Enjoyment Has Struck a New Path in Entertainment

When The Royals landed on Netflix this May, expectations were reasonably high. The show promised a glossy reimagining of royalty, complete with palatial sets, modern-day dilemmas, and a star-studded cast featuring Ishaan Khatter and Bhumi Pednekar. But what unfolded onscreen was a confused, overwrought drama riddled with tonal shifts and awkwardly written dialogue. It didn’t take long for social media to pounce. Memes and ironic comments poured in—mocking the spectacle while ensuring the show remained a topic of discussion for days. 

Strangely enough, the ridicule only drew in more viewers. Something similar happened with Nadaaniyan, Ibrahim Ali Khan’s much-publicised launchpad on Netflix. 

From the word-go, the film had a legacy burden to bear. And while it was promoted with the pomp, you'd expect from a star kid’s debut, the end result was far from promising—light on plot and comically outdated in its treatment. Still, it clocked high viewership numbers, perhaps precisely because of how spectacularly it missed the mark. 

What we're seeing with these titles isn’t just a fluke—it’s part of a growing trend. Increasingly, Indian audiences are engaging with shows and films not despite their flaws, but because of them. Welcome to the era of hate-watching.

Hate-watching isn’t quite the same as indulging in a guilty pleasure. The latter is about enjoyment you’re mildly embarrassed to admit; the former is about active, often performative consumption of content that’s flawed to the point of fascination. You’re watching not because you like it, but because you want to see just how bad it can get—and maybe laugh about it with others while you do.

This isn’t new to global audiences, but what’s interesting is how sharply it's taking root in India’s OTT space. With streaming platforms chasing algorithms that reward engagement over artistic merit, the bar for what gets greenlit has shifted. As a result, we’ve seen a spate of shows and films that seem designed more for discourse than for depth.

Remember Tandav on Prime Video? Marketed as a hard-hitting political thriller, it quickly descended into melodrama, sparking criticism for its one-note characters and lack of narrative sharpness. Yet, the show was widely watched and dissected—not because it struck a chord, but because it gave people something to rant about.

 Or take The Empire on Jio Hotstar: visually ambitious but emotionally hollow, it became a trending title largely because viewers couldn’t stop talking about how it bungled such rich historical material. 

Class, the Indian remake of Elite, had plenty of stylised angst and glossy visuals, but its portrayal of teen life often veered into parody. For many, the show’s appeal lay in its over-the-top sensibilities rather than any genuine narrative grip. 

Decoupled, too, walked a fine line between satire and smugness—viewers couldn’t decide whether to take it seriously or just laugh at its tone-deaf moments.

Part of it is simple curiosity. When a show becomes infamous online, it’s hard not to want a peek. There's also a weird comfort in knowing you’re not alone in your disappointment. Watching something terrible becomes a shared experience—one that’s funnier, sharper, and more engaging when dissected as a group. 

On platforms like Reddit, X (formerly Twitter), and Instagram, a bad show offers rich fodder for jokes, memes, and hot takes. People aren’t just watching; they’re actively contributing to the conversation, sometimes in real-time. For young people who grew up using smartphones while watching TV or streaming shows, the act of watching and reacting to content together online feels like a normal, instinctive way to engage with entertainment. 

Streaming platforms, knowingly or not, have a role in amplifying this cycle. Their recommendation engines don’t care whether you’re watching with admiration or derision—if you watch, engage, or even just hover, that content gets pushed. In effect, hate-watching becomes indistinguishable from genuine fandom. And for platforms under pressure to produce hits, controversy or ridicule often proves to be a better driver of viewership than lukewarm praise. 

Netflix, in particular, has leaned heavily on high-volume, high-visibility content. Not everything sticks, but the few that do—whether for good reasons or bad—generate enough noise to justify the investment. The Royals is a prime example. While the critics may have shredded it, the fact that it trended for weeks (still trending at number one) and sparked think pieces, takedowns, and spoofs made it a net win in engagement terms.

But this trend isn’t without its downsides. For one, it encourages a kind of cynicism in both audiences and creators. If noisy mediocrity can deliver better numbers than quiet brilliance, what's the incentive to push creative boundaries? Why invest in nuance when you can just stir up chatter? There’s also the risk that everything starts to feel disposable. When people approach every new release with an arched eyebrow and a ready meme template, it becomes harder for genuine storytelling to shine. 

Shows that deserve patience or subtle engagement often get written off too quickly, swept into the same stream of ironic content. And yet, this says something about the Indian streaming viewer—someone who isn’t passive, who isn’t simply lapping up what’s offered. 

Hate-watching may not be the most flattering badge of engagement, but it's undeniably effective. Platforms thrive on it, creators anticipate it, and audiences indulge it. For better or worse, it has become part of how content is consumed in India today.

So, when a show like The Royals or a film like Naadaniyaan goes viral—not because it’s good, but because it’s not—it tells us something important. In an entertainment landscape where attention is the ultimate currency, even failure can be spun into a spectacle. And in that spectacle, sometimes, we just can’t look away.