For years, the question of women in commercial cinema was simply whether they were there. Today, women headline action films, lead spy missions and carry franchises. The change is visible. But visibility can be deceptive. A woman can be at the centre of the frame without being at the centre of the story. Alpha, the first female-led film in YRF’s spy universe, puts Alia Bhatt and Sharvari in a world historically dominated by male agents. Yet questions remain about whether the sexualisation of its female stars belongs to an older visual grammar. Toxic, directed by Geetu Mohandas and featuring five prominent actresses alongside Yash, was positioned as a film with a female gaze, but questions have also been raised about whether its female characters have stories independent of its male protagonist.

The female gaze is ultimately about point of view: whether a character has an interior life, and whether her choices carry narrative weight.

Data journalist Surbhi Bhatia’s analysis of Bollywood from 2000-2022 found that female-led films received less than a fifth of the capital and resources invested in the top films in any year. Yet these films can be highly profitable, often delivering returns comparable to, or better than, those of male-led films. Bhatia illustrates the disparity through the returns on investment of women-led films. Lipstick Under My Burkha, made for around Rs 6 crore, generated approximately Rs 25 crore, a return of more than four times its investment. Raazi, starring Alia Bhatt as a spy, was made for around Rs 40 crore and generated Rs 195 crore worldwide, returning 4.8 times its investment. By comparison, a male-led film made for Rs 250 crore and earning Rs 500 crore delivers a 2x return.

The issue, she argues, is “not that women-led films perform badly, but that producers are less willing to assume the risk of producing, distributing and promoting them at scale.”

Bhatia will discuss these findings during her talk Kuch Kuch Data Hai: Bollywood, Visualised today at Woodside Inn, Bandra, as part of a Pint of View Lecture. Her research also shows that roughly one-third of working characters in paid occupations in films are women. They are more likely to be doctors, teachers, journalists, dancers, actors and models, while police officers, military personnel, politicians and criminals remain more likely to be male. Characters associated with power, danger or institutional authority are still more often written as men.

Aditi Govitrikar, actor, sees a similar gap between discussions and opportunities. “The conversation is happening, but whether it will translate into work or not remains to be seen,” she says, pointing to Delhi Crime, The Great Indian Murder and Made in Heaven as rare examples of women-centred storytelling.

That gap becomes more complicated once a film moves from the idea on the page to the finished product. Sidharth Jain, founder and producer at The Story Ink, explains, “Commercial filmmaking is inherently a collaborative process. Writers, filmmakers, producers, actors, studios and marketing teams all enter the equation, along with the pressure of the box office.”

With larger budgets and more stakeholders, an original idea is not necessarily discarded, Jain explains, but can gradually become something different from what the filmmaker first set out to make. Creative control can therefore be as consequential as casting.

A female lead, or even a woman directing the film, does not automatically determine the perspective through which her character is understood. That point of view has to survive from script to screen.

Arati Kadav, director of Mrs., takes the argument back to the writing itself. “We don’t depict women as whole people,” she says. Creators need to “step in the shoes of their characters” and “live those stories with the fullness they deserve”. Even smaller female characters, she argues, should have “a strong point of view, a proper backstory and some duality, rather than becoming too one-tone”.

Jain adds, “My biggest problem is that we don’t have a large pool of good screenwriting.” A filmmaker may have the right intent, but without the craft to communicate it, the idea, he says, can get lost in execution.

Revati Mahurkar, who has worked across Indian and international music videos including Qatal, Mascara and Tevar, believes that sensuality and self-expression can coexist beautifully when women have a say in how they are presented—from performance and costumes to the images that make the final cut. “I think women having agency in how they are presented changes the entire perception of their presence on the screen,” she says.

“It’s what moves us away from objectification towards having an active role in picturising and presenting the content, whether a song or a film.” Mahurkar also feels that respect for women in the industry may be growing, but “entertainment only reflects what is happening in the real world around us.”

Jain, too, sees the industry moving beyond its traditionally male-star-driven model, in which “the heroine is just there for three songs”, towards a greater emphasis on story and content.

He sees it most clearly among younger writers, who are “more self-aware, more responsible” about how women are written. But he is wary of treating this as a complete transformation.

“It’s a generational shift,” he says, one that will happen slowly, as filmmakers and audiences continue to shape and respond to each other.

Films such as Kabir Singh and Animal are reminders that stories built around male desire and violence still have considerable commercial currency. But their success does not cancel the growth of female-led cinema; it only exposes the marketplace in which those films must compete. Counting more heroines, too, tells us little about how much narrative power women have acquired.

Representation cannot, after all, be measured by counting women on screen. A heroine may have substantial dialogue, fight scenes and even a plot of her own while the film continues to view her chiefly through male desire. The real measure is whether she has an inner life, consequential choices and ambitions that do not exist merely to advance a man’s story. Bollywood may be changing the stories it is willing to tell, but the more difficult shift lies in who gets to shape them, and whose perspective is allowed to endure from the first draft to the final frame.