Once upon a time, not too long ago, Anurag Kashyap was the Bhai of Indian indie. The man became emblematic of irreverent film-making, refused to tip-toe around “Bharatiya” sensibilities, was always ready to rip off hypocritical band-aids and allow wounds to fume and fester. Like a moth, he attracted like-minded writers, actors, directors, and artists, whoever frustrated with trying to fit into the Bollywood scheme of things, and soon, Kashyap had been able to erect a phantom industry (see what I did there?), alongside the Chopras and Johars. On my multiple visits to the Phantom office for shoots and interviews, with Kashyap and his various associates, it almost felt like an ark, bravely afloat in a flood of mediocrity.
But, a lot changed in the last four years. The Phantom partners parted ways, the audience started supporting and demanding script-driven real stories, the line between content and commercial started blurring, and, taking over the mantle from Kashyap, web streaming platforms became the new saviours of creativity. Kashyap, finally, after what felt like a decade, could just be a film-maker. An artist. A storyteller. The audiences had grown up, filmmakers had matured (to some extent) — Kashyap didn’t have to run a parallel industry within Bollywood anymore. He welcomed Netflix with open arms, getting to enjoy creative freedom possibly for the first time. When Sacred Games finally released, one of modern Indian cinema's most censored film-maker was vindicated.
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