There are moments in cinema, and more rarely in streaming, when a project arrives not merely as a piece of entertainment but as a cultural statement, an artefact of inheritance, rebellion, and a test of artistic mettle. The Bads of Bollywood, the maiden directorial venture of Aryan Khan under the banner of Red Chillies Entertainment, is one such event. Released globally on Netflix on 18 September 2025, the series instantly announced itself not only as the work of a fledgling filmmaker finding his voice but also as a symbolic act of succession — a son attempting to carve out his identity in an industry dominated, and in many ways defined, by his father.
Aryan Khan’s father needs no introduction. Shah Rukh Khan, the undisputed “King of Bollywood”, has built a mythology that is as enduring as it is untouchable. His son, by stepping into the cinematic arena, inevitably finds himself negotiating with that towering shadow. But rather than attempting to replicate his father’s charisma in front of the camera, Aryan Khan chooses to exercise authorship behind it. His debut is not timid; it is daring, flamboyant, and, at points, reckless. The Bads of Bollywood is no safe experiment — it is a deliberate plunge into the quicksand of satire, industry politics, and narrative excess. And the surprising thing? For the most part, it works, often brilliantly.
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Plot: A Rising Star in a Kingdom of Power
At its narrative heart is Aasmaan Singh (Lakshya), an ambitious actor from Delhi whose breakthrough comes with a high-octane hit titled Revolver. His rise is meteoric, his swagger intoxicating, but with sudden success comes the kind of scrutiny and pressure that devours many newcomers. Signing a multi-film deal with powerful producer Freddy Sodahwallah (Manish Chaudhari), Aasmaan is drawn into the machinery of stardom where contracts matter more than conviction, and allegiances can make or break careers.
The plot thickens when Aasmaan is cast opposite Karishma Talwar (Sahher Bambba), the daughter of Bollywood stalwart Ajay Talwar (Bobby Deol). The Talwars, draped in privilege and dynastic entitlement, embody the archetypal ‘insider clan’. Aasmaan’s intrusion into their carefully guarded dominion sparks a chain of power plays, betrayals, and emotional reckonings.
Supporting Aasmaan on his perilous journey are his childhood friend Parvaiz (Raghav Juyal), his pragmatic manager Sanya (Anya Singh), and his family — mother Neeta (Mona Singh), father Rajat (Vijayant Kohli), and uncle Avtar (Manoj Pahwa). These figures, tenderly drawn, offer him both grounding and guidance as the industry’s underbelly threatens to consume him.
The narrative does not meander gently; it hurtles forward, laced with scheming producers, jealous rivals, and the constant negotiation of identity. By the final episode, a revelatory twist reframes relationships and compels Aasmaan to confront the true cost of chasing immortality in cinema.
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Performances: A Battle of Presence and Power
The success of such a meta-industry narrative rests heavily upon its actors. Here, the casting proves inspired.
Lakshya, as Aasmaan, gives the performance of his young career. He embodies the paradox of the outsider — brash and confident in public, riddled with insecurities in private. His charisma is undeniable; he strides across the screen with both the hunger of a newcomer and the vulnerability of a dreamer who knows how easily the dream may fracture.
Bobby Deol, as Ajay Talwar, is magnificent. Gone are the days when Deol was dismissed as a relic of the ’90s. Here, he reinvents himself as the embodiment of insider disdain — cold, controlled, and quietly menacing. He does not roar; he simmers. His every glance at Aasmaan carries the weight of generational entitlement.
Sahher Bambba, as Karishma Talwar, plays perhaps the most layered character of the ensemble. Hers is a delicate portrayal of a young woman torn between filial loyalty and artistic self-assertion. She and Lakshya share an ease on screen that elevates their romance beyond cliché, though one wishes the writing had allowed their arc more room to bloom.
The supporting players are no less engaging. Raghav Juyal is unexpectedly poignant as Parvaiz, a friend whose humour is laced with bruised loyalty. Manish Chaudhari, ever reliable, paints Freddy Sodahwallah as the epitome of moral flexibility. And Mona Singh, Manoj Pahwa, and Anya Singh enrich the canvas with moments of emotional realism that balance the heightened theatricality elsewhere.
And then there are the cameos — a carnival of stardom. Aamir Khan, Salman Khan, Ranveer Singh, Rajkummar Rao, Emraan Hashmi, Sara Ali Khan, SS Rajamouli, Badshah, Karan Johar, and, in a moment of particular poignancy, Shah Rukh Khan himself.
These appearances could easily have tipped into gimmickry, yet Aryan weaves them into the texture of the narrative with surprising restraint. They serve as commentary, satire, and occasionally as gravitas-laden punctuation marks.
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Shah Rukh Khan’s Cameo: A Blessing in Disguise
Much will be written about Shah Rukh Khan’s brief but unforgettable cameo. It is elegant, restrained, and devastatingly effective. Aryan resists the temptation to indulge his father with melodramatic heroics. Instead, Shah Rukh appears at a narrative crossroads, offering a moment of quiet counsel that doubles as a benediction — both to Aasmaan within the story and, by extension, to Aryan himself as director.
It is cinema folding in upon itself: a legend bestowing his blessing upon the next generation. The scene lingers long after it ends, not as fan service, but as legacy distilled into a single, graceful gesture.
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Direction and Writing: Aryan Khan Finds His Voice
If there is one triumph greater than the performances, it is Aryan Khan’s startling command of tone. For a debutant, he exhibits a rare maturity. He neither venerates nor vilifies Bollywood. Instead, he holds up a mirror that is cracked, glittering, and uncomfortably truthful.
The writing team — Aryan, Bilal Siddiqi, and Manav Chauhan — crafts a world that feels simultaneously fictional and deeply familiar. The show pulses with references to blind items, gossip portals, PR spin-doctors, casting couch rumours, and dynastic entitlement. It is satire, yes, but satire laced with genuine affection for cinema’s intoxicating chaos.
Visually, the series is lush. The production design contrasts the velvet glamour of awards nights with the claustrophobic tension of backroom deals. Costumes shimmer with excess while subtly coding class and hierarchy. The sound design amplifies the fever-dream atmosphere without overwhelming the performances.
Yet, flaws remain. The middle episodes occasionally sag under exposition; certain motivations shift too abruptly, as though cut in the edit room. The romance between Aasmaan and Karishma, while tender, begs for greater depth. Still, these are forgivable blemishes in a debut that is otherwise bold and confident.
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Themes: Legacy, Nepotism, and the Outsider’s Gaze
At its thematic core, The Bads of Bollywood is less a drama than a treatise on legacy. What does it mean to inherit privilege in an industry that worships lineage? Conversely, what does it cost to break in from the outside? Aryan probes these questions with nuance.
The series is unafraid to critique the suffocating grip of nepotism while acknowledging its seductive glamour. The Talwar family represents dynastic power at its most entrenched, while Aasmaan becomes the symbol of insurgency — talented yet constantly reminded of his “outsider” status.
In this dialectic, Aryan’s own position as Shah Rukh Khan’s son becomes impossible to ignore. He directs as though in conversation with his own privilege, acknowledging the irony even as he interrogates it. Few filmmakers would dare to turn the lens upon themselves in such oblique fashion; Aryan does so with both courage and style.
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Cultural Resonance: Bollywood on the Couch
Beyond plot and character, The Bads of Bollywood offers a cultural critique. It dissects the machinery of fame, the transactional nature of stardom, and the fragility of reputation. It reminds us that Bollywood is less an industry than an ecosystem — one sustained by gossip as much as by artistry, by dynasties as much as by dreams.
In its sharpest moments, the series functions like a therapy session for an industry in denial, forcing Bollywood to confront its own excesses. It is biting, yes, but never bitter. Aryan’s affection for cinema is palpable even as he skewers its hypocrisies.
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Verdict: A Filmmaker Emerges
The Bads of Bollywood is not perfect, but it is remarkable. It is ambitious, messy, witty, and unflinchingly self-aware. It offers glamour and grit in equal measure, and in doing so, it signals the arrival of a new storyteller with both audacity and finesse.
Aryan Khan has not made a safe debut; he has made a daring one. In a landscape where many star children choose glossy vehicles designed to showcase their charm, Aryan chooses satire, chaos, and confrontation. He risks biting the very hand that feeds him, and in doing so, he proves he has teeth of his own.
This is more than a series. It is a statement of intent. And as Shah Rukh Khan’s cameo so gracefully suggests, the torch is not only being passed — it is being set ablaze.
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Final Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)
A bold debut. A messy triumph. And, perhaps most importantly, the birth of a filmmaker unafraid to stare down both legacy and industry with equal conviction.