If there’s one lesson to be learned from the revered and celebrated directors of South Indian cinema, it’s the art of introducing a megastar—an entrance that is both an ode to fan service and an organic extension of the narrative. A.R. Murugadoss takes a leaf out of that book, crafting a grand introduction for none other than Salman Khan in Sikandar. And that, indeed, is how you unveil a larger-than-life superstar—a presence so commanding that the screen itself bends to his aura.
But, alas, that’s where the triumph ends. After a bombastic and undeniably thrilling opening, Sikandar stumbles, meanders, and occasionally amuses, but never quite finds solid ground. The story vaults from point A to point R within the first half itself—frantic edits, breathless sequences, and an overzealous attempt to jam-pack the screenplay leave little room for emotional resonance. The writers and director may want you to feel something, but the film moves so erratically that any intended sentiment is lost in translation.
Sikandar, aka Sanjay, aka Raja Saab—yes, you’ll need a notepad to keep track—commands the kingdom of Rajkot, not just in spirit but in actual dominion. And, naturally, he is the kindest, most benevolent ruler imaginable. He bends laws, but always for the greater good, ensuring that every intervention by the authorities is met with an oddly frozen, CGI-infused crowd standing in devout admiration. Enter the menacing politician and his reckless son—yes, the very son who was mercilessly pummeled in the opening sequence—who conspire to unleash misfortunes that, unsurprisingly, serve as fuel for Sikandar’s righteous fury.
To the film’s credit, it manages to surprise early on, defying predictability in a way that’s commendable. There’s a genuine attempt to weave social commentary into the second half, which lends a semblance of depth. But subtlety? Nuance? Consider them long-lost relics buried beneath an avalanche of melodrama and mass appeal. You’ll find yourself pondering not just what’s unfolding on screen, but also the execution—how did a film brimming with ambition falter so spectacularly in coherence?
And then there’s the ever-recurring predicament of Salman Khan films. Whether it’s Jai Ho, Kisi Ka Bhai Kisi Ki Jaan, or now Sikandar, the formula remains unchanged—Khan at the center of the universe, with otherwise capable actors reduced to mere satellites orbiting his gravitational pull. Sanjay Kapoor, Nawab Shah, Sharman Joshi—the list of underutilized talent is extensive, and yet the pattern persists.
Salman Khan remains quintessentially Salman Khan—exuding an effortless charisma that fans pay to witness, regardless of the narrative scaffolding around him.
Now, let’s talk about what works. The action sequences, while defying all logic and physics, do manage to evoke a visceral thrill. There are fleeting moments where the protagonist’s motivations strike a chord, adding glimpses of emotional weight. The background score, pulsating with energy, and the electrifying Divine track (Sikandar Rao, or whatever it’s officially titled) inject the film with some much-needed adrenaline.
And then, of course, there’s Salman Khan himself. He remains quintessentially Salman Khan—exuding an effortless charisma that fans pay to witness, regardless of the narrative scaffolding around him. While his emotional depth (or lack thereof) in critical moments leaves much to be desired, his sheer screen presence remains undeniable. Rashmika Mandanna, on the other hand, delivers an earnest performance, valiantly compensating for the glaring lack of chemistry between her and Khan—a shortcoming that, to be fair, is hardly her fault.
To the film’s credit, it manages to surprise early on, defying predictability in a way that’s commendable. There’s a genuine attempt to weave social commentary into the second half, which lends a semblance of depth.
But here’s where Sikandar truly struggles—it demands an extraordinary suspension of disbelief, stretching reality to its breaking point. The wealth, the power, the omnipotence of its protagonist—none of it is explained beyond vague references, leaving the audience grasping at straws. The film keeps escalating into absurdity, but not in the exhilarating, so-bad-it’s-good fashion. Instead, it snowballs into a mess of implausibility, testing patience rather than rewarding engagement.
At its core, Sikandar is a spectacle tailored for the devoted Bhai fandom. It delivers the beats they crave, even when those beats are off-rhythm. It leans into melodrama with full conviction, operating under the belief that emotions trump logic, sense, or narrative integrity. And perhaps, for its target audience, that’s all that truly matters.
