Written by: Hurmat Majid
Posted on: May 20, 2025 | 
| 中文
Iqra Aziz and Shuja Asad in Paradise
In the ever-growing catalogue of Pakistani television dramas, Paradise promised a refreshing change. Directed by Yasir Hussain and co-written by Hussain, Yasir Taj and Nasir Hussain, Paradise stars Iqra Aziz and Shuja Asad in a quirky romantic setup with all the ingredients of a light-hearted, situational comedy. Set against the backdrop of Karachi and produced by LO IQ Films for Express Entertainment, the show premiered with fanfare and high expectations. And yet, somewhere between the glittery visuals and chaotic plotting, Paradise loses its footing, becoming a glaring example of an idea with promise that’s poorly executed.
Iqra Aziz, Maham Aamir and Gul-e-Rana
Let’s begin with what works. The concept of Paradise is undeniably novel by Pakistani TV standards. Instead of the usual melodramatic narratives soaked in domestic misery, the show takes on a comedic tone with a story about a family trying to manipulate their way into a wealthy marriage alliance. At the heart of the series is Fia (played by Iqra Aziz), a spirited young woman caught between her family’s financial desperation and her own agency. Her potential beau, Taimoor (played by Shuja Asad), represents the archetypal “good guy” bachelor, caught unawares in a scheme that seems like it should be out of a stage farce rather than a 25-episode television drama.
The show’s trailer and promotional content hinted at sharp humour, clever twists, and a social commentary wrapped in whimsy. For the first episode or two, there’s even a slight sparkle that makes the audience hope this will be a satire worth watching. But that glimmer quickly fades as the show succumbs to the very pitfalls it could have avoided.
One of the most striking observations about Paradise is that it doesn’t feel like it belongs on television. The tone, pacing and format scream theatre. In fact, the central plot, where a not-so-rich family fakes a façade and conspires to land their daughter in a rich marriage, would have made for a perfectly delightful one-hour theatrical comedy. Imagine the tightly choreographed chaos of a family trying to maintain multiple lies on stage, doors opening and closing, mistaken identities and all.
Maham Aamir, Aoun Ali Khan and Umer Aalam
But stretched out over a 20+ episode arc with filler scenes, meandering side plots and awkward shifts in tone, the same narrative feels diluted and repetitive. What could have been an electric 60 minutes of clever writing and back-to-back punchlines ends up bogged down in clunky direction and underdeveloped arcs.
Perhaps the most unintentionally humorous element in the show is the production design. We are repeatedly told that Fia’s family is financially struggling, but nothing about their house, their clothes, or even their lifestyle gives that impression. Their home is well-furnished, brightly lit, with expansive rooms and designer cushions, hardly the trappings of a struggling household. It’s a classic case of telling instead of showing.
This lack of visual coherence undermines the central tension of the story. If the audience is meant to sympathize with the family’s desperation or understand their motives for deception, they need to see the struggle. Instead, we get a polished sitcom setting that visually contradicts the premise at every turn. It's hard to root for a family who claims they can’t afford groceries while sitting on a velvet sofa in a room that looks that it was painted yesterday.
Salma Hasan, Rehan Sheikh and Umer Aalam
The comedic engine of Paradise is supposed to be the family’s elaborate plan to entrap Taimoor and his family into marriage. But the scheme is so weak, so lazily conceived, and so implausibly executed that it becomes difficult to suspend disbelief. Rather than clever deception or comedic manipulation, the plan feels like a first draft of an idea that needed far more refinement.
Instead of layers of confusion or slapstick wit, we’re left with scenes where characters simply behave illogically. One minute, Taimoor is suspicious; the next, he's blissfully oblivious. Supporting characters are conveniently forgetful or conveniently meddlesome depending on what the plot requires. What’s worse, many scenes that should be funny are instead repetitive or rely on overused tropes that feel forced rather than fresh.
The writing often struggles to maintain consistent tone. Some moments aim for satire; others descend into melodrama. A romantic subplot here, a moral lecture there, and before you know it, the show is veering into territory it was never supposed to explore. The result is a tonal mess that tries to do too much with too little clarity.
Iqra Aziz is a talented actress, and while she tries to bring charm and spontaneity to her role, she’s hampered by a script that gives her little emotional range to work with. Her character often comes across as reactive rather than proactive, caught in the whirlwind of family decisions and half-baked lies.
Rehan Sheikh, Salma Hasan and Syed Tanveer Hussain
Shuja Asad, as Taimoor, seems to be trying hard to keep things grounded, but his performance often feels flat, perhaps due to the weak material he has been given to deliver. The chemistry between the two leads, which is supposed to drive the show, feels strained and undercooked. Their interactions are sporadically engaging but never quite hit the emotional or comedic highs one would expect from a rom-com.
Supporting actors, particularly those playing Fia’s family members, swing between overacting and under-delivery. Yasir Hussain’s off-screen involvement in the writing and direction doesn’t translate into compelling performances on-screen, and many characters feel like caricatures rather than believable people.
To give credit where it’s due, Paradise is well-shot. The cinematography is clean, and the production values are relatively high for a television serial of this nature. The Original Soundtrack (OST), composed by Yasir Hussain and sung by Ahmad Gul and Samya Gohar, is one of the few highlights, giving the show a breezy, youthful vibe that fits its intended tone.
But visuals and sound alone can’t save a series that lacks substance. Ultimately, Paradise is the kind of show that looks better in a trailer than it feels in a full episode. The gloss is there, but the soul isn’t.
Shuja Asad and Iqra Aziz in Paradise
Paradise could have been a sharp, witty commentary on social pretensions, class anxiety, and the absurdity of marriage pressures in urban Pakistan. It could have used humour to critique real societal contradictions. Instead, it ends up being a confused and diluted affair that tries to do too much while saying too little.
With tighter writing, a shorter runtime, and a commitment to either farce or satire, this drama could have worked brilliantly as a stage play or even a one-off telefilm. As a long-format serial, however, it’s a missed opportunity, a show with a good heart but no real pulse.
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