Barely five minutes into Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar, the shape of the next three and half hours reveals itself. The year is 1999, and the Kandahar hijacking has turned a plane into a pressure chamber. Inside, Ajay Sanyal (R Madhavan), IB Chief, tries to kindle resolve. He calls out, “Bharat Mata ki…”, expecting the hostages to supply the familiar reply. The silence that follows is heavy, almost accusatory. He repeats himself. The silence only thickens. Behind him, a Pakistani hijacker raises his gun and laughs at the spectacle of a man whose authority has collapsed in real time. He taunts him with, “You Hindus are so cowardly.” The line is baffling, but it clarifies what Dhar is pursuing. He seeks agitation and friction. He desires deliberate unsettling of old sediment. He aims to trigger, to escalate, to divide. And he folds this intent into the broad sweep of a crime epic, deploying its gore and earthiness to mask the bigotry. These two impulses, communal incitement and masala storytelling, should nullify each other. Instead, he binds them, forming a film driven by contradiction, like two mismatched halves of Harvey Dent’s fractured face.
He achieves this through a series of smart narrative choices, chief among them is moving away from the traditional confines of espionage and steering the story closer to a gangster saga. Much of the narrative unfolds in Pakistan, taking us deep into the heart of its underworld nexus. And, perhaps the most subversive choice of all is that Hamza (Ranveer Singh), the spy deployed by Sanyal to infiltrate Pakistan’s deeply entrenched terror networks, gradually recedes into the background, while crime kingpin Rehman Dakait (a superb Akshaye Khanna) takes center stage, alongside Sanjay Dutt’s cop Chaudhary Aslam and local politician Jameel Jamali (Rakesh Bedi). These are fully realized, flesh-and-blood characters, often saying the most whistle-worthy lines. Dhar deepens the narrative by placing it against the backdrop of Balochistan’s struggle for self-determination and the way it influences rivalries between local gangs and the Pashtuns. Even though many plot points follow a predictable arc, watching these forces collide and confront one another maintains some solid engagement.
Akshaye Khanna seems to be having the most fun in Dhurandhar as the crime kingpin.
To cap it all, Aditya Dhar flaunts his craft with some serious ingenuity. He understands the architecture of anticipation, the careful accumulation of tension, and the satisfaction of a delayed payoff. Consider the introduction of Akshaye Khanna in the film. The entry scene is timed long after his presence has been repeatedly referenced. The scene itself is unassuming, yet it establishes his aura without any spectacle. Similarly, his use of intertitles, the choice to go with a techno-qawwali during a chase, to play a Ghulam Ali ghazal in an unexpected context, hints at competency. And yet, the fundamental question remains the same: to what end is this skill applied? If the purpose is primarily to antagonise, what does it reveal about the harm such a craft chooses to inflict? If the purpose is primarily to stoke animosity, what moral function does this mastery of craft serve? Technique divorced from conscience risks becoming mere manipulation.
This is laid bare in the film’s most haunting moment: the screen bleeds red, a minute stretches, and transcripts of the 26/11 Mumbai attackers’ conversations with their handlers in the ISI scroll before us. All that pierces the silence is the relentless repetition of a single word: “kaafir” (infidels). Before this, we witness Hamza in a room where Pakistan’s highest officials exult in the slaughter of innocents, chanting “Allah hu Akbar” as if cruelty were devotion. The film reduces a faith to a caricature of barbarism, equating an entire religious community with violence, deriding their lives, demeaning their iconography, and turning them into hate-mongers. Just to achieve polarization. In fact, empathy, and respect for the martyrs of 26/11, for their humanity, none of it appears. Vengeance alone dictates the narrative; everything is twisted into a spectacle of hate. And yet, elsewhere, the story sways into absurdity. In the mid-2000s, Sanyal discovers terror outfits in Pakistan circulating counterfeit notes to fund attacks in India. When asked to act, he insists on waiting for a stronger, more patriotic leader, believing that the greater foes of India lie within the country itself. If he waits for his ‘ache din,’ then we too wait for Dhar to realise the real potential of the material he has. Instead, he is fixated solely on delivering propaganda masquerading as entertainment.
Anas Arif is a prolific Entertainment Journalist and Cinematic Analyst at The Indian Express, where he specializes in the intersection of Indian pop culture, auteur-driven cinema, and industrial ethics. His writing is defined by a deep-seated commitment to documenting the evolving landscape of Indian entertainment through the lens of critical theory and narrative authorship.
Experience & Career
As a core member of The Indian Express entertainment vertical, Anas has cultivated a unique beat that prioritizes the "craft behind the celebrity." He has interviewed a vast spectrum of industry veterans, from blockbuster directors like Vijay Krishna Acharya, Sujoy Ghosh, Maneesh Sharma to experimental filmmakers and screenwriters like Anurag Kashyap, Vikramaditya Motwane, Varun Grover, Rajat Kapoor amongst several others. His career is characterized by a "Journalism of Courage" approach, where he frequently tackles the ethical implications of mainstream cinema and the socio-political subtext within popular media. He is also the host of the YouTube series Cult Comebacks, where he talks to filmmakers about movies that may not have succeeded initially but have, over time, gained a cult following. The show aims to explore films as works of art, rather than merely commercial ventures designed to earn box office revenue.
Expertise & Focus Areas
Anas's expertise lies in his ability to deconstruct cinematic works beyond surface-level reviews. His focus areas include:
Auteur Studies: Detailed retrospectives and analyses of filmmakers such as Imtiaz Ali, Anurag Kashyap, and Neeraj Ghaywan, often exploring their central philosophies and creative evolutions.
Cinematic Deconstruction: Examining technical and narrative choices, such as the use of aspect ratios in independent films (Sabar Bonda) or the structural rhythm of iconic soundtracks (Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge).
Industrial & Social Ethics: Fearless critique of commercial blockbusters, particularly regarding the promotion of bigoted visions or the marginalization of communities in mainstream scripts.
Exclusive Long-form Interviews: Conducting high-level dialogues with actors and creators to uncover archival anecdotes and future-looking industry insights.
Authoritativeness & Trust
Anas Arif has established himself as a trusted voice by consistently moving away from standard PR-driven journalism. Whether he is interrogating the "mythology of Shah Rukh Khan" in modern sequels or providing a space for independent filmmakers to discuss the "arithmetic of karma," his work is rooted in objectivity and extensive research. Readers look to Anas for an educated viewpoint that treats entertainment not just as a commodity, but as a critical reflection of the country's collective conscience. ... Read More
Akshaye Khanna seems to be having the most fun in Dhurandhar as the crime kingpin.
