How to hate-watch your way to the top 10: A streaming success story

Netflix shows Nadaaniyan and The Royals receives poor reveiews from the critics

In the ever-expanding multiverse of Indian streaming, a strange phenomenon is taking center stage: content that is widely mocked and relentlessly critiqued—and yet, somehow, widely watched. The most recent flagbearer of this curious cultural kink is ‘The Royals’—Netflix’s glittering tale of palace drama with the soul of an overly stylized soap opera. It boasts of sprawling palaces, royal lineage, and costumes that deserve more attention than the screenplay. And yet, while critics branded it “uneven” (Times of India), the show racked up viewership numbers that would make award-winning titles blush. Right alongside it is ‘Nadaaniyan,’ a coming-of-age Netflix film starring Ibrahim Ali Khan and Khushi Kapoor, which promised Gen Z urban charm but delivered a convoluted and muddled script with undercooked performances. Reviews were swift and scathing—most noted the lack of chemistry, a wafer-thin plot, and dialogue that often sounded like rejected Instagram captions. Still, it trended. Not because it resonated with the audience, but because it became the newest addition to India’s favourite streaming genre: the collective hate-watch.

This isn’t a one-off trend. Call it digital masochism or entertainment doom scrolling, but shows like ‘Call Me Bae,’ Prime Video’s much-publicized rom-com, have become cultural events—not for their storytelling, but for how intensely they’ve been panned. Critics called it “frothy and frivolous” (The Indian Express) and social media had a field day with its overwritten dialogues and inexplicable plot turns. Still, millions streamed it, discussed it, and mocked it, often with an energy missing from reviews of genuinely good shows. ‘Rana Naidu,’ another Netflix drama headlined by Venkatesh and Rana Daggubati, tried hard to be a gritty family noir but ended up sluggish, and India Today commented on the bad sex and lazy writing of the show. Its plot holes were large enough to host a wedding reception, but it climbed the trending list anyway. Watching it seemed less like entertainment and more like a rite of passage in suffering. And yet, people returned episode after episode.

This curious behaviour isn’t new. Look back a few years and you’ll find ‘Tandav,’ a political drama featuring Saif Ali Khan that aimed for West Wing-style tension but ended up delivering WhatsApp forwards in cinematic form. And yet, controversy gave it oxygen, and audiences clicked out of either outrage or curiosity. ‘Mentalhood,’ a Karisma Kapoor-led show about modern parenting, also received its share of scathing reviews—“a failed attempt,” as one critic put it. But its viewership? Surprisingly steady. Even the much-hyped ‘Jewel Thief,’ featuring Saif Ali Khan and the current sensation Jaideep Ahlwat lacked elegance, originality, and suspense but still continues to top the chart. These are not guilty pleasures. These are outright why-are-we-doing-this-to-ourselves watches—and we do it together.

The explanation for this mass indulgence in mediocrity lies somewhere between psychology, sociology, and our need for belonging. Hate-watching, as it’s called, is driven by schadenfreude, a German term meaning pleasure derived from someone else’s misfortune—in this case, the misfortune of watching an actor deliver a line so awkward, it makes the audience cringe into their sofas. “It’s not that we actually hate—or even love-hate—our “hate-watch” shows; it’s that we feel pressured to say we do. And that creates a landscape in which people think they’re better than certain entertainment because it’s meant for a viewer who is “less sophisticated,” says Cosmopolitan writer Emma Baty in her article on hate-watching.

Also Read: The Royals Review: Ishaan Khatter, Bhumi Pednekar impress in a drama high on glitz, low on depth

But the real fuel to this fire is social media. In India’s meme-hungry digital culture, shows like ‘Bombay Begums’ and ‘The Fame Game’ series became communal experiences not because they were loved, but because they were easy to roast. Memes flew, jokes landed, and even as critics panned them, the audience stuck around—not just for the content, but for the conversation. In India, where community and commentary go hand-in-hand, hate-watching becomes a shared, sometimes hilarious, ritual. It's no surprise that reality shows like Bigg Boss thrive on the same logic. Their brand of relentless chaos invites judgment, mockery, and endless attention. No one really “likes” Bigg Boss—they endure it for entertainment and memes alike.

Of course, streaming platforms aren’t just innocent bystanders in this cycle. Algorithms reward engagement, not quality. Netflix’s co-CEO Ted Sarandos admitted in an interview, “If people are talking about it, they’re watching it.” Whether they’re praising it or tearing it apart is irrelevant—numbers are numbers. And India, with its cheap mobile data, wide smartphone penetration, and hunger for escapism, provides the perfect landscape for content to be consumed and critiqued in equal measure. For every show that aims to be ‘Delhi Crime,’ there’s another one that ends up as Decibel Crime—loud, messy, and oddly compelling.

Also Read: Nadaaniyan Movie Review: Glossy but shallow romance and weak storytelling undermine Ibrahim Ali Khan's debut

So, what does this say about us as viewers? That we are curious, certainly. That we are loyal, sometimes to a fault. And that perhaps, deep down, we enjoy the perverse thrill of bad content—because it unites us in complaint, in laughter, and in sheer disbelief. In the crowded OTT jungle, where quality and quantity blur, maybe bad shows serve a hidden purpose: they give us something to talk about, even if it’s just how terrible they are. As Oscar Wilde once said, “The only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.” Streaming platforms have taken that to heart. And audiences? We’ve accepted the invitation to hate-watch, popcorn in one hand, X (formerly Twitter) open in the other.