industry, “we are just nobodies.” This idea elevates what one may initially think of Nasir and his team’s efforts, from mere playful inventiveness to a necessary pursuit of self-expression. The additional fact that nearly all these characters are Muslim cannot be taken for granted in today’s Hindi film industry, which is replete with negative stereotypes about Muslims.
Superboys of Malegaon is a sensitive and deeply enjoyable cinematic take on the notion of carpe diem amid the realities of small-town India. It’s a call to be relentless about your dreams, to chase meaning even when it feels like a luxury, and to push at the constraints of capitalism which confine you to work you don’t like and identities you don’t relate to. I left the movie with tears in my eyes, a smile still at my lips, and a sense that I, too, can fly like the men before me. Isn’t that the magic of movies?
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