2026 has carried forward the momentum of last year’s box-office boom. As of 1 July, Indonesian theatrical releases average 445,040 admissions per film, a notable increase from last year’s figure of 413,189. In total, domestic films managed to gather 36.49 million admissions from 82 films, significantly outperforming 14 million admissions from 171 foreign releases. While promising, this snapshot only captures the year’s midpoint, and the outlook for the latter half remains uncertain. Indonesia’s economic climate has grown increasingly bleak: the national currency, Rupiah, slid to an all-time low against the US Dollar in early June, triggering ripple effects across the market. Rising petroleum costs have driven up the price of basic necessities, leaving many Indonesians cautious and risk-averse in their daily spending.

Against this backdrop, cinema has increasingly come to feel like a disposable luxury. Overall theatrical releases have drawn fewer audiences this year, averaging just 199,920 admissions per film, a steep drop from last year’s 275,667. Strikingly, Pixar’s Toy Story 5 was the only imported film that managed to break into Indonesia’s overall box-office top ten. The remainder of the chart is dominated by local productions, led by Awi Suryadi’s Danur: The Last Chapter with 3.62 million admissions and Joko Anwar’s Ghost in the Cell with 3.38 million. Both are horror films: the former extends a well-renowned franchise, while the latter showcases the vision of a cult-favourite director. The contrast signifies the promises and challenges for the months ahead.

Much as in recent years, horror has reaffirmed its standing as the standard-bearer of Indonesian cinema. The genre’s 35 releases account for around 43% of the national film output and have collectively drawn 20.81 million admissions, commanding 57% of the domestic box-office by mid-year. Three franchise or IP-based titles anchor the box-office top ten. Danur: The Last Chapter leads at number one, while Sekawan Limo 2: Gunung Klawih (2.08 million admissions) and Suzzanna: Santet Dosa di Atas Dosa (1.53 million) secure the fifth and ninth spots. Interwoven among them are three director-driven projects: Joko Anwar’s Ghost in the Cell at number two, Hadrah Daeng Ratu’s Alas Roban (2.43 million) at number four, and Jeropoint’s Tumbal Proyek (1.65 million) at number seven.

At a glance, this view at the top spells out a pattern: the industry leans heavily on horror, particularly ghost and supernatural tales, as its box-office tentpoles. Producers keep multiplying such projects because they remain a near-guaranteed path to profit, and the numbers over the years back it up. In 2022, 36 horror films delivered 58% of annual admissions for domestic releases. That year there were 87 Indonesian releases in total. The share rose to 62% in 2023 (48 out of 106 releases) and climbed further to 66% in 2024 (68 out of 148 releases). Fear, quite literally, keeps the market awake as the masses search for dopamine hits.

Horror’s share did decline in 2025, when 89 releases accounted for 39% of annual admissions. Yet the year marked a milestone for Indonesian cinema overall. Local productions utterly dominated the market: 200 films drew a combined 82.6 million admissions, far surpassing the 45.8 million gathered by 266 imported titles1—101 of them from Hollywood. While horror staples like Pabrik Gula and Petaka Gunung Gede secured places in the year’s box-office top ten, the chart was decisively led by a crime comedy (Agak Laen: Menyala Pantiku!) and a family animation (Jumbo). Mid‑table attention gravitated toward more adventurous fare, including a time‑loop romance (Sore: Istri dari Masa Depan) and an interfaith love story (Komang). In this light, horror’s familiarity and predictability provided a sturdy foundation for the industry, enabling more diverse strands of Indonesian filmmaking to flourish.

A similar pattern may be unfolding this year, with family films emerging as the chief beneficiaries. Three titles currently represent the genre in the overall box‑office top ten: Tunggu Aku Sukses Nanti (3 million admissions), Ayah, Ini Arahnya Ke Mana, Ya? (1.67 million), and Jangan Buang Ibu (1.47 million). Each, in its peculiar tone, romanticises the sacrifices made within families—particularly those fractured by absence or neglect. Judging by their admission numbers, such emotional notes resonate strongly with today’s Indonesian audience, especially among older viewers often overlooked by the recent glut of horror releases. Similar projects are expected to occupy the silver screens in the latter half of the year.

The most intriguing breakthrough, however, comes from Na Willa. With 1.4 million admissions, it ranks as the tenth highest‑grossing Indonesian film by mid‑year. Adapted from a beloved children’s book by Reda Gaudiamo and directed by Ryan Adriandhy, the creative force behind the wildly popular Jumbo, the film distinguishes itself by weaving the realism of Willa’s childhood with the imaginative flights of its young protagonist. Rather than melancholic or tearjerking, the result is a magical, child‑friendly work warmly embraced by audiences, as reflected in its successful theatrical run. Its reception may encourage the industry to invest more boldly in stories for younger viewers.

A richer mix of films opens the door to a richer mix of audiences.

Indonesian films continue to rely primarily on theatrical admissions as their main source of revenue. Though increasingly recognised as part of the industry’s financial ecosystem, streaming services typically impose a ceiling on the packages they offer. To mitigate box‑office risk, filmmakers often secure pre‑release deals with these platforms. Alternatively, they may negotiate post‑theatrical agreements, either to cushion losses from a weak run or to amplify profits from a strong one. In both cases, streaming functions less as a replacement for cinema than as a supplementary channel.

Yet to compete in the box-office race is, above all, to manage risk. This carries even more weight in today’s market, where audiences have grown increasingly price-sensitive amid global financial malaise. Risk, however, takes on different meanings depending on a filmmaker’s position and leverage within the supply chain.

For larger production houses, risk is often absorbed through cross-financing across their annual slate. MD Pictures offers a telling example. Buoyed by the strong box-office reception of Danur: The Last Chapter, the company was able to channel resources into more uncertain ventures, such as Hanung Bramantyo’s remake of Majid Majidi’s Children of Heaven and Anggy Umbara’s 402 Rumah Sakit Angker Korea, adapted from South Korea’s Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum. Both original films enjoy a sizable following in Indonesia, yet remaking and releasing them years later demands safeguards to offset potential pitfalls. The outcomes were mixed: Children of Heaven drew a respectable 1.01 million admissions in today’s shaky market, while 402 Rumah Sakit Angker Korea managed only 302,538 admissions—a reminder that even calculated risks can yield uneven returns.

Smaller and more niche production companies, by contrast, focus on minimising risk before their films reach the market. They typically secure grants, co-production deals, sponsorships, or pre-release agreements to cover as much of the production cost as possible. With this model, theatrical admissions need only recoup 20–40% of expenses. The risk remains, but it is more bearable. Two notable releases this year emerged from this financing approach: Palari Films’ Monster Pabrik Rambut and Talamedia’s Crocodile Tears. The former attracted 92,476 admissions, while the latter drew just 2,762. Despite modest numbers, both films generated significant discussion for their novelty. Monster Pabrik Rambut reintroduces creature horror into a market saturated with ghost and supernatural tales, while Crocodile Tears probes the darker side of motherhood—a theme resonant with many Indonesians but rarely talked about.

Together, these films demonstrate that diversity can break through even in a market dominated by a single genre. The challenge lies not in proving that such works can exist, but in ensuring they remain in circulation long enough to foster a more open, diverse, and inclusive film culture.

One of the pressing issues in Indonesian film distribution is overcrowding. Put simply, the cinema infrastructure at the moment lacks enough capacity to accommodate the surging output of local filmmakers. In 2025, 200 domestic titles were released, which amounted to three to four new films each week. The trend continues this year: by mid‑year, 82 films had already premiered, translating to roughly three weekly releases. This marks a significant departure from 2023, when only 106 domestic films reached theatres, amounting to one or two weekly releases. Between 2023 and 2025, Indonesian filmmakers nearly doubled their annual output, yet the exhibition infrastructure could not keep pace, adding only 120 new screens since 2023.

This imbalance highlights a structural problem at the heart of the industry. For Indonesian films, cinema chains typically hold high-performing titles for more than two weeks, which limits screen availability for new releases. Foreign imports pose an additional challenge. Chains often turn blockbuster arrivals into “events,” displacing domestic films from the silver screen except for a handful of strong performers. This was evident when The Odyssey and Spider‑Man: Brand New Day opened in Indonesia, pushing many local titles aside. Producers now anticipate a similar scenario in December, when Avengers: Doomsday is set to dominate screens.

The problem is further worsened by a long backlog. Industry sources suggest that more than a hundred films are still waiting for theatrical release dates, excluding foreign imports. The figure may be exaggerated, but real-life cases illustrate the strain. Razka Robby Ertanto’s Yohanna premiered at the 2024 International Film Festival Rotterdam, yet only reached Indonesian audiences in April this year. Similarly, Tumpal Tampubolon’s Crocodile Tears debuted at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival but could only secure a local release this May. By the time these films arrived in cinemas, their festival momentum had faded, leaving them open with little hype.

Granted, festival titles occupy a niche, and chains understandably prioritise popular IPs and high‑performing Indonesian releases for logical business reasons. Still, these delays accentuate the overcrowding crisis and its broader consequences. The bottleneck not only squeezes release schedules but also undermines the push for diversity on screen.

Last June, at the closing ceremony of the Bali International Film Festival, Fadli Zon, the Minister of Culture, declared that a nation as vast as Indonesia ideally requires 10,000 cinema screens. He noted that the 2,208 currently in operation fall far short of the industry’s potential. The minister also stressed that moviegoing culture should be prioritised over streaming, arguing that cinemas, as community hubs, can energise the wider economy by drawing crowds to supporting industries.

The minister’s remarks, however, were hardly novel. Industry leaders and experts have voiced similar ideas for years. What may have seemed plausible then now demands more nuance. In a national economy weakened by a fragile currency and low spending power, more screens do not automatically translate into more audiences. Of the 504 cinemas operating in Indonesia as of July 2026, 275 are concentrated in Java. Of these, 155 are clustered in Jakarta and its surrounding metropolitan areas—Bogor, Depok, Tangerang, and Bekasi—among the most densely populated regions in the archipelago.

Crucially, these areas also boast the highest minimum wages in the country, making them the best equipped to sustain cinema attendance—a commodity that is becoming increasingly aspirational in today’s economy. While ticket prices have not yet risen, audiences are already weighing the wisdom of spending IDR 35,000 (USD 2) to IDR 75,000 (USD 4.3) on a single film. And because most cinemas are located inside shopping malls, the expense rarely stops at the ticket counter: transport, parking, meals, and incidental purchases quickly add up.

The challenge, then, is not simply a matter of adding more screens, but of determining what kind of screens can actually expand cinema audiences, especially those that remain within reach financially. This points to low-cost, standalone venues as an opportunity for investment, an idea now being pursued by Layar Digi. In February 2026, the startup announced a partnership with Alfamart, a convenience store with 18,000 outlets across Indonesia, to roll out digital micro-cinemas in 50 cities beginning in March. As of July, Layar Digi has listed five operational venues on its official website—three in West Java, one in Tangerang, and another in Riau.

Early impressions suggest the test lies in programming. Layar Digi leans heavily on Indonesian titles overlooked by streaming platforms, often films from previous years. Yet the network also provides space for niche projects, such as the indie horror Darah Nyai, which secured a second run after closing its theatrical release with 12,492 admissions. In this way, micro‑cinemas hint at an alternative distribution model.

Much like other creative economies worldwide, Indonesia has been swept up in the global conversation on artificial intelligence. At present, there is no established legal framework governing the use of AI in commercial or publicly distributed content. Yet its application has grown increasingly widespread since the 2024 presidential election, when Prabowo Subianto and Gibran Rakabuming deployed the technology extensively in their campaign. Their eventual victory underscored both the influence and the unregulated nature of AI in the public sphere.

The broadcast industry has been among the earliest to embrace the technology at scale. Each month, the number of fully AI-generated programs continues to rise. Most of them are narrative spectacles, ranging from epic action blockbusters to teenage heartthrob dramas. The film industry has naturally followed suit, though its adoption remains comparatively modest. In March 2025, CGV, a major cinema chain, screened Chang-Ik Jeong’s M Hotel, a seven-minute short that marked the first AI-generated film to be theatrically released in Indonesia. Priced at only IDR 5,000 (USD 0.29), the film attracted 1,095 admissions. Later that August, a team led by King Bagus unveiled Diponegoro Hero: 200 Tahun Perang Jawa, a 30-minute short chronicling two centuries of the legendary Java War, in which Prince Diponegoro fought against Dutch imperial forces. The premiere was attended by representatives from the Ministry of Culture and Education.

The landscape may shift further in the near future. At this year’s Cannes, several sources reported that AI corporations from China and Europe had approached Indonesian delegates to explore potential investments in the archipelago. In June, Australia’s Firmus Technologies announced a strategic partnership with NVIDIA to develop data centres and AI infrastructure in Batam, one of Indonesia’s key film service hubs. The project is slated to move forward in 2027.

Micro‑drama has become a sensation among Indonesian digital audiences. Its lower price point makes it more accessible to the general public, while the short format demands far less time commitment, ensuring strong user retention. Indonesians even have a term for it: dracin, an amalgam of “drama” and “China,” a nod to the country famed for producing such content. The influence of dracin extends well beyond viewing figures. Its familiar tropes—rich CEOs masquerading as commoners, enemies turned lovers, contract marriages—have seeped into everyday conversation, becoming shorthand for exaggerated romance and intrigue. More tellingly, these tropes are now being re-imagined in local productions that attempt to replicate the success of dracin with an Indonesian flavour. Imitation, in this case, is not only flattery but a sign of cultural absorption.

In the dracin space, iQIYI has emerged as the most prominent player. Riding the genre’s popularity, it now ranks as the fourth‑largest over‑the‑top video service in Indonesia by monthly active users, according to Media Partners Asia. The company has strategically expanded its reach through partnerships with Telkomsel (Indonesia’s leading cellular provider with 158 million subscribers) and VISION+ (a streaming platform owned by the media conglomerate MNC). These alliances empower iQIYI to embed its content within platforms that already command vast user bases. WeTV, another major contender, has pursued a similar strategy, securing deals with Telkomsel and Trans Corp, further entrenching Chinese micro‑dramas in Indonesia’s digital ecosystem.

Meanwhile, other leading streamers continue to consolidate their positions with distinct strategies. Vidio, Indonesia’s largest platform with 35 million monthly active users as of July 2026 (according to Nielsen), has reinforced its role as a family‑television replacement by combining entertainment with live sports. For film and series, it has invested heavily in adaptations of popular IPs, from My Stupid Boss the Animated Series (based on a hit book and film franchise) to Bad Guys (from a South Korean series) and Jakarta Undercover: Members Only (from Moammar Emka’s bestselling novel).

Netflix, in contrast, has positioned itself as a home for local auteur‑driven projects. In January, Malobika Banerji, Senior Director for Content of Netflix SEA, revealed that in 2025 90% of the Indonesian users spent more time watching local productions rather than American or South Korean titles. This insight has shaped the platform’s strategy, prompting it to court both established and emerging Indonesian filmmakers and resulting in a slate that is strikingly diverse. This year, collaborations have ranged from Ravi Bharwani (known for meditative, quietly powerful films) to Gina S. Noer (celebrated for heartwarming family and women‑centred stories) to Monica Vanesa Tedja (a rising talent earning acclaim on the international festival circuit).

It is interesting to see how each approach plays out in the latter half of the year.