In one scene in Netflix’s new documentary series The Roshans, the music directors Sachin-Jigar, Rajesh Roshan’s former assistants, recall his feedback on some of their work: “This is a good tune,” he’d say, “but there’s no salt in this.”
“What he meant by ‘salt,’” Sachin explains, “is that a song can be good, but if it’s bland, it won’t stay with you.” This is sound, perceptive advice that provides a glimpse into maestro Rajesh Roshan’s artistic genius. But ironically, it seems like director Shashi Ranjan doesn’t follow this advice in the docuseries itself.
Based on a great premise, The Roshans lacks any dramatic tension or compelling entry point into its protagonists' lives.
The Romantics, Angry Young Men, and now The Roshans, have created a template for such a docuseries: central figures who’ve contributed immensely to Hindi cinema (certified GOATs, if you will); talking heads—defined more by their quantity and status than the content of what they say—praising them and their legacy; and archival footage of their work.
The Roshans follows three generations of the Roshan family, from Roshan Lal Nagrath (episode 1) to his sons, music director Rajesh Roshan (episode 2) and actor-director-producer Rakesh Roshan (episode 3) to finally, superstar Hrithik Roshan (episode 4).
Each episode chronicles the life and achievements of these men, with several members of the Hindi film industry and beyond telling us how amazing, talented, and humble each of them has been. These include the late Lata Mangeshkar, Ameen Sayani, Asha Bhosle, Sanjay Leela Bhansali, Kumar Sanu, and Sonu Nigam, along with industry staples like Shah Rukh Khan, Ranbir Kapoor, Javed Akhtar, Zoya Akhtar, Farhan Akhtar, Abhishek Bachchan, and many more.
At a time when Hindi cinema is failing to draw audiences to theaters and is experiencing a content crisis, it seems counterintuitive that there is such demand for these docuseries that explore the industry’s history through the lens of certain dynastic families on streaming platforms. Or maybe it makes sense for the Hindi film industry to desperately cling onto past laurels, to drum up nostalgia for a time when songs were composed with originality over virality, when award shows had some iota of credibility, and when many Hindi films connected with their audiences.
Either way, there’s now a saturation with such docuseries, especially since they seem increasingly formulaic. The Roshans replicates the pitfalls of its predecessors while containing very few of their strengths.
Most importantly, it takes for granted that its protagonists’ greatness automatically translates into a compelling documentary. A good documentary can make you care about anyone, giving you unprecedented insight into their motives, challenges, and complexities.
But this one takes a lazy and uninspired approach to make such esteemed men’s lives into an insipid viewing experience, focusing on capturing as broad a range of details as possible and extolling its protagonists’ virtues while sidestepping anything thorny or uncomfortable.
The Roshan’s structure is basic—each episode follows a different Roshan man, rather than following any narrative arc, central conflict, or thematic exploration. Both The Romantics and Angry Young Men used their protagonists’ journeys to reflect on Hindi film history more broadly, India’s sociopolitical climate, and other larger themes, including feminism, secularism, and the importance of paying writers fairly.
They spent much more time on their protagonists’ failures and challenges along the way, making for slightly more honest and engaging viewing.
The Roshans, on the other hand, feels more brazenly like a self-indulgent vanity project, as it doesn’t even try to shroud its celebration of its protagonists with anything else. This is largely due to an absence of significant conflict. In the first two episodes especially, there’s just a little artificially inserted melodrama at the end, telling us Roshan Lal Nagrath didn’t “get his due” or Rajesh Roshan smoked and drank a lot, and was so down-to-earth, that he didn’t get the fame he deserved.
It all feels too contrived and doesn’t ever feel raw, honest, or particularly profound.
With episodes 3 and 4, we get more tension, with Rakesh Roshan’s struggles as an actor, getting shot by the mafia, and suffering tongue cancer. One remark by Anupam Kher, for instance, stood out for its candor, when he says that Rakesh Roshan “played safe as an actor” and “was neither here nor there” – yet no one meaningfully unpacks this criticism enough or reflects on how or why he wasn’t that successful as an actor but managed to crack it as a director.
These challenges come and go too easily and quickly, with the series papering over any messy topics, including Hrithik’s stutter and curved spine, in favor of unabashedly glorifying the Roshan legacy. How did Hrithik feel carrying the weight of such a heavy legacy on his shoulders but dealing with such difficult disabilities? How did the family recover from the mafia attack and what kind of toll did it take on them?
The Roshans has no interest whatsoever in such questions. It feels particularly jarring to be paying tribute to a star who is still in the peak of his career, navigating flops, competition, and the changing landscape, with no criticality at all. The Roshans is ultimately an empty puff piece that’s ambient viewing at best. If you’re content with a docuseries leaving you with puns like "Roshans ne apna naam Roshan kiya hai," then maybe the series is for you.
But instead of seeking escape in the comfort of nostalgia and past success, the Hindi film industry should focus on reinventing and staying relevant today.
Rating: 2 Quints out of 5