In Lorraine Bracco's New York home, three posters hang that weren't created by a Hollywood marketing team. These vibrant artworks are reimaginings of The Sopranos and Goodfellas, crafted 8,000 miles away in a small Indian town by an artist who taught himself Illustrator by trial and error. It's one of thousands of alternative movie posters that have found their way from Ambernath, a small suburb in Mumbai, India, to the homes of directors, producers, and actors across America.

The creator behind these works goes by Popate—a name born from the simple fusion of pop art. What started as a daily discipline of posting one poster per day has evolved into something unprecedented: a one-man cultural bridge between Hollywood and the world, operating from a workspace where Bollywood posters once dominated the visual landscape.

In an era when fan art can be a contentious subject, Popate has managed something remarkable. His work gets celebrated by the very people whose films/sitcoms he's reinterpreting. Directors share their posters on social media. Producers commission custom pieces. Actors frame their work for their personal collections.

This is the story of how passion, discipline, and the democratizing power of social media can transform a burned-out software consultant into an unlikely cultural ambassador—one alternative movie poster at a time.

What is Popate? What's the origin story?

I've never thought much about this because there are many different versions of this story, and I've rehearsed this answer countless times. But honestly, it's a lot like Miyazaki's story—you know how "Ghibli" was just a random name that he got from an airplane1? He just read it on the side of an airplane. His father and uncle used to manufacture aircraft parts during World War II, and aviation became a major theme in all his films.

Originally, Popate was an amalgamation of three words: "pop," “ar”t, and "create." It was supposed to be "pop art create," so I just shortened it to Popate. In winter 2015, I was staring at the screen, thinking of a domain name. I didn't have much to go on, and I thought, "It doesn't matter what the name is; what you do with the name is what matters."

So I bought popate.com2. Originally, I planned to start it as a blog for film analysis. I wanted to become a film analyst. I used to be an avid reader of The Sopranos Autopsy3. Ron, who wrote it, is someone I've spoken to about it after many years. It's one of my personal favorites, and if you want to analyze one of my all-time favorite TV shows, The Sopranos, it's probably your first stop.

However, by December 2015, I began to realize that I couldn't see a clear pathway to monetizing film analysis. It was a lot of work—writing, taking screenshots, and optimizing images. By February 2016, I was already seeing growth on Instagram [the application]. The app was really taking off, and I discovered this alternative movie poster community. I saw these artists making really good alternative movie posters, and I was like, "I want to do this."

If you scroll all the way down to my very first post on Instagram—and it will take you a while because there are a lot of posts—you'll see that March 1, 2016, was my first poster. From that day through most of the late 2010s, I tried to post one poster every day. That discipline of coming to the workspace every day and making something new—that's what built everything.

How did you start making art?

I learned everything on the job by becoming a practitioner. When I made my very first logo—and this is a very interesting story—I literally took a screenshot and filled it with the paintbrush tool on Photoshop. It's not a very good way of making any logo, and I was very raw. I didn't know Photoshop at all on day one when I started.

But when I made that logo, just kind of mashing something together on Photoshop and literally brushing it with my mouse, something sparked inside me. I was like, "I really like that I was able to make this, and it looks pretty decent." There was a shift inside me—I didn't want to do the blog thing anymore. I wanted to make stuff. I wanted to draw things. I wanted to go in that direction, and that's what led me to art.

I think it all really started when I was in college. I made some friends who were cinephiles themselves, and they started suggesting movies to me. Pulp Fiction is the movie that turned me into a cinephile, but my favorite movie, at least as I speak to you at 32, almost 33 years of age, is Zodiac. I can't get enough of it. It's almost a perfect movie for me.

But my aesthetic was also shaped by being this Indian kid consuming primarily American visual culture. There's something about that distance, that translation, that gives you a different perspective. I think growing up consuming so much American visual culture through TV and films, but doing so from India, gave me this unique lens. I was interpreting these stories and visuals through my own cultural perspective without even realizing it.

When I started making posters, I wasn't trying to replicate the official marketing materials—I was creating my own interpretation, filtered through all these years of being a consumer of this content from afar.

The fact that I learned everything on the computer, never went to art school, and never had formal training—that also shaped my aesthetic. I developed my own techniques through trial and error, which probably gives my work a different quality than someone who learned traditional methods.

Take me through your creative process. How do you decide which films or shows deserve the "alternative poster" treatment?

From the start, I have had this routine where I would check IMDb daily. They have this section showing birthdays of filmmakers or movie anniversaries. So today is May 21st; I'd check what happened on this day. I'd see the birthday of a filmmaker or a movie anniversary, get an idea, and run with it. Then, as I was working on the poster, I'd watch the movie in the background while making it. This was my routine for at least three to four years.

I was trying to maintain discipline, posting one poster every day. Gary Vaynerchuk's philosophy had a big impact on me then: "Without hustle, your talent will only get you so far."

If I were going out of town for ten days, I'd make 15 posters beforehand. Why 15? Because I knew maybe I'd have a creative block or something would come up. I'd prepare 15 days of content and take three or four extra days to recover from the vacation.

It was very organic—I'd see something that resonated with me, whether it was an anniversary, a rewatch, or just discovering something new that hit that IMDb 7.5+ threshold I had set for myself.

The discipline was key—coming to the workspace every day and making something new. You have to keep watching this stuff every day to stay current and inspired. You have to be plugged in to maintain that creative flow.

I did, however, give up on Gary's philosophy of hustle after about three to four years. It isn't sustainable over a long period of time. However, as a young person trying to develop a skill set, learning as much as possible, and figuring out a profession as I went along, it was a good idea to start with.

How did your pieces end up in the homes of the very directors and producers whose work you're reinterpreting? Tell me about those first sales and the journey you took to build everything.

It started very organically through social media. I wasn't actively reaching out to industry people—they were finding my work and connecting with it.

One of the first people who got in touch with me was Brent Travers, who was managing Wagner Moura (who played Pablo Escobar in Narcos) at the time (July 2016). Travers wanted to buy one of my posters for Narcos. He would later go on to produce Sergio in 2020 (which also starred Moura). Academy Award-nominated Craig Borten wrote the script for Sergio (Netflix movie). Borten was nominated for Dallas Buyers Club. Borten would later buy my Dallas Buyers Club artwork in 2018. Borten also commissioned me to make an alternative movie poster for Sergio in 2020.

About eight months in, I got an email from Monica Castellanos, who is a friend of Lorraine Bracco. She reached out sometime in early September 2016, but I had a really basic email service that came with my domain, so I didn't check it very frequently.

Sometime in late September, I finally checked and saw the message. I got in touch with her, and she was like, "Oh, are you still interested? We can figure something out." She was trying to get something for Lorraine's birthday. Monica ended up buying three posters4.

There was also this site called Society6 that I'd been reluctant to try. They would fulfill orders in the US directly. I could collect payment without worrying about printing, packing, or shipping—it would all get done professionally.

Another one of my clients was Brian Tyree Henry (who starred in FX's Atlanta and Marvel's Eternals), who found one of my Atlanta posters. He was excited to receive it, got it framed, put it in his living room, and actually took a picture and posted it on his Instagram5.

In the summer of 2018, I started my own website. Because I was just focused on getting good at making these things, I didn't have a clear path to monetization when I started. I had to figure out manufacturing, printing, international shipping—everything.

I was privileged enough to be able to experiment. But I had no idea how to create physical products, how to ship them internationally, or how handling shipping would be. I found a state-of-the-art printing and manufacturing ecosystem and the foreign post office in South Mumbai, where I ship everything internationally.

With Lorraine Bracco, through Monica, it became this ongoing relationship where she'd commission work for her own projects. She understood that I wasn't just making generic fan art—I was creating original interpretations that brought something new to the work she was already proud of.

I think what surprises them most is the level of genuine appreciation and understanding I have for their work. I'm not just copying promotional materials or making something superficial. I'm engaging with the themes, the characters, and the storytelling in a way that shows I really get what they were trying to accomplish.

The journey from making my first poster to having my work in celebrity homes was about building trust and reputation, one sale at a time. People started sharing photos of my posters in their homes on social media, which created organic marketing. Brian Tyree Henry framing my Atlanta poster and posting it on Instagram—that kind of authentic endorsement is worth more than any advertising I could buy.

I learned that 99% of the time, when people whose work I'm interpreting see my posters, they're excited about it. They're ecstatic, like Lorraine Bracco was. She later commissioned me to make three or four posters for My Big Fat Italian Adventure for HGTV. For someone who started in 2016, going from not knowing how Illustrator or Photoshop works to having my work featured on a TV show hosted by one of my favorite actresses—it's still surreal.

What inspired or drove you down this path?

I represent a very specific period that occurred somewhere between 2015 and 2021-22—this era where interest rates were low and America decided to print infinite money. They kept interest rates near zero after 2008, flooding the economy with cheap money. I'm really a byproduct of all these interconnected systems coming together.

You had the low interest rates and tech platforms like Facebook and Instagram exploding in the early 2010s, and then in India, you get two options: unemployment or extremely high-stress jobs with brutal hours. If you're an engineer who graduated in the last 10 to 20 years in India, you end up with one of these two options. That's why you'll find a lot of poets, writers, and filmmakers—creative people who studied engineering but don't end up doing anything related to it.

I was working as an SAP ABAP consultant for a startup in 2014, working on Treasury Risk Management Systems. We were working anywhere between 12 and 18 hours. I remember my team leader once asking, "Why don't we just start sleeping in the office?" I was commuting from Goregaon to Bandra; the hours were brutal, and I burned out completely within five months. I was showing up to the office, but no code was flowing through my fingers. I was having anxiety, depression, and a case of mild sleep paralysis.

When I finally came back home, I was done. I didn't want to do this anymore. I wanted to do something else. So I began to reminisce about what I was into before all this—films, TV shows, anything that was IMDb 7.5+ or Rotten Tomatoes best of 100. When you run out of things to watch in the 8+ category, you adjust to 7.5, right?

It was a perfect storm in the mid-2010s that created someone like me. You had this educated, English-speaking population in India who were capable of doing many things, but the industry wasn't hiring, or they were and still are offering these soul-crushing jobs. Unless you had the privilege and money to leave the country, you were stuck. So some of us found alternative ways to channel our skills and creativity.

There's ongoing debate about whether this is "fan art" or legitimate "pop art." How do you see your work?

This is where we're in legally gray territory, and it's something I've thought about a lot. On one hand, I'm making original interpretations—every poster is my illustration, my fonts (licensed from typography websites), and my original interpretation of someone else's intellectual property. It's essentially copyrighted intellectual property with my art on top of it.

If I make a poster for The Godfather, Paramount owns the copyright to the movie, but my poster is fair use—it's parody or fan art built on top of that existing work. Not everyone agrees with this definition. Some people think that even if you're interpreting something, you're still infringing, especially if you're using trademarked names or logos.

But I think what I represent is the future of how art and fandom operate in the digital age. In an internet-first world, you're going to have more and more people like me who love the films and TV shows and express that love through YouTube videos, fan art, podcast discussions, TikTok videos, or whatever. We're not going away.

I see myself as a natural marketer for these Hollywood studios and productions. I'm expressing genuine love for their content, keeping it relevant, and memorializing it. When audiences find alternative movie posters for films they love, they're excited. They share it, they talk about it, and they want to own it. I'm actually helping these properties stay relevant in the cultural conversation.

Instead of sending lawyers when you find something online, maybe send an email first. Maybe say, "Hey, we see you're making alternative posters. Since you're already doing this, why don't you do it for us officially?" There are avenues for collaboration that benefit everyone.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, the people whose work I'm interpreting are excited about it. It's only that 1% who send lawyers that cause problems. And those are usually people who don't understand that fan engagement and fan art actually help their brands, not hurt them.

You're essentially translating American stories through your own lens for global audiences. Do you feel that something is getting "lost in translation" (or gained)?

I think more is gained than lost. When you're interpreting something from the outside, you see elements that might be invisible to people within that culture. You notice themes, visual motifs, and character dynamics that resonate differently when viewed through another cultural lens.

My distance from American culture allows me to focus on the universal elements of these stories—the human emotions, the archetypal characters, and the timeless themes that transcend cultural boundaries. When I make a poster for The Sopranos, I'm not just thinking about American audiences who understand the specific cultural references. I'm thinking about what makes Tony Soprano's story universal.

I also think I'm serving as a bridge between American entertainment and global audiences. My work helps international viewers connect with these stories on a deeper level because I'm processing them through a sensibility that's more similar to theirs than to the original creators'.

Sometimes I probably miss nuances that would be obvious to American audiences. But I also catch things that they might take for granted. The fact that directors and producers respond positively to my interpretations suggests that I'm revealing something new about their work, showing them aspects they hadn't fully considered.

The global nature of how my work circulates—through Instagram, through online sales—means I'm constantly getting feedback from audiences around the world. That international perspective keeps me honest about what's truly universal versus what's culturally specific.

Do you ever feel pressure to maintain a certain style, or are you constantly evolving?

I think any artist who's built a following feels some pressure to maintain consistency—people follow you because they connect with a particular aesthetic or approach. But I've always prioritized evolution over consistency, because that's what keeps the work interesting for me.

If you look at my Instagram from 2016 versus now, you can see the evolution. The early work was more raw, more experimental. As I got better with the tools and as I understood design principles better, the work became more sophisticated. But I tried not to let technical improvement overshadow the original enthusiasm that made people connect with the work.

The discipline of posting daily for years forced constant evolution. You can't make the same poster 365 times—you have to experiment, try new approaches, and push yourself technically and creatively. Some experiments worked, others didn't, and I'd delete posts that I later decided weren't up to standard.

Now, transitioning to video content, I'm evolving again. The analytical skills I developed through making posters—really understanding character, theme, and visual storytelling—those translate to video analysis. But it's a completely different medium with different constraints and possibilities.

I think the key is staying true to the core mission—expressing genuine love for great storytelling—while being willing to explore new ways of expressing that love. The medium might change, the aesthetic might evolve, but the fundamental enthusiasm has to remain consistent.

What's next beyond alternative posters?

I'm gradually transitioning into video content because we're now in a video-first social media environment. If you don't have a video strategy in 2025 for your brand, you're dead in the water. So I'm making film analysis and TV show analysis videos.

I find myself back where I was on March 1, 2016, when I made my first poster. I'm following my passion again—the money will be a byproduct, something I'll figure out later. I was privileged then, and I'm privileged now to be able to take these risks.

I'm covering shows like The Wire, making three-minute analysis videos for TikTok and Instagram. I don't know what the monetization pathways are yet, but just like 10 years ago, I'm trusting that if I create good content that comes from genuine love and insight, opportunities will emerge.

The goal is to bring the same analytical depth and visual sophistication to video that I brought to poster art. Instead of interpreting these stories through static imagery, I'm interpreting them through moving images, through commentary, and through deeper analysis.

I think there's also potential to combine the visual work with the video content—maybe creating posters that accompany the analysis videos or using the video platform to show the creative process behind the posters.

Ultimately, I want to keep doing what I've always done: expressing genuine love for great storytelling while building a sustainable creative work around that passion.

How do you want your work to be remembered? As commentary on American culture, celebration of it, or something else entirely?

I want my work to be remembered as genuine love expressed through art. Not commentary, not critique, but appreciation. I'm memorializing these stories, these characters, these moments that have meant something to me and to millions of other people around the world.

I think the best fan art comes from a place of pure enthusiasm. When someone discovers one of my posters for a film or show they love, I want their reaction to be "Yes, this person gets it. This person loves this thing the way I love it."

But I also hope it's remembered as proof that creative economies can work differently in the digital age. That someone sitting in a small town in India can also build direct relationships with audiences around the world, can contribute to global cultural conversations, and can make a living from expressing love for art.

I want it to show that the internet allows for new kinds of cultural translation and interpretation. That distance doesn't have to mean disconnection—sometimes it means seeing things more clearly, appreciating universal elements that transcend local boundaries.

Most of all, I want it to be remembered as constructive. When I look at the other options I had—joining the toxic IT culture, becoming misogynistic, supporting certain political candidates—I think I used my twenties constructively. I built something, I expressed love, and I connected with people around shared enthusiasms.

In a world that's increasingly divided and increasingly bitter, I hope my work represents the possibility of finding common ground through shared appreciation for great storytelling.

What advice would you give to other artists from small towns trying to reach global audiences?

First, you have to be disciplined about creating. When I started, I followed Gary Vaynerchuk's philosophy—if you're young, in your early twenties, and you have more time than experience, hustle is great. I posted one poster every day for years. If I were going out of town for ten days, I'd make 15 posters in advance. Because I knew maybe one or two concepts wouldn't work, and I'd need extra days for recovery after vacation.

The discipline of coming to the workspace every day and making something new—that's crucial. You have to keep consuming content daily. You have to stay updated. I'd check IMDb every morning for birthdays and watch movies while working on posters. This was my routine for three or four years.

Second, be ready to learn everything on the job. When I started, I didn't know Photoshop, Illustrator, or anything. I made my first logo by taking a screenshot and literally filling it with the brush tool on Photoshop—not a good way to make a logo, but it worked. I learned by becoming a practitioner, by trying to do something and figuring out the tools as I went along.

Third, understand that you'll be wearing multiple hats. I'm not just an artist—I'm also running my own company, doing website design, writing my blog, doing content, fulfilling orders, everything. It's like complete corporate consolidation in one person. You'll be printing, packing, and shipping everything yourself unless you find platforms that can handle fulfillment for you.

Fourth, prepare for the copyright battles. What you're doing exists in a legal gray area. You're making original interpretations, but not everyone will agree with your interpretation. Some people understand it's fair use, parody, or fan art. Others don't. I've lost accounts and payment processors because of copyright strikes. You need to be prepared for this reality.

But here's the thing—don't let that stop you. Ninety-nine percent of the time, the industry is actually welcoming. The creators, actors, and writers—they love seeing fan art. They share it on their social media. It keeps their work relevant. The problem is that 1% send lawyers instead of emails.

My biggest advice, though? Do it out of love, not money. I consider myself a naturalist for great cinema, great filmmaking, and great filmmakers. I'm memorializing their work, keeping it alive in culture.

Notes

1 Hayao Miyazaki Had the Most Bizarre Inspiration Behind Studio Ghibli’s Name Before Attaching a Deeper Meaning to It.
2 Popate Media.
3 The Sopranos Autopsy.
4 Popate media.
5 Brian Tyree Henry.