Commemorating Chorki’s 5th anniversary, Nuhash Humayun talks about his landmark project that finds a home on the streaming platform.
Let me start with a memory from about three years ago. I was riding a rickshaw at midnight when three young men physically stopped me. They stared intensely and asked, "You're Nuhash, right?" Intimidated, I wondered what would happen next. When they asked what I was working on, I tried to impress them by mentioning international awards and big Hollywood studios. They just gave me a cold, blank stare. But the moment I said I might do a second season of “Pett Kata Shaw”, they jumped up in excitement, wished me luck, and let me go.
This moment captures the beautiful warmth “Pett Kata Shaw” and “Ei Djinn Bhuter Golpo” have received. Today, many Bangladeshi filmmakers win critical acclaim globally, while others find massive success locally. I am incredibly fortunate that my project bridges both worlds.
The first season premiered at the International Film Festival Rotterdam, and the second season debuted at South by Southwest (SXSW) in 2025. At the same time, young people frequently come up to me to share how they stayed up all night watching it with their families. Such a crossover project is rare.
The journey began simply. I met with the content agency A FOR ACTION, who asked if I had a series idea for the streaming platform Chorki. I pitched a Bangladeshi horror series, and they immediately put me on a quick, 30-second call with Chorki's CEO, Redoan Rony. I described it as the authentic Bangla horror stories we grew up with—rooted in local folklore but made with real heart and scares. Rony bhai instantly replied, "Done, brilliant. Let's do it." The rest is history.
While pitching was easy, making the show in 2021 was incredibly difficult—even harder than directing my first feature film, “Moving Bangladesh”. Back then, contemporary Bangladeshi horror barely existed. My entire team was confused, and it took a massive effort to convince the creatives that this could work. Done poorly, horror easily becomes comedy. I wanted to merge the grammar of global horror—from American to Japanese and Korean cinema—with our unique local stories. Our folklore is deeply personal; ghosts are intertwined with our daily lives and even our relationship with food, like Djinns who love sweets or petnis looking for fish.
“Pett Kata Shaw” was not an overnight success. When it first aired, the tone was so unconventional that audiences questioned if it was even horror. But as episodes dropped, the appreciation grew. Eventually, word of mouth reached a programmer from Rotterdam, marking the first time a festival invited my work without me applying.
The international response was deeply moving. At the Fantasia International Film Festival in Montreal, a young Canadian man with autism told me how deeply he related to Chanchal Chowdhury’s character in “Mishti Kichu”, noting that the depiction of overwhelming memories accurately mirrored his own anxiety attacks. At another festival, a half-Bengali woman shared that the show finally brought to life the stories her late Bangladeshi father used to tell her.
Accepting praise for these works sometimes feels disingenuous; I see myself merely as a vessel for stories that already exist in our culture. Horror is a part of our daily lives—not just in folklore, but in the harsh realities we see on our streets and in the news. Denying horror in our visual storytelling would mean denying a huge part of the human experience.
This realisation shaped the sequel. Instead of folk tales, I wanted to explore the contemporary horrors of South Asia: fundamentalism, late-stage capitalism, class divides, and the patriarchy. Each episode functions as a modern fable or morality tale. While some viewers prefer thoughtless horror, I love that “Shaw” offers something deeper upon re-watch.
I am grateful to Chorki for having the faith to take a completely different direction for the second season. Because Chorki's core team is led by creatives, I felt free to push boundaries. We experimented with puppetry in “Loke Bole”, domestic horror in “Antara”, and a folk musical format inspired by Satyajit Ray in “Beshura”. Though I now work with major global entities like Netflix, Hulu, and Hollywood agencies, I am incredibly proud to have grown alongside a Bangladeshi streamer, taking local stories to the world.
Looking ahead, I believe Bangladeshi streaming has hit a plateau. In the early days, streamers took bold risks. Now, the industry plays it safe, leaving audiences somewhat underwhelmed. This mirrors global trends seen with platforms like Netflix or Amazon; massive breakthroughs like “Squid Game” or “Baby Reindeer” only happen when platforms take genuine risks.
Making more seasons of “Shaw” is no longer a risk because it has become an established brand. My hope for the future is that investors and producers will continue to back young talent and unique voices instead of forcing them into a rigid formula. There is a profound hunger for bold, authentic Bangladeshi storytelling—not just at home and within the diaspora, but across the globe. The world is waiting for us.
