Social Media Addiction, Commercialization Mar Pashto Cnema In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa

In the heart of Peshawar once stood the towering facades of cinemas like Capital, Falak Sair, and Sabrina halls that echoed with the cheers of packed audiences, the melodies of Pashto ballads, and the soulful dialogues of characters that reflected the Pashtun spirit

PESHAWAR, (UrduPoint / Pakistan Point News - 8th Sep, 2025) In the heart of Peshawar once stood the towering facades of cinemas like Capital, Falak Sair, and Sabrina halls that echoed with the cheers of packed audiences, the melodies of Pashto ballads, and the soulful dialogues of characters that reflected the Pashtun spirit.

Today, those entertainment facades are rubble, replaced by shopping malls, hotels, and commercial plazas in Peshawar due to commercialization and digital media invasion that badly affected Pashto cinemas in KP.

The decline of Pashto cinema in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is not just a cultural tragedy but it a story of an art form slowly strangled by indifference, commercialization, terrorism and changing times.

“It was heartbreaking to see the Capital Cinema on Arbab Road Peshawar turned into a shopping plaza,” recalls Mushtaq Khan, a local taxi driver, standing near what used to be one of the most iconic cinemas in the city of cinema legends.

“I watched countless Pashto films there on weekend and Eid. Now, all I see is glass and concrete, with no soul.” Mushtaq is not alone in his lament. For generations, cinema in KP was more than entertainment but it was a community affair, a mirror reflecting Pashtun identity and folklore.

Out of the 15 cinemas that once operated in Peshawar, only a handful now remain. Arshad, Aaeena, Naz, and Shama. Many others, including Shabistan, Palwasha, Metro, Sabrina, and the cherished Capital Cinema, have been bulldozed, their seats and screens discarded in favor of profit-driven real estate.

“Even the ones still standing are dying a slow death,” says Gohar Yousafzai, manager of Sabrina Cinema. “On weekends, when we expected some crowd, we barely sold enough tickets to cover utility bills. With rising costs and almost no government support, how long can we survive?”

Pashto cinema once glowed with stardust. The 1970 release of Yousuf Khan Sher Bano, the first Pashto-language film, ignited a cinematic revolution. Audiences flocked to see stories told in their own language, rooted in their own traditions.

Stars like Badar Munir, Yasmeen Khan, and Asif Khan emerged as household Names. Their films were imbued with emotion, honor, resistance, and the vibrant rhythms of Pashtun life. Peshawar, known as the cultural capital of KP, also bore the legacy of cinematic legends such as Dilip Kumar (Yousaf Khan) and Raj Kapoor, whose ancestral ties to the city remain a source of pride.

“Pashto cinema was a treasure,” says veteran director Shahid Khan.

“It had everything such as emotion, drama, music, and culture. But when we lost our cinemas, we lost our connection to that past.”

As the golden era of the 1970s and 80s faded, Pashto cinema veered into troubled waters. By the early 1990s, sensational horror, violence, and exploitation films flooded the market, driving away mainstream audiences.

Societal backlash was swift. Cinemas were shut down and Nishtar Hall that once a cultural hub ceased screening films altogether.

The 2008 wave of terrorism in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa hit the entertainment industry hard, with many cinemas in Mardan, Swat, and Kohat closing their doors permanently.

Shahid Khan said the 18th Amendment made film censorship a provincial subject, however KP failed to establish its own censor board. Regulatory confusion ensued and piracy via memory cards and online leaks became rampant, destroying box office revenues and discouraging filmmakers.

“Hundreds of our colleagues became unemployed overnight due to COVID-19,” says Shahid Khan. “Production stopped, and many never returned to the industry. Some actors now drive rickshaws to make ends meets.

“The audience is still there. We saw it during recent Eid and Pakistan Independence Day releases,” says Asif Khan, a veteran of Pashto cinema. “If we provide quality films, people will come back. But we need support ie financial, regulatory, and structural.”

Asif believes that modern cineplexes, digital distribution, and investment in film schools and scriptwriting can rekindle the lost spark. “Pashto cinema is not just about movies. It’s our folklore, our values, our voice. If we lose it, we lose a part of who we are.”

He, along with others in the industry, is calling on the KP government to introduce legal frameworks, anti-piracy measures, and a provincial film policy to save what’s left of a once-vibrant padhto film industry.

For many in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the demise of pashto cinema is more than a lost pastime but it’s a cultural erasure.

Muhammad Farooq, a schoolteacher from Katlang, Mardan, travels to Rawalpindi or Lahore now to watch films. “When I was a student, I used to come to Peshawar with friends just to see a new movie at Capital Cinema. That joy is gone.”

As Peshawar’s skyline changes, dotted now with shopping malls and chain restaurants, a vital piece of its identity fades into memory.

Will Pashto cinema rise again? Only time and targeted action of KP Govt will tell.

APP/FAM