Bollywood has always had an appetite for looking at itself in the mirror: sometimes with affection, sometimes with contempt, and sometimes with the kind of irreverent humour that feels like a gossip session over cutting chai.
Aryan Khan, in his directorial debut The Ba***ds Of Bollywood, has clearly grown up overhearing those conversations, scrolling through Reddit blinds, and watching the industry's scandals play out on primetime.
His show doesn't try to sanitise any of it. Instead, it goes all in on ugly scandals, self-deprecating digs, larger-than-life cameos, family melodrama, and even cheeky nods to his own controversies. It is messy, indulgent, frequently over-the-top, but undeniably watchable.
At its core, the seven-episode series is about Aasmaan Singh (Lakshya), a Delhi boy who's just tasted success with a massy actioner called Revolver. His sudden rise attracts the attention of Freddy Sodawallah (a terrific Manish Chaudhari), a controlling studio boss who quickly ropes him into a three-film deal.
But Aasmaan's career graph is complicated when Karan Johar, playing himself in a full-fledged role and not just a walk-on, offers him a film opposite Karishma (Sahher Bambba), daughter of reigning superstar Ajay Talvar (Bobby Deol).
Aasmaan, the quintessential outsider, is suddenly navigating an industry where allegiances shift overnight, contracts are diabolical, friendships are transactional, and even love affairs feel staged for better optics.
Add to that his bromance with his closest buddy Parvaiz (Raghav Juyal), a supportive uncle (Manoj Pahwa), and a manager who doubles up as crisis control (Anya Singh), and you have a narrative that is equal parts masala entertainer and inside joke.
The cameos, of course, are the obvious talking point. Aryan Khan practically turned his phonebook into a casting coup.
Shah Rukh Khan shows up in a hilarious scene opposite Manoj Pahwa, Salman Khan makes an entrance to Swag Se Swagat, Aamir Khan winks at his own aura, Ranbir Kapoor charms, Ranveer Singh goes full throttle, and even Emraan Hashmi gets to revel in his own fandom. There's also a cheeky intimacy coach sequence that steals the show.
The cherry on top is watching the three Khans appear in the same universe (whether together or not in the same frame is for you to see).
Karan Johar, often accused of being the "Bollywood mafia" by his detractors, wears the label himself with wicked glee. "Don't mess with the mafia," he sneers in one elevator scene, both parodying and reclaiming Kangana Ranaut's favourite insult.
Aryan also doesn't shy away from referencing his own past: the infamous drug case is mocked through a character demanding "mujhe drugs do," capped off with the punchy public-service-line-turned-inside-joke: "Say no to drugs."
What makes the series distinct is its tone. It doesn't attempt to make the industry look noble, nor does it condemn it with heavy-handed seriousness. Instead, it embraces the chaos.
Gossip becomes plot, inside jokes become punchlines, and scandals, whether about nepotism, shady contracts, PR spin, plastic surgeries, award show manipulations, or underworld ties, become set pieces in a carnival of excess.
Aryan understands that Bollywood, for most of us, is equal parts admiration and mockery, and he uses that duality to keep the series breezy even when the stakes turn personal.
Still, the show isn't without flaws. The love story between Aasmaan and Karishma (Saher) never really convinces. It is often drowned by the more engaging friendships and rivalries around it.
The writing falters whenever it shifts from its tongue-in-cheek mode to melodrama, with the emotional beats falling flat.
The much-hyped plot twist towards the climax feels predictable; you see it coming long before the reveal, which robs the finale of its intended punch.
Some tracks, like Arshad Warsi's Gafoor Bhai-led mobsters, play out like filler. And while Bobby Deol delivers starry charisma, he also slips back into his Animal persona a little too comfortably, making his performance feel uneven.
The album, apart from the instantly addictive Badli Si Hawa Hai, doesn't leave much of a mark either. But then there are moments that redeem everything. Raghav Juyal is simply phenomenal - his comic timing, action chops, and brotherly chemistry with Lakshya are the backbone of the show.
Lakshya himself gets a true-blue Bollywood hero arc. Bobby Deol smashes through glass doors in a climax entry that doubles as both meta-commentary and symbolic of his own resurgence. Rajat Bedi's Jaraj Saxena, the once-famous-turned-forgotten actor, tugs unexpectedly at the heart.
And then there's Aryan's sharpest weapon: humour. Whether it's sly digs at sold-out critics, nods to the MeToo movement, or cameos that refuse to take themselves seriously, the show frequently lands laugh-out-loud moments.
Technically, the series is slick-polished visuals, smart editing, and enough Easter eggs to fuel online fan theories for weeks. Aryan even slips in his clothing line through clever product placement.
The Ba***ds Of Bollywood may sometimes feel like too much, but it never feels lazy. In fact, his ability to juggle such a star-heavy ensemble while giving space to performers like Manish Chaudhari, Manoj Pahwa, Mona Singh and Anya Singh shows surprising directorial confidence.
By the time the final episode wraps, you realise this isn't meant to be dissected like high art. It's meant to be consumed like Bollywood itself: loud, colourful, problematic, indulgent, but great fun if you let it be.
Aryan Khan knows exactly what he's doing: laughing at the industry, laughing at himself, and letting the audience laugh along. As one character quips in the end, "Pen kidhar hai?" The answer, clearly, is in Aryan's hands, and after this debut, people will be queuing up for his autograph.
-
Lakshya, Sahher Bambba, Bobby Deol, Raghav Juyal, Aanya Singh, Manish Chaudhari, Mona Singh, Vijayant Kohli, Manoj Pahwa, Gautami Kapoor, and Rajat Bedi
