Dhurandhar: The Revenge did not wait to be remembered; it arrived while its predecessor was still being felt. Released on March 19, 2026, just months after the first film’s December 2025 debut, the sequel signals something more calculated than creative urgency. It reflects a cinema that understands timing not as storytelling rhythm, but as emotional extraction somewhere suiting the agenda of the ruling regime only to draw brownie points out of it. Aditya Dhar, the director, and his wife Yami have that expertise.
The film once again places Ranveer Singh at the centre, this time as Jaskirat Singh Rangi, a Sikh operative who adopts the Muslim identity of Hamza Ali Mazari to infiltrate Karachi’s underworld. The premise is ambitious, drawing from real-world events like Operation Lyari while maintaining a formal disclaimer of fiction. Yet, disclaimers today do little to separate cinema from perception especially when the storytelling deliberately blurs that boundary.
The Business of Blurring Reality and Fiction
The film’s biggest strength is also its most troubling strategy: it gives fiction the authority of reality. By weaving together references to the ISI, Dawood Ibrahim’s network, narcotics trade, and terror financing, Dhurandhar constructs a narrative that feels less imagined and more “revealed.”But this is not realism; it is persuasion.
When fictional characters resemble real figures and real events are repurposed into cinematic revenge arcs, the line between storytelling and suggestion begins to dissolve. The audience is not just watching a thriller; it is absorbing a version of reality shaped by spectacle.And spectacle, in this case, is deeply ideological.
From Storytelling to Stereotyping
Much of the criticism surrounding Dhurandhar cannot be dismissed as routine political outrage. There is a pattern in how the film constructs its villains and threats. Muslim identities, Pakistan-linked networks, and certain internal groups are repeatedly positioned within a framework of suspicion, violence, or betrayal.
Supporters may argue that the film merely reflects security concerns or geopolitical tensions. But cinema is never neutral in how it frames its narratives. When specific communities appear consistently within the architecture of threat, the effect is cumulative. It begins to shape perception, not just entertain.
The problem is not that the film shows criminals or terrorists who happen to be Muslim. The problem is that it risks turning exception into implication, where fiction quietly suggests a larger, more dangerous generalisation.
Nationalism as Performance and Pressure
Perhaps more concerning is the film’s treatment of “internal enemies.” By grouping together militants, political dissenters, NGOs, and even ideological opponents within a single spectrum of suspicion, Dhurandhar simplifies the idea of national loyalty into a rigid binary.
In this world, the hero knows, the state acts, and anyone who questions or complicates that certainty risks being seen as aligned with the enemy.
This is where the film moves beyond entertainment and into narrative conditioning. It does not just celebrate nationalism; it standardises it, presenting a version where doubt is weakness and aggression is virtue.
Scenes that enforce patriotic slogans or glorify retaliatory violence are not merely dramatic devices; they are signals. They define what acceptable patriotism looks likeand, more importantly, what it does not.
Ranveer Singh: Charisma as Cover
Ranveer Singh’s performance plays a crucial role in holding this narrative together. His intensity, physicality, and screen presence create a hero large enough to absorb contradictions. He is vulnerable and invincible, emotional yet relentless.
But this charisma also functions as a kind of cover. It makes the film’s harder edges more palatable, even seductive. The audience is drawn into his journey, often without pausing to question the framework within which that journey operates.
The film’s power is amplified by Ranveer Singh, whose performance is intense, controlled, and deeply charismatic.
He is not merely the hero; he becomes the site where multiple tensions converge: masculinity, nationalism, and spectacle.
The camera lingers on endurance, wounds, and physical strain, turning the male body into an object of both identification and fascination.
The audience is invited into a complex emotional space:I want to be him, I want what he has, I cannot stop watching him.
Action cinema channels this charged gaze through acceptable ideals – patriotism, sacrifice, discipline. Desire is not removed; it is reframed as admiration.
In that sense, the performance is not just compelling it is instrumental. It ensures that the film’s ideological weight travels smoothly, carried by spectacle and star power. Lastly, his performance and its visibility become power. Violence becomes spectacle. And vulnerability becomes proof of moral strength.
When Religion Becomes a Casual Casualty
The backlash from sections of the Sikh community highlights another dimension of the film’s approach, its casual relationship with religious sensitivity. Scenes involving sacred Gurbani being recited in inappropriate contexts, along with controversial promotional imagery, suggest a lack of careful engagement with faith and tradition. This is not about intent as much as it is about awareness. In a film that draws heavily on identity, symbolism, and cultural markers, such missteps are not minor, they are revealing and the makers should get the note of these points before coming up with a film that paints minority community with a paint that brushes hate only.
Beyond the Easy Debate
To reduce Dhurandhar to a simple debate – patriotism versus propaganda – is to miss the larger point. The film operates in a far more sophisticated space, where ideology is seamlessly embedded within spectacle, making it feel natural rather than imposed. What it ultimately sells is not just a story, but a powerful emotional framework – one in which the world appears sharply divided, threats seem unmistakably clear, and decisive power feels both justified and necessary.
In doing so, Dhurandhar goes beyond presenting India as a nation of enemies and avengers; it gives fantasy the texture of evidence. Real events such as the Kandahar hijacking, the Parliament attack, and 26/11, along with figures like AjitDoval and Dawood Ibrahim, are woven into a narrative of infiltration, vengeance, and state authority. Even contentious policy decisions like demonetisation are reframed within this cinematic logic as strategic masterstrokes, subtly reshaping public perception while muting their complex and often debated consequences.
Disclaimers that label the film as fiction do little to create distance. Instead, the narrative borrows the authority of reality to heighten emotional impact, blurring the line between imagination and lived experience. What emerges, therefore, is not realism but a more persuasive construct – what can be described as “retaliatory plausibility.”
[MohdZiyauallah Khan is a freelance content writer and editor based in Nagpur. He is also an activist and social entrepreneur, co-founder of the group TruthScape, a team of digital activists fighting disinformation on social media.]