In a world where narratives shape geopolitics as much as policies do, even a film review can become a site of ideological contestation. A recent critique by The Economist on the Indian film Dhurandar is one such example—not because it criticises cinema, but because it appears to question the very intellectual agency of the Bhartiya audience.
Criticism, in any vibrant democracy, is welcome. Debate is essential to the health of public discourse. However, what raises concern in this instance is not the act of critique, but its tone—one that many would interpret as dismissive, patronising, and rooted in a colonial hangover that continues to shape sections of Western commentary on Bharat.
The Underlying Assumption: Are Indians “Browbeaten”?
At the heart of the article lies a troubling assertion—that Indians cheering for Dhurandar are not engaging with storytelling, but merely responding to “shrill pro-Modi messaging.” This is not just a critique of a film; it is a sweeping generalisation about millions of viewers.
Such a claim assumes that Bhartiya citizens lack the discernment to differentiate between fiction and reality. It suggests that public opinion in Bharat is manufactured rather than formed—a notion that undermines the democratic consciousness of one of the world’s most politically aware societies.
This is where the problem lies. The issue is not disagreement with a film’s narrative, but the implicit dismissal of an entire nation’s intellectual autonomy.
Selective Sensitivity: Nationalism in the West vs Bharat
The critique becomes even more paradoxical when viewed in a global cinematic context.
Western Spy & War Narratives
Western cinema has long celebrated nationalism, military power, and retaliatory justice. Films like James Bond, Rambo, American Sniper, and Zero Dark Thirty are not only accepted but often glorified as patriotic storytelling.
The character of James Bond, for instance, represents a state-sanctioned agent operating globally, often employing violence to protect national interests. Yet, these narratives are rarely labelled as “propaganda” in mainstream Western discourse.
Why then does a Bhartiya film, dealing with terrorism and national security, attract a fundamentally different standard of scrutiny?
The Context That Cannot Be Ignored
To understand why Dhurandar resonates with audiences, one must look beyond the screen and into Bharat’s lived reality.
India’s Tryst with Terrorism
Bharat’s encounter with terrorism is not theoretical—it is deeply experiential. From the IC 814 hijacking to the 2001 Indian Parliament attack, and the devastating 2008 Mumbai attacks, the nation has endured repeated assaults on its sovereignty and civilian life.
These are not distant geopolitical abstractions. They are events etched into national memory—stories of loss, resilience, and the unending quest for security.
When a film portrays retaliation against terrorism, it does not manufacture sentiment; it reflects it. The audience response is not the result of indoctrination, but of lived experience.
Misreading Symbolism: Leadership and national security
The review’s reference to visuals of Narendra Modi—including his 2014 swearing-in and the 2016 demonetisation announcement—as religious symbolism further illustrates a misinterpretation of context.
These events are political and economic milestones, not religious markers. Their inclusion in a cinematic narrative tied to national security reflects the broader leadership framework within which such decisions are perceived, not an attempt to create religious imagery.
To interpret them otherwise is to impose an external lens that may not align with Bhartiya socio-political realities.
Cinema as civilisational expression
Cinema, at its core, is a reflection of the collective psyche of a society. Nations emerging from trauma often turn to storytelling that emphasises strength, resilience, and justice.
Bharat is no exception.
The success of Dhurandar—reportedly nearing Rs 1,500 crore within weeks—is not merely a commercial phenomenon. It is a cultural moment. It signifies a narrative that has struck a chord with the people, echoing their concerns, aspirations, and memories.
To reduce this resonance to “propaganda” is to overlook the deeper currents shaping public sentiment.
The Larger Question: Who controls the narrative?
This episode raises a broader and more significant question: Who gets to define what constitutes legitimate storytelling?
For decades, global narratives—especially in media and academia—have been disproportionately shaped by Western institutions. While this has brought certain advantages, it has also led to a persistent asymmetry, where non-Western perspectives are often scrutinised through a lens of scepticism.
The critique by The Economist appears to fit into this pattern—where Bhartiya narratives are not merely analysed but judged against standards that may not fully account for local realities.
A moment for introspection
The issue at hand is not whether Dhurandar is beyond criticism. No film is. The question is whether criticism respects the audience it addresses.
When a review crosses the line from critique to condescension, it risks revealing more about the reviewer than the subject itself. Perhaps it is time for sections of the Western media to reassess not just their conclusions, but their frameworks. Bharat today is not a passive recipient of narratives—it is an active creator of them.
And as its voice grows stronger, so too will its insistence on being understood on its own terms, not through inherited prejudices. In the end, the response to Dhurandar is not just about a film. It is about a civilisation asserting its right to tell its own stories—and to be heard with respect.
