Today, most of the grand studios of Lahore are gone, replaced by shopping plazas or left to rot. But the Lollywood studio stories survive—in the memoirs of aging actors at the Lahore Press Club, in the crackling reels at the Lok Virsa Museum, and in the hearts of cinephiles who remember when the roar of a crowd at a premiere could shake the streets of Bhati Gate.
These stories remind us that cinema is not about polish or perfection. It is about passion. And nobody had more frantic, foolish, and fabulous passion than the men and women of Lollywood.
So the next time you watch an old Punjabi film and see a hero fly through the air with strings visibly attached, or a villain laugh with a missing tooth, don't laugh. Tip your hat. That mess is a miracle. That chaos is art. That is the real magic of the studio.
Lollywood studios launched and nurtured stars whose names became synonymous with an era. Leading actors and popular playback singers drew crowds; directors and producers cultivated distinctive styles. Rivalries—between studios, star pairs, or production houses—fueled competition and sometimes better films. Anecdotes from the lot include last-minute script rewrites to save faltering shoots, impromptu musical sessions that produced hit songs, and mentorships where veteran artists sculpted raw talent into household names.
Today, the "New Lollywood" is trying to sanitize this history. We have sleek Coke Studio cameos, Netflix deals, and actors who speak in anglicized accents. They look down on the old studio system as vulgar.
But they are wrong.
The dust of those old floors is sacred. It is soaked in the sweat of spot boys who earned 20 rupees a day. It is soaked in the tears of actresses who were trafficked from the red-light districts of Heera Mandi and elevated to queens, only to be discarded when their nakhra (diva attitude) wore thin.
The real Lollywood story is not about the film The Legend of Maula Jatt (2022). It is about the original Sultan Rahi, who was killed by highway robbers on a real road, not a set. It is about the dozens of "B-grade" actors who now sell pan (betel leaf) outside the very shrines they filmed at.
So, the next time you see a blurry, over-saturated Punjabi film from 1986, don't laugh. Watch the background. Watch the extras. Look at the exhaustion in their eyes. They weren't making a movie.
They were surviving the studio.
And somewhere, in a locked tin box in a garage in Ichhra, lies a reel that didn't get melted down. It holds the last dance of Sitara. And until someone finds it, the ghost of old Lahore still flickers—palpitating, loud, and beautifully broken.
Have you ever visited the old studio lots in Lahore? Or do you have a memory of a relative who lived for the Friday night films? Share the whispers below.
The history of Lollywood—the affectionate portmanteau for Lahore’s cinematic powerhouse—is etched into the walls of its sprawling studios. From the pioneering days of the 1920s to the neon-lit "Gandasa" era, these studios have been the backdrop for both celluloid triumphs and whispered backstage legends. The Foundations of a Cinematic Empire
Lollywood’s origins predate the 1947 partition. The industry began in 1929 with United Players' Studios on Ravi Road, founded by Abdul Rashid Kardar. After independence, industry giants like Agha G.A. Gul, Shaukat Hussain Rizvi, and Anwar Kamal Pasha stepped in to rebuild and expand the landscape. Legendary Studios and Their Stories Evernew Studios: Built on a Blockbuster
Established in 1937 but revitalized in the late 1940s, Evernew Studios became one of the most prolific production hubs in Pakistan.
The Legend: It is widely told that the massive profits from the 1956 Punjabi blockbuster Dulla Bhatti financed the modernization of Evernew, transforming it into a 40-acre cinematic landmark.
Backstage Vibe: During its peak, the studio was a revolving door for legends like Nisho, Neelo, and Sultan Rahi. Veterans recall a "bond of trust" where even heated disputes were resolved on-set before the day’s wrap. Bari Studios: The Haunted Set?
Located on Multan Road, Bari Studios is synonymous with the high-octane Punjabi cinema of the 70s and 80s.
The Legend: Local lore suggests the studio was built on land that didn't take kindly to the "takeover." Stories persist of supernatural occurrences, such as actor Sultan Rahi supposedly being "pinned" to a tree by an unseen force long after a shot had ended.
Atmosphere: Another famous anecdote involves a film crew shooting a wedding procession, where the lead actress mysteriously fell and fractured her leg, further fueling the "haunted" reputation of the site. Shah Noor Studios: The Golden Era Hub
The golden gates of Evernew Studios didn’t just creak; they groaned with the weight of a thousand secrets. In the heart of Lahore, where the air smelled of jasmine and diesel exhaust, Lollywood wasn’t just an industry—it was a fever dream. The Legend of Stage 4
In the 1970s, Stage 4 was the crown jewel. It was where the "Sultan of Cinema," Sultan Rahi, reportedly broke seventeen wooden chairs in a single take of a gandasa fight, and where the playback singers' voices echoed so perfectly they said the walls themselves learned to sing. But by the late 90s,
had become a graveyard of velvet curtains and rusted spotlights. The story goes that a young, ambitious director named Zafar decided to film a comeback musical there. He ignored the warnings of the old chowkidars (gatekeepers) who claimed the stage was "unsettled."
On the first night of shooting, the heavy overhead lights—unplugged for hours—suddenly flickered to a brilliant, blinding white. The orchestra, which hadn't yet arrived, began to play a haunting melody from a film lost in a 1960s laboratory fire. Zafar didn't run; he rolled the camera. The film he captured showed a legendary leading lady, dead for twenty years, dancing in the background of a modern pop song. The footage disappeared the next day, but the chowkidars
just nodded. "She just wanted one last close-up," they whispered. The Diva’s Last Stand Then there was Madam Noor Jehan’s legendary temper—and her even more legendary heart.
One afternoon at Bari Studios, a junior makeup artist accidentally spilled rosewater on the Madam’s silk sari right before a massive musical number. The set went silent. The director turned pale, expecting a storm that would shut down production for a week.
Madam looked at the wet stain, then at the trembling boy. She didn't scream. Instead, she took a pair of scissors from her vanity, cut a matching piece of lace from a nearby prop curtain, and pinned it over the spot. lollywood studio stories
"Now it’s a design," she stated, her voice like honey and gravel. "And you," she pointed at the boy, "will make sure my tea has extra cardamom today so I forget I’m wearing a window treatment." The Ghost of the Silver Screen
As the industry shifted toward "New Age" cinema, the old studios began to crumble. Yet, the stories remained. There is a tale of a projectionist at the old
who swore that every Friday at midnight, the projector would start on its own. It didn't play the modern action flicks or the scanned digital files. It projected a shimmering, grainy reel of a black-and-white romance.
Passersby on the street would stop, seeing the flicker of light through the high, cracked windows. For ten minutes, the silhouettes of lovers from a forgotten era would embrace on the peeling screen. It was Lollywood’s way of refusing to be forgotten—a celluloid heartbeat that persisted even when the cameras stopped rolling. The Modern Echo
Today, young filmmakers walk through the ruins of Shahnoor Studios, finding old script pages caught in the thorns of overgrown bushes. They talk of "revival" and "global reaches," but they always lower their voices when they pass the old makeup rooms.
They know that in Lollywood, the stars never truly leave the building. They are just waiting for the next "Action!" to wake them up. of Lollywood history or focus on a particular star's urban legends?
Lollywood Studio Stories: A Glimpse into Pakistan's Film Industry
Introduction
Lollywood, Pakistan's thriving film industry, has been entertaining audiences for decades. With a rich history dating back to the 1960s, Lollywood has produced some of the most iconic and beloved films in Pakistani cinema. In this report, we'll take a closer look at the studio stories behind some of Lollywood's most notable productions.
Studio Overview
Our report focuses on three prominent Lollywood studios: Pakistan Film Corporation (PFC), Eagle Films, and Deedar International. These studios have played a significant role in shaping the industry and producing some of its most memorable films.
Notable Productions
Here are some notable productions from each studio:
Challenges Faced
Despite their successes, Lollywood studios face several challenges, including:
Conclusion
Lollywood studios have played a vital role in shaping Pakistan's film industry. From classic productions like "Kuch Log" to modern hits like "Karachi Se Lahore," these studios continue to entertain audiences and push the boundaries of Pakistani cinema. Despite facing challenges, Lollywood remains a vibrant and essential part of Pakistan's cultural landscape.
Recommendations
To support the growth of Lollywood studios, we recommend:
Action! The clapboard snaps, the floodlights blaze, and the air is thick with the smell of stale chai, cheap tobacco, and unbridled ambition.
Welcome to Lollywood—the glittering, gritty, and utterly chaotic film industry of Lahore, Pakistan. Before the "revival" of recent years, there was the Golden Age, and then there was the wild era of the 70s, 80s, and 90s.
If Hollywood is a polished machine and Bollywood is a sprawling family drama, Lollywood was a street fight disguised as a disco. Here is your guide to the legends, the madness, and the unbelievable stories from the studios of Lahore.
Lahore is a city of walls. There are the obvious ones—the monstrous brick ramparts of the old Walled City, hiding the chaos of Anarkali inside. But there are invisible walls, too. They exist along the dusty stretch of Multan Road, past the rattling wagons and the neon glow of wedding halls. Behind a set of rusting iron gates lies the carcass of a dream factory: the infamous Bari Studio, or what remains of it.
For most of the world, "Lollywood" is a punchline—a charming, slightly tacky cousin to the Indian behemoth. They see the gravity-defying fight scenes, the glittering outfits, and the impossible coincidences of a Punjabi blockbuster. But if you press your ear against the crumbling plaster of these old studios, you don’t hear the music. You hear the ghosts.
Lollywood wasn’t always a parody of itself. There was a time, roughly from the 1960s to the late 1980s, when these studios were the epicenter of cultural identity in Pakistan. But to understand the art, you have to understand the architecture. The studio system in Lahore was a feudal dynasty.
Not all stories are horror. The most hilarious Lollywood studio stories involve food. In the early 70s, legendary actor Muhammad Ali (soft-spoken off-screen but fiery on it) had a strict contract clause: "One tiffin of Gosht ka Salan (meat curry) served exactly at 1:00 PM." Today, most of the grand studios of Lahore
One day, due to a union strike, the canteen was closed. The studio manager panicked. He couldn't feed the star leftovers. So, he did what any desperate Lollywallah would do: he borrowed a plate of curry from the nearby Evernew Studio set where Waheed Murad was shooting a romantic scene. To disguise it, he added extra food coloring.
Muhammad Ali took one bite and roared, "This is Waheed Murad's cook's recipe! Did you steal his lunch?" The entire studio burst into laughter. From that day on, the rivalry between the "angry young man" and the "chocolate hero" became a friendly competition about whose cook was superior.
Lollywood is often mocked for its cheap production values, but those who were there tell a different story. It was an industry of survivors. They made films with no money, broken equipment, and against all odds.
They created a world where a hero could fight an entire army with one hand tied behind his back, where the music was sweeter than honey, and where the studios never slept.
So, the next time you see an old clip of Sultan Rahi shouting "Haaai!" remember: It’s not just a movie clip. It’s a survivor’s tale from the chaotic, beautiful, dusty dream factory of Lahore.
Title: Lollywood Studio Stories
Genre: Documentary
Logline: A behind-the-scenes look at the Pakistan film industry, showcasing the struggles, triumphs, and passions of Lollywood's most iconic studios, filmmakers, and actors.
Synopsis:
"Lollywood Studio Stories" takes audiences on a journey through the rich history and vibrant present of Pakistan's film industry, also known as Lollywood. The documentary explores the inner workings of iconic studios, interviews legendary filmmakers and actors, and sheds light on the challenges faced by the industry.
From the golden era of the 1960s to the current resurgence of Pakistani cinema, the film delves into the stories of Lollywood's pioneers, such as Agha Ahmed Shah, Deeba, and Waheed Murad, who helped shape the industry into what it is today. The documentary also highlights the new wave of filmmakers, like Asim Raza and Kamal Khan, who are pushing the boundaries of Pakistani cinema with their innovative storytelling and technical expertise.
Through exclusive interviews, archival footage, and observational filmmaking, "Lollywood Studio Stories" offers an intimate look at the creative processes, personal struggles, and professional triumphs of Lollywood's most iconic figures. From script development to film production, and from box office successes to financial struggles, the documentary provides an unvarnished look at the realities of filmmaking in Pakistan.
Key Themes:
Key Interviews:
Locations:
Visuals:
Music:
Target Audience:
Runtime: 90 minutes (including credits)
Language: English and Urdu (with subtitles)
Production Team:
Potential Festivals and Platforms:
The history of —the Lahore-based film industry—is a vibrant saga of ambitious beginnings, technical ingenuity, and a dramatic decline and recent rebirth. The "studio stories" from this era reveal how a makeshift industry in 1920s Lahore grew into a cultural powerhouse before facing decades of struggle. The Early Pioneers and "Open-Air" Studios
Before modern infrastructure existed, Lollywood was built on sheer willpower and borrowed gear. The First Spark (1924): The industry began in 1924 with The Daughters of Today
, which was shot almost entirely in the open air because no dedicated studios existed in Lahore at the time. United Players Corporation (1928):
Founded by A.R. Kardar and M. Ismail on Ravi Road, this was the city's first formal production house. Sunlight Constraints: Have you ever visited the old studio lots in Lahore
Because early studios had poor lighting equipment, filming was strictly limited to daylight hours. Directors often chose locations near the River Ravi or the tombs of Mughal emperors to use natural light for dramatic effect. JISR management and social sciences & economics Legends of the "Golden Era" (1950s–1970s)
During its peak, Lollywood produced over 100 films annually and birthed legends whose stories still resonate. The Chocolate Hero:
Waheed Murad, known as the "Chocolate Hero," became a massive icon. His film (1966) famously ran for over 75 weeks in cinemas. The Rise of Titans: Icons like Nadeem Baig Muhammad Ali defined this era. Nadeem's debut in (1967) lasted an incredible 81 weeks at the box office. Aina's Record Run: The 1977 film
is a legend in itself, staying in cinemas for over 400 weeks—more than four years—making it arguably the most popular film in Pakistani history. Iconic Studio Hubs and Their Decline
The physical studios in Lahore were the heart of the industry but have since fallen into disrepair. New Shahnoor Studios Movie studio Lahore, Pakistan
Established in 1948 by Shaukat Hussain Rizvi, it was once the pinnacle of Pakistani cinema, hosting over 1,000 films including classics like Heer Ranjha
. Today, it is largely a residential and commercial area with only fragments of its cinematic past remaining. Bari Film & TV Studios (Pvt) Ltd. Video production service Lahore, Pakistan
Once one of the largest studios in Asia, it suffered from a lack of maintenance over generations and has largely ceased active production. Evernew Studio Movie studio Lahore, Pakistan
Founded by Agha G.A. Gull, it remains one of the few functional legacy spaces, though it now focuses heavily on commercials rather than feature films. A New Chapter: The Modern Revival
After a dark period in the 1980s and 90s marked by censorship and low-budget "Gandasa" (violent Punjabi) films, the industry is seeing a "Return of Cinema".
In the golden age of Lollywood (Pakistan's film industry), the studios of Lahore—Evernew, Bari, and Shahnoor—were more than just sets; they were worlds of high drama both on and off the screen. The Echoes of Evernew
The story of Lollywood is best told through the lens of a fictionalized composite of true studio lore:
Imagine a sweltering afternoon at Evernew Studios. A legendary starlet, known for her temper as much as her talent, refuses to leave her makeup room because the director ordered the "wrong" shade of marigolds for a song sequence. While the crew waits in the heat, the studio’s tea-boy—a fixture of the industry for forty years—quietly slips into the room. He doesn't bring tea; he brings a story.
He tells her about the time Sultan Rahi, the undisputed king of Punjabi cinema, once stood on this very spot and shared his lunch with the entire lighting crew after a 16-hour shift. He reminds her that the "magic" isn't in the marigolds, but in the collective hustle of the studio walls that have seen empires rise and fall. The Decline and the "Ghost" Studios
By the late 90s and early 2000s, the bustling energy began to fade as the industry faced a "death" and subsequent transformation. Studios that once echoed with the sounds of orchestral music and Urdu dialogues became silent.
The Transformation: The industry moved from the traditional "studio system" to independent productions, a shift often described as a "revival" that questioned what had actually died—was it the cinema, or just the old way of telling stories?
The Modern Spin: Today, the storytelling tradition continues through new mediums like Coke Studio Pakistan, which reimagines old folk tales and 17th-century Sufi poems for a global digital audience. Elements of a Lollywood Legend
If you were to "put together" your own Lollywood-inspired story, consider these authentic tropes:
The Over-the-Top Conflict: Usually involving family honor, a lost-and-found sibling (the "Midnight's Children" trope), or a star-crossed romance.
The Musical Peak: A story is incomplete without a soulful, heartbreaking song that marks the emotional climax.
The Setting: Use the interior courtyards of Lahore or the bustling "brick-making compounds" of rural Punjab to ground the drama in reality.
Today, walking through the ruins of the original Lollywood Studios is a surreal experience. The recording rooms where Noor Jehan sang eternal melodies are now filled with cobwebs. The editing tables where the first color films of Pakistan were cut are buried under rubble.
But ask the old guard—the chai wallahs who still sit outside the gates—and they will tell you the stories are still alive. On quiet nights, they say, you can still hear the clapboard slam, the director yell "Action!" and the ghost of a silver screen that once was.
The 1980s and 90s were the era of the "Punjabi Vengeance" film, dominated by the legendary Sultan Rahi. His voice could shatter glass, and his personality was larger than the 70mm screen. The studio makeup rooms were small, shared spaces—a recipe for drama.
One famous story involves a matinee idol who shall remain nameless (let's call him "M."). M. was married but had fallen for a new leading lady. To avoid his wife, who often visited the sets, M. would pass love letters to the heroine via a spot boy hiding behind the pando (the large reflective screen used for lighting).
One day, the spot boy mixed up the notes. The hero’s passionate letter landed in the hands of Mustafa Qureshi (the quintessential villain), who was sitting in the makeup chair getting his fake mustache glued on. Mustafa, thinking it was a fan letter, read it aloud in his booming villain voice to the entire cast. The silence was deafening. The hero turned white; the heroine turned red. Shooting was canceled for three days. The director later admitted that the genuine tension in the next scene—where the hero had to kill the villain—was the best acting of their careers.