The name itself, "Lollywood," is a modern invention, coined in 1989 by journalist Saleem Nasir in a Karachi-based magazine, cleverly combining with Hollywood . It was during this period that the city’s famous film studios began to rise, laying the foundation for the industry’s future.
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.
By the late 1990s, political shifts, economic instability, changing audience tastes, and a failure to modernize technology led to the rapid decline of the traditional Lahore studio system. Many lots fell into disrepair, with parts of the land sold off to build wedding halls, residential complexes, or commercial markets.
: 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?
But they are wrong.
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
: At its peak, the 40-acre lot buzzed with 250 employees. It was a city within a city, where legends like Sultan Rahi would walk the manicured lawns between takes.
One of the most enduring studio stories from Evernew revolves around the legendary late-night shooting shifts. During the hot Lahore summers, top stars like Waheed Murad, Muhammad Ali, and Zeba preferred shooting under the cool of the night. Evernew would transform into a nocturnal carnival.
Behind the Screen: The Legendary Stories and Secrets of Lollywood Studios lollywood studio stories
If Bari was mysterious, Evernew Studios was the industry's bustling heart. Spanning 40 acres, it was where dreams were made. Producer Agha G.A. Gul built it using profits from his 1956 blockbuster Dulla Bhatti . In its prime, the studio churned out films like Maula Jutt , Heer Ranjha , and Nagina .
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".
Old musicians were so skilled that they rarely did retakes. A story goes that during a recording, the violinist broke a string but kept playing. The conductor didn't stop. That "flawed" take made it into the final film, and nobody noticed because the emotion was so raw.
His on-screen rivalry with Mustafa Qureshi became the stuff of legend. In one famous exchange, the booming Rahi would roar, "Oey, kawn ae toon, oey?" (Who are you, hey?), to which Qureshi would calmly reply, "Tera piyoo!" (Your father), sending audiences into hysterics. The irony of Rahi, who gave vent to his jazbaat (emotions) in full blast, angrily yelling " Hollee bol, oey! " (Speak softly, hey) at others was never lost on his fans. His tragic murder during a highway robbery in 1996 sent shockwaves through the nation, marking the end of an era. The name itself, "Lollywood," is a modern invention,
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.
Lollywood, the vibrant, often chaotic, and endlessly charming Pakistani film industry based in Lahore, is more than just a collection of movies; it is a repository of stories, scandals, and spectacles. From the dusty sets of the early 1950s to the glamorous, high-energy productions of the 1980s, the studios in Lahore were the pulsating heart of culture, gossip, and art.
One of the most enduring Lollywood legends involves the “Punjabi superstar” Sultan Rahi. While shooting a film, the actor was tied to a tree for a scene. When the director yelled “cut,” Rahi was inexplicably unable to untie himself. Veteran extra Malik Akbar recalls that no matter how hard the crew tried, Rahi remained stuck to the tree for an extended period, as if held by a supernatural force. Other strange incidents plagued the studio: a bride on a set fell off her doli (palanquin) fracturing her leg, and mysterious fires frequently broke out on sets.
For those who remain, the old stories are all they have left. Malik Akbar, the extra supplier at Bari Studios, can still be found on the crumbling premises. He can arrange any extra for a film, but time has not been kind. He recalls how some of the biggest actors he worked with would not listen to his pleas for financial help when his daughters were getting married. They see the gravity-defying fight scenes, the glittering