Upon its December release, Aditya Dhar’s gloomy espionage thriller “Dhurandhar” went on to become the highest grossing Hindi-language film in India. Now in cinemas, its follow-up “Dhurandhar: The Revenge” is poised to equal if not surpass it, marking a potentially permanent, and in some ways concerning shift in what rules the hearts and minds of Bollywood viewers. The spy series — which began as a single film before being cleaved late into production — is a brazen, blood-soaked saga that nakedly preys on jingoistic sentiment and fawns at the foot of government power. However, it’s not without its merits as a work of cinematic sensationalism, which makes it unique even in an industry that has long cozied up to the country’s Prime Minister Narendra Modi, and his ruling party, the BJP.
To invoke political leaders in film discussions, one must have a concrete reason. The “Dhurandhar” films provide many, thanks to a first half set prior to Modi’s 2014 election, during which characters constantly pray for a new leader willing to take fearless action against enemies at home and abroad, and a second half that practically features Modi a supporting character through endless news snippets. Even the series’ most voracious supporters would have a hard time denying its status as propaganda. And yet, its violent splendor (especially in the first installment) elevates it far beyond the more rote and artless crop of Islamophobic screeds that have graced Indian screens of late: films like “The Kashmir Files,” “The Kerala Story” and “The Taj Story,” whose hateful framing of Muslims, and whose re-writing of Indian history to be more Hindu-centric, are not all that far removed from Third Reich cinema.
When the first movie begins, a real-life hijacking convinces mustachioed Indian intelligence leader Ajay Sanyal (R. Madhavan, playing a version of real spymaster Ajit Doval) to pull the trigger on his long-in-the-works “dhurandhar” project (meaning “stalwart”) wherein he activates an Indian soldier hidden deep behind enemy lines in Pakistan. Known only by his adopted Muslim name, Hamza Ali Mazari (Ranveer Singh), the suave, intense, lion-maned hero begins working his way up the ranks of the Karachi mob, whose ties to terror funding he’s tasked with dismantling.
The closer Hamza gets to bumbling politicians like Jameel Jamali (Rakesh Bedi) and charismatic mafiosos like Rehman Dakait (Akshaye Khanna), the more he’s given carte blanche for savagery, resulting in sprawling, momentous action scenes with dual intent. His butchery against rival gangsters satisfies his masters in Pakistan, since it benefits their illicit businesses, but it also satiates the bloodlust of his handlers in India, and by proxy the audience, to whom this is all telegraphed as a means to bring down extremist terror networks. One predatory romance later — he also seduces Jamali’s young daughter Yalina (Sara Arjun) — and he’s practically the heir to the throne of Lyari, the Karachi district where most of the series is set.
The first film earns its gargantuan 214-minute runtime, despite still playing like the first half of a larger story. This is thanks in part to its acoustic sleight of hand, wherein its numerous earworm needle drops combine Bollywood classics with modern, upbeat tempos, resulting in a kind of bastardized nostalgia, wherein memory becomes akin to a malleable software, with updates waiting to download. The film’s chronology and historicity function much the same way. Despite disclaimers about being based partially in fiction, the movie’s villains, like Iqbal (Arjun Rampal’s bearded Pakistani intelligence Major) are plucked from reality, alongside distinct, recognizable events like the 2008 Mumbai terror attacks, which are planned right under Hamza’s nose, and for which he subsequently embarks on a vengeful rampage.
The camera zips between narrow streets as Hamza drags those responsible from his truck, en route to shooting, bombing, dismembering and even pressure-cooking other perpetrators, which seems like a righteous line of thought at the outset. However, the editing tells a different story. The reality of actual recordings of terror victims in India is placed alongside dramatic realizations wherein Hamza recalls coming across the perpetrators mid Muslim call to prayer, framing the enemy as Islam at large. This throws fuel on the already burning flames of modern India’s de facto patriotic sentiments, wherein the country’s Hindu majority (via an ethnonationalist movement known as Hindutva) is given free rein, not unlike Hamza, to lynch minorities. Those on screen may arguably deserve it according to the film’s action mechanics, but the series — especially the sequel, which begins with a quote from Hindu scripture — frames this violence as a patriotic duty in line with the Hindu concept of dharma, while every Muslim villain turns their enmity against India into a flattened, single-minded and often caricatured hatred of Hinduism. The battle lines are hardly subtle.
However, where the first “Dhurandhar” features the polish of a slick, muscular revenge thriller about a double agent who grows close to his targets — Hamza’s pseudo-romance with Lyari head honcho Dakait makes for an enrapturing story — the second film by and large sheds what works dramatically, and makes the barely-disguised political subtext far more explicit. Beginning with a lengthy flashback that clues us in on Hamza’s past (the Indian government recruits him after he unleashes a ruthless personal vendetta), the 229-minute “Dhurandhar: The Revenge” is set in the wake of the 2008 attacks, and largely observes one violent reprisal after another, with missing emotional details filled in by on-screen text, rather than tangible drama.
The sequel also feels incomplete at times, as though apt music choices, tight action editing and coherent sound design had all been sacrificed to meet the three-month turnaround from its predecessor. And yet, its simple, often sterile story is supercharged by unapologetic political proclamations that frame any and all opposition to the BJP (from political parties to universities) as having been funded by terror cells, while Hamza hacks and slashes his way through the ranks of Pakistan’s political milieu to turn any form of objection into submission. It’s storytelling by way of unverified WhatsApp forwards, preying on volatile political sentiments, and taking for granted that a populace can be so riled up by having their basest instincts catered to that they don’t even deserve the pretense of cogent storytelling.
“Dhurandhar: The Revenge” is a mess in every way that might matter for piece of cinema: it’s overlong, overstuffed, overindulgent, and overcommitted to having characters praise political leaders right down the lens. But by the time its closing credits roll — over scenes of military training that play like recruitment ads — any traditionally-held notions of cinematic artistry cease to matter. The sequel’s success rests on warping reality to suit political agendas, down to re-framing oft-criticized legislation as genius 5D chess moves to secretly kneecap terror, resulting in a nearly 4-hour experience that’s less of a film, and more of a political rally beamed into cinemas worldwide, including nearly a thousand screens in the United States.
The tone of successful Indian cinema has shifted over the last several years; colorful escapist darling “RRR” was arguably an outlier compared to gloomier blockbuster cousins like “K.G.F: Chapter 2” and “Pushpa 2: The Rule.” But what the “Dhurandar” films share with all the above is a worship of masculine heroism, and a view of violence as a sacred duty. Only Dhar’s cinematic approach funnels these well-worn tropes through the radioactive lens of naked propaganda, steeped in party slogans and political buzzwords designed to assault anyone watching with a chilling reminder: This is the new India. Love it, or else.
Leave a Reply