How India’s early filmmakers quietly joined the fight for independence

When we think of India’s independence movement, images of mass protests, courtrooms, and jail cells come to mind. But there was another, quieter battlefield—inside Bombay’s film studios. While many churned out escapist cinema, a few bold studios operated under the radar, supporting revolutionaries, funding movements, and hiding dissent in plain sight.

From the 1930s to the 1940s, a small but significant number of film producers, directors, and technicians utilized the medium of cinema to further nationalist causes. Some helped financially. Others offered physical refuge. And many wove political messages into films that passed by colonial censors unnoticed.

Bombay Talkies: A Studio with a Conscience

Founded in 1934 by Himanshu Rai and Devika Rani, Bombay Talkies was not just a business venture—it was a cultural statement. While its glossy productions captured audiences, the studio’s soul leaned nationalist. Achhut Kanya (1936) challenged caste discrimination, a colonial-era social ill often overlooked in official narratives.

The studio’s blockbuster Kismet (1943) was a turning point. One of its songs, “Door Hato Ae Duniya Walo,” cleverly passed the censors by appearing anti-Axis but was instantly understood by Indians as a defiant call against the British. It became an anthem of resistance, sung in hushed tones in public spaces and on radio sets.

Behind the scenes, Bombay Talkies also protected Muslim employees during the 1940s communal tensions, refusing to yield to threats or pressures to fire them. It was more than a workplace—it was a shelter.

Wadia Movietone: Revolution Behind the Stunts

If Bombay Talkies was the polished voice of reform, Wadia Movietone was its rebel cousin. Launched in 1933 by J.B.H. Wadia and his brother Homi, the studio became famous for action films featuring Fearless Nadia. On the surface, these films were all stunts and spectacle—but look closer, and they were full of progressive fire.

Wadia, influenced by the radical writings of M.N. Roy, believed in the transformative power of cinema. His films highlighted corruption, women’s rights, and class struggle, often masked behind adventurous plots. While the censors focused on sword fights and rooftop chases, the audience caught on to the deeper meaning.

B.H. Wadia didn’t just preach; he practiced. He supported writers and actors with leftist leanings and kept his studio doors open to those on the margins of colonial society.

Prabhat Film Company: Regional Cinema with a Political Pulse

Away from the glamour of Bombay, the Prabhat Film Company in Pune was quietly shaping Indian consciousness. Founded in 1929, it quickly earned a reputation for producing films with strong moral and social messages. Filmmakers like V. Shantaram and Damle-Fattelal tackled taboo subjects—women’s rights, alcoholism, and untouchability.

In Duniya Na Mane (1937), a young woman resists being married off to an older man—a direct challenge to patriarchal norms encouraged under colonial rule. These weren’t political manifestos, but they spoke volumes in an era when dissent was dangerous.

By creating cinema that questioned authority and encouraged reform, Prabhat contributed to a cultural awakening that fueled the broader freedom movement.

Behind the Cameras: Hidden Acts of Defiance

Much of this resistance happened quietly. Studios donated money to independence causes through back channels. Filmmakers hosted underground meetings or sheltered activists on the run. Few records survive—by design—but memoirs and oral histories suggest these studios played a small but significant role in keeping the freedom struggle alive.

Writers associated with the Progressive Writers’ Association and later the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA) often worked in or with film studios, utilizing cinema as an extension of their activism. The collaboration between artists, filmmakers, and political thinkers blurred the lines between art and resistance.

The Legacy Lives On

India gained independence in 1947, but the role of its cultural soldiers has often been overlooked. These studios weren’t waving flags or marching in protests, but they were doing something just as powerful—shaping how people thought, what they felt, and how they dreamed of a free India.