Bollywood By Choice | When Hype Meets Reality, The Loudest Publicity Falls Silent At The Box Office

Publicity and cinema have shared a complex relationship for decades. Recently, filmmaker Karan Johar advised Bollywood actors to step back from excessive public relations (PR) activities and let their work speak for itself. His comment struck a familiar chord, but it also raised an obvious question: in an industry built as much on visibility as on talent, who is truly willing to bell the cat?

The truth is, Bollywood has rarely embraced quiet confidence. Long before social media managers, influencer campaigns and carefully staged airport appearances became standard, film publicity thrived on exaggerated claims and attention-grabbing declarations.

In the black-and-white era, Dilip Kumar’s Aan (1952) was promoted as the first Technicolor spectacle of Indian cinema. Rajendra Kumar’s Talash (1969) was presented as Hindi cinema’s first film made on a budget exceeding Rs 1 crore. Jeetendra’s Anmol Moti (1969) was advertised as the first Indian film shot underwater. Then came Ramesh Sippy’s Sholay (1975), introduced with the unforgettable claim of being “the greatest story ever told.”

Yet, publicity gimmicks have never guaranteed success. Some campaigns succeeded in drawing crowds to theatres and boosting a film’s popularity, while others collapsed under the weight of their own expectations because the final product failed to deliver on its promise.

Perhaps the most striking example lies in the contrasting journeys of Sholay (1975) and Shaan (1980), both directed by Ramesh Sippy. When Sholay was released on August 15, 1975, it arrived amid unprecedented hype—70mm screen, stereophonic sound and one of the largest ensemble casts Indian cinema had seen. Expectations were enormous.

Surprisingly, the initial audience response was far from enthusiastic. The first weekend’s collections caused enough anxiety for the makers to consider changing the climax so that Jai, played by Amitabh Bachchan, would survive. Trade journals had already begun predicting the film’s failure. In response, its writers, Salim-Javed, issued a bold public statement claiming the film would earn at least Rs 1 crore in every distribution territory.

But Sholay did not become a historic blockbuster because of publicity stunts. It triumphed because audiences connected deeply with the storytelling, performances, music, dialogue and technical brilliance. Word of mouth achieved what no advertisement could. The film went on to run for five and a half years at Mumbai’s Minerva Theatre, becoming a cultural phenomenon rather than merely a commercial success.

Ironically, Sholay was taken off the screen only when Sippy’s next ambitious venture, Shaan, was ready for release. This time, the publicity machine worked even harder. Shaan was pitched as the slick, urban successor to Sholay, with the glamour and sophistication of a James Bond-style thriller. It boasted an impressive cast and introduced Shakaal, played by Kulbhushan Kharbanda, as a villain expected to recreate the impact of Sholay’s Gabbar Singh, played by the late Amjad Khan.

The film opened to packed houses, but the excitement faded quickly. Audiences soon realised that Shaan, despite all its polish and promotion, lacked the emotional and dramatic force of Sholay. Attendance dropped, and the grand promises of publicity could not save it.

Indian cinema is full of such examples. Many films with minimal promotion have become major successes purely because of strong content, while heavily promoted projects have disappeared without a trace because they offered little substance beneath the noise. What has changed over the years is the scale and sophistication of film promotion.

Today, publicity is not optional but a central part of filmmaking strategy. Producers routinely allocate massive budgets solely for marketing. Entire star-cast travels across cities for promotional tours, reality show appearances, interviews, and digital campaigns designed to generate quick buzz around release day.

Film critics, influencers and social media personalities with large followings are often courted aggressively—sometimes with access, sometimes with incentives, and sometimes simply as part of a paid promotional structure. The objective is clear: create the necessary hype before the first Friday.

Many producers defend this approach by pointing to the brutal economics of the modern theatrical business. The first weekend often decides a film’s fate. If collections disappoint in the opening three days, a film is quickly branded a flop and pushed out of theatres before genuine audience appreciation can build.

Unlike the era when Sholay could recover gradually through word of mouth, today’s theatrical ecosystem is far less forgiving. Only rare exceptions, such as Sriram Raghavan’s Andhadhun (2018) and Vidhu Vinod Chopra’s 12th Fail (2023), have managed to overcome weak initial momentum and become success stories through sustained audience support.

That is why neither actors nor filmmakers can afford to dismiss publicity altogether, however good their work may be. Many deserving films with excellent writing and performances have disappeared simply because they failed to generate enough attention before release. They were removed from cinemas before positive word of mouth had a chance to save them.

Publicity, therefore, is necessary and often unavoidable. But it can only open the door; it cannot keep the audience glued to their seats. No amount of hype can permanently conceal weak storytelling, just as genuine cinematic excellence eventually finds its audience.

Johar’s advice remains idealistic but true: publicity may create curiosity, but only the film itself can create a lasting legacy, which invariably outlives hype.