Stealing movies: Piracy or punk politics?

Editor’s note: Film piracy—originally perhaps a function of cost and access—has today morphed into an ideological debate. How else do mindful consumers of cinema deal with trigger-happy censorship, uneven access, and the whims of streaming platforms? In our lead essay this week, film critic Tatsam Mukherjee wades into the complex ethical minefield of film piracy in 2026.

Written by: Tatsam Mukherjee

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The moment I stepped out of Curry Barker’s horror-phenomenon, Obsession, I knew I had to rewatch it. Not because I was mesmerised (I did enjoy it), but to find out what I’d missed during the two abrupt cuts in the censored version playing in Indian theatres. I mulled over the thought of downloading a pirated uncensored version of the film, which (to my surprise) was available. 

Film piracy used to be a binary conversation in my growing up years (the ‘00s), where the question was whether one watched the film through legitimate means (theatre, TV, VCD, or DVD) or not. With no streaming platforms around, the only way to watch a film ‘legitimately’ was if it came out in a theatre near you or you had access to buying/renting the original DVD. On the other hand, pirated versions were available easily at a fraction of the cost, making it a no-brainer.  

Today, the discourse is a lot more complex. With affordable internet, the conversation is splintered beyond IP (Intellectual Property) theft to include more questions. Access to films, sanctity of the works being distributed, and alternate models in a time when giant corporations with a limited risk appetite are exclusionary in their strategies. Take Dev Patel’s Monkey Man (2024), which wasn’t cleared for release in India for its apparent political commentary. People could only pirate it here once it was released internationally on streamers. Similarly, Anand Patwardhan, the revered documentary filmmaker, won the top award at IDFA (International Documentary film Festival of Amsterdam) for his 2018 film Vivek (English title: Reason). After the film was ‘rejected’ by the MIFF (Mumbai International Film Festival) jury—perhaps for its critique of the Hindu right-wing in the film—Patwardhan challenged the decision at the Mumbai High Court and later released it on YouTube. 

Phrases like ‘gatekeeping’ and ‘eat the rich’, coupled with headlines of a film’s historical numbers (like the two-part Dhurandhar earning a cumulative Rs. 3,000 crore) or a star’s windfall earnings from one project—Kartik Aaryan reportedly earning Rs. 20 crore for Ram Madhvani’s Dhamaka—have made it easier (and righteous?) to rationalise piracy as a form of ‘punk rock’ appropriation. However, one might want to remember it’s not only the ‘whales’ of the industry who are affected by piracy. It’s also the brave, independently-sourced films/documentaries. The ethical goalposts for film piracy in 2026 are constantly shifting, and one has to be vigilant about what one is advocating.

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Like many of his peers, documentary filmmaker Vinay Shukla, 38, has been both beneficiary and victim of piracy. Currently in Berlin for a screening of his film, While We Watched (WWW; 2022), Shukla credits piracy for opening the doors of world cinema and Indian film history. If not for that, he wouldn’t have been introduced to Abbas Kiarostami, Jia Zhangke, Hou Hsao-hsien, Stanley Kubrick—mavericks from around the globe who’d appear in the same four-in-one DVDs found in roadside stalls between CST and Churchgate (Mumbai) or Delhi’s piracy hub Palika Bazaar. “The exhibition infrastructure [then] didn’t exist for anything that wasn’t a mainstream Hindi film,” says Shukla. “I had no option but to go to piracy.” Being familiar with the auteurs also helped him make his first set of friends in the world of filmmaking.

Shukla, however, also experienced the bitter side of piracy when WWW was leaked before its official release in India. From the very first day, it was being pirated on multiple platforms: Twitter, Whatsapp, Telegram, Torrent sites. “On YouTube alone, thousands of people created a fresh account and uploaded my film,” recounts Shukla, “because they wanted to show solidarity.” It hurt him financially, but he took it in stride. After the license for its India release (with Mubi) ran out, the film was uploaded on standup comedian Kunal Kamra’s YouTube channel. Freely available, it has racked up 1.3 million views in a little over two months.

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Much like Shukla, Rituraj Das, a media professional and a discerning cinephile, remembers renting two-CD packs from the local ‘parlour’ in Guwahati for Rs 20 per week. It’s how he discovered works outside of mainstream Hollywood, like early Guy Ritchie films, Danny Boyle’s Trainspotting (1996), or Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984). “The Trainspotting CD I’d rented had the entire ‘Choose Life’ monologue written on the backcover,” recounts 39-year-old Das.

If not for his ability to scour the internet, Das might have never seen the director’s cut of Cameron Crowe’s Almost Famous (2000), among his favourites; or a little-known Belgian dark-comedy called Ex Drummer (2007), which he would go on to review for a film blog. “I am the sum of my pop-culture consumption,” he says. “I’m a firm believer of ‘if you buy a record, DVD, or game, you are free to pass it around like a book.’”

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There’s a lot more context to piracy today, where the intent isn’t only theft. A line of thought, “kopimi”, or “copy me” (introduced in the 2000s by Swedish think tank The Pirate Bureau) encourages illegally copying films instead of obeying copyright laws. Their ideology stems from films being public knowledge, and therefore should be available to everyone. It was among the foundational beliefs behind The Pirate Bay (TPB), as cited in Simon Klose’s 2013 documentary TPB: AFK, following the trials faced by its three founders. TPB is perhaps the most notorious piracy website, enabling free download of all sorts of media. Even on X, you’’ find certain popular accounts sharing links of directors’ entire filmographies. 

With physical media being more niche than ever, and streamers charging not only subscription fees but also additional “renting” fees, the question of ownership becomes messy., Parting with one’s money while reading about Jeff Bezos’s stratospheric net worth—it might be understandable if someone turns to downloading a film. It’s the only way to ‘own’ it for your private collection. 

Das and Shukla agree that conscientious audiences will find a way to pay artists for their works; however, one can only wonder if such people will match those who aren’t as invested in the industry’s health. In that case, how does the industry recover a reasonable incentive from the work they’re putting in? Das reminds me of the Bit-Torrent marvel, Richard Schenkman’s The Man from Earth (2007), produced on a $200,000 budget, whose profile was significantly elevated after the film was illegally shared on peer-to-peer (P2P) networks before its DVD release. Its popularity online resulted in the makers recovering their money through actual DVD sales. However, they weren’t able to recreate it with the sequel, a decade later. Was this, then, a freak phenomenon?

Most content in India finds itself behind half a dozen streaming platforms (often in inferior quality, cropped aspect ratio, and/or clipped durations)—films like Pradip Krishen’s In Which Annie Gives It Those Ones (1989) were kept alive in public memory through pirated versions floating around on YouTube. Earlier this year, a restored version (by the Film Heritage Foundation) of Krishen’s film premiered at the Berlinale and re-released in theatres. Similarly, Ramesh Sharma’s New Delhi Times (1986) was restored by Shemaroo, after sensing interest following thousands of views on a terrible bootlegged print of the film. 

An example from across the border: Sarmad Khoosat released his controversial film, Zindagi Tamasha (2018), on YouTube for free, after a prolonged battle with censorship powers that wanted to bury it. In the description box, Khoosat mentioned his company’s bank information, requesting viewers to contribute whatever they thought fit as a ‘ticket price’. It’s also through piracy that Saim Sadiq’s Joyland (2022), which won the Queer Palm at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival, was widely seen in India after its premiere at an Indian film festival. 

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The meat, then, of this conflict is: how do we keep artists incentivised, while ensuring equal access to the blockbuster and the obscure indie funded by a filmmaker’s pawned jewellery or home? Do we trust the audience to differentiate between the two, and act fairly? The audience has to recognise that producing a film costs money and effort—and therefore not being mindful while consuming it will further disincentivise independent players. “I don't think you can blame corporations for wanting to make money. It's not a theoretical conversation for them,” notes Shukla. The tricky part is debating how much money is enough money, before a corporation makes a film available for those who can’t afford it. Not out of fleeting benevolence, but because it’s the right thing to do. 

Das believes streaming sites and P2P sites will have to learn to co-exist. “Every person should have easy access to art they like,” he says. Aware of his disposable income and the privilege it brings, Das prefers going to the theatre. But inane interventions (like blurred scenes, beeped dialogues, smoking PSAs) push many like him to remain active on TPB as well. “As long as the industry or the state tries to restrict access, piracy will (and should) exist.” 

Audiences will show up in theatres for an ‘intriguing’ film, as seen in the surprise box office success of Backrooms and Obsession; they’ll go for the blockbusters like the Dhurandhar films, Border 2, or, internationally, Michael or the Devil Wears Prada. The success of outlier films such as 12th Fail (2023), Saiyaara (2025) and recently, Main Vaapas Aaunga (2026)’s resurgence from a dead first week, suggests that word-of-mouth usually gets around when the work resonates with audiences. 

So when might the “right time” be for those who can’t afford these new releases, or will never have access? If it were only up to market forces, the answer might most certainly be never. Maybe it’s not a bad thing that it isn’t. One immediately fixable part of the problem might be if the audience starts taking ownership to sustain the ecosystem. It’s impossible for one solitary action to untangle the complex web that is film piracy in 2026. But, if the viewer becomes a mindful stakeholder in the film industry’s health (instead of a mindless ‘consumer’), then we might be closer to the ideal scenario.

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Tatsam Mukherjee has been a film critic/culture journalist since 2016. He's currently based in Bengaluru.