Dhurandhar: Why We're Obsessed With Stories We Haven't Actually Questioned Teach Us About Expectations

Dhurandhar: Why We're Obsessed With Stories We Haven't Actually Questioned

ReadyThoughts | December 24, 2025

I watched the trailers. The cinematography is stunning. Vikash Nowlakha's work deserves that word. The songs move. The ensemble cast—Ranveer Singh, Akshaye Khanna, Sanjay Dutt—are performing at peak levels. The box office numbers don't lie: nearly $110 million worldwide. Banned in six nations. Court cases. Death threats to critics. And yet, I haven't seen the film.

That may sound cowardly. It's not.

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The Misunderstanding: More Information = Better Understanding

The internet has convinced us that access to data equals insight. A trailer? You've seen the film. Box office numbers? You understand the narrative. Wikipedia synopsis? You're qualified to debate it. We've become a culture that confuses proximity with knowledge.

Dhurandhar has exposed this lie with surgical precision.

Here's what I know without watching: The film made $110 million. It's banned in Pakistan, UAE, Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Kuwait, Oman, and Bahrain. Anupama Chopra wrote a critical review and deleted it under pressure. Major Mohit Sharma's family sued to stop its release. Critics called it propaganda. Audiences gave it 96% on Rotten Tomatoes while critics scored it 54%. The cinematography is world-class. The runtime is 3.5 hours. There are scenes depicting the 2008 Mumbai terror attacks that rattled viewers. Ranveer Singh is understated. Akshaye Khanna is extraordinary. The ending teases a second part arriving in March 2026.

That's data. Useful? Sure. Understanding? Not even close.

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The Real Problem: We've Stopped Thinking In Nuance

This isn't about the film. It's about what the film debate reveals about us.

One camp says: "It's propaganda. Nationalist cinema masquerading as art. It distorts real people's stories without consent. It paints Muslims as villains." The evidence is real. The family of Major Mohit Sharma sued. The film was banned across the Middle East. Critics noted the "hypernationalistic narrative."

The other camp says: "So what? Films have always carried political messaging. Tamil cinema did this for decades. Indian cinema has always been ideological. The audience isn't stupid—they can see past the propaganda if it's good story. Shouldn't we apply the same standards to all films, not just the ones we disagree with?" This evidence is also real.

Both are true. And we have no framework for holding that tension.

We want moral clarity. We want the film to be either good or evil. Art that challenges us, makes us uncomfortable, asks questions about power and sacrifice and loyalty—that requires a kind of thinking we've outsourced to tweets and hot takes. It's easier to say "Don't watch it" or "You must watch it" than to say, "I watched it, and here's what troubled me, here's what moved me, and here's what I still don't understand."

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Why I Haven't Watched It Yet (And Why You Might Pause Before You Do)

I will see Dhurandhar. Probably in a theater. Probably before part two arrives. But first, I want to sit with the questions, not the answers.

The questions are: What does it mean that a 3.5-hour spy thriller can make more money than several other films combined? Why do audiences and critics disagree so sharply? Is there a difference between a film that reflects nationalistic sentiment and one that manufactures it? How do we reckon with stories inspired by real people's sacrifice without their consent? Can a film be both technically brilliant and morally troubling at once?

These questions don't come from a trailer. They come from patience.

In a world where we're demanded to have opinions instantly, where every film, news story, and political event comes with pre-digested hot takes, the act of saying "I don't know yet" is revolutionary. It's leadership. It's thinking.

"The problem isn't that Dhurandhar exists. The problem is that we've lost the ability to sit with complicated art. We want to consume it, rank it, move on. We rarely live with it, sit with it, let it change us slowly."

The Real Take

Art that sparks lawsuit, bans, and divided opinion isn't inherently dangerous. Neither is it inherently revolutionary. It's just—complex. And complexity requires something we don't value anymore: time.

The trailers tell you about the cinematography. The box office tells you about interest. The bans tell you about geopolitical sensitivity. The reviews tell you about tribal allegiances. None of it tells you what the film actually does to you as a thinking human being confronted with questions about power, sacrifice, and nation.

That part? You have to earn.

Pause here: What films have you watched that you're still thinking about months later? And more importantly—did you form your initial opinion in the first 24 hours, or did you let the complexity reveal itself over time? I'd genuinely like to know.

Sources Reviewed

Wikipedia: Dhurandhar (2025) — Box office, casting, production notes, and critical reception.

Britannica: Why Is Dhurandhar Controversial — Major Mohit Sharma case, international bans, and geopolitical sensitivity.

Al Jazeera: Why a Bollywood spy film sparked a political storm — Critical perspective on narrative construction and representation.

Swarajya: Why Dhurandhar Has Exposed The Fault Lines Of Film Criticism — Counter-argument on selective criticism of political messaging in cinema.

IMDb: Dhurandhar (2025) — Audience reviews and ratings.