‘Dhurandhar’ (2025) Movie Review - Aditya Dhar's Dense, Shakespearean Epic

When Uri: The Surgical Strike was released in 2019, some people criticized it for favoring the Indian government and the ruling party. It was an election year, and the movie was seen as an attempt to secure votes for the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). Aditya Dhar's Dhurandhar is not very different from Uri. Once again, Indians enter Pakistan to kill the enemy on their own territory. That "Yeh naya Hindustan hai" line is spoken again in this film. Like Uri, Dhurandhar is divided into chapters, and Ranveer Singh's Hamza Ali Mazari seems to have "mommy issues" similar to Vicky Kaushal's Major Vihaan Singh Shergill (the whole story is not yet revealed). And how does it cheer for the ruling party? Ajay Sanyal (R. Madhavan), the chief of the IB, learns about the circulation of fake Indian currency and says that someday a man will come into power and look into it—someone who will genuinely care about the country. I guess it's absolutely crystal clear now where Dhar's allegiances lie. Still, whatever his political beliefs, one cannot deny that this director knows how to make movies. Both Uri and Dhurandhar belong to the "mainstream" category, but within its confines, Dhar makes invigorating tweaks, and those tweaks give him the status of an artist.

If Uri announced the arrival of a fresh, solid voice, Dhurandhar establishes Dhar as a filmmaker who turns conventional material into something unconventional—unrepressed and hectic. He takes what could have been a generic spy movie and imbues it with Shakespearean tragedy. We don't just see Hamza infiltrating the gang of Rehman Dakait (Akshaye Khanna); we also watch him play football with his men and share their cigarettes. Uzair Baloch (Danish Pandor) becomes Hamza's best friend—or brother—within the gang. The two of them hover near Rehman like his shadow, like his shield. Dhar adds a fascinating psychological dimension to this story of a spy who becomes something like family to his enemies. On one hand, Hamza works for the Indian government and is sent to Lyari to kill gangsters like Rehman and eliminate a vast network of terrorists. On the other hand, he earns their trust, laughs at their jokes, and enjoys their company.

Hamza's mind should be clashing with itself—his head is fertile territory for a filmmaker to sow seeds of extreme subjectivity. Dhar, alas, misses this opportunity. By limiting the conversations to mere devices that fulfill plot duties, he fails to establish a strong emotional connection between Hamza, Uzair, and Rehman Dakait. Sure, Hamza almost turns the city upside down to save Rehman at one point, but the results of these loyalties are trivial exchanges that never quite enter personal, intimate territory. The best we get is Uzair telling Rehman about Hamza's girlfriend, and Uzair—with Rehman's permission—gifting Hamza a bike.

There is one scene that could have deepened the connection between the spy and the terrorist: when Hamza accuses Rehman of selling his people for profit. Rehman mentions his own past, his own betrayal, and Dhar should have allowed these lines to develop into a full-length exchange. Or at least he should have given us a scene where Rehman reconciles with Hamza after shouting at him. What's more, Dhurandhar could have been an excellent psychological thriller if Dhar had taken the effort to provide a voice to Hamza's mental conflicts. It takes only one terror attack in Mumbai to switch him back into a patriotic, revenge-filled spy. Where is the Hamza who grows comfortable with his surroundings? Why isn't there a push-and-pull between the two Hamzas—each loyal to different people and different countries? We know this duality exists because of Ranveer Singh. With his subdued yet arresting performance, he conveys inner depths that the script only hints at or has no interest in exploring. When news of the 26/11 attack airs on TV, Hamza sweats and breaks from the inside with the knowledge that he, too, is responsible for what is happening in Mumbai. Dhar, however, treats these feelings merely as plot points. Hamza's guilt is captured, but not observed—not seen.

This is why the Shakespearean tragedy neither explodes nor stings. It's something admired only from a distance. In Dhar's hands, though, this doesn't become a weakness. What seduces you about Dhar and Dhurandhar is the filmmaker's filmmaking. I was stunned by the casual ease with which Dhar plays with conventions, treating them as toys to be bent and molded freely. He will start a song and then abruptly end it. At times, you think the song is over, but then the music begins again—abruptly. I also loved Vikash Nowlakha's cinematography, which renders close-ups grand and exhilarating. The authority Rehman exerts with just his quiet, weepy face scanning Hamza's eyes is almost breathtaking. Nowlakha and Dhar convincingly place the characters in Lyari, Karachi, rather than creating the impression of green-screen flatness. When these characters are shot, stabbed, tortured, and dragged along the road behind a bike, the violence becomes almost unbearable and grisly. Yet Dhar manages to create shots that are equally memorable and disgusting—one involving an Indian agent brutally interrogated with chains attached to his body.

Dhurandhar opens with the 1999 Kandahar hijack, moves to the 2001 Indian Parliament attack, and ends a year after the 26/11 attack. Dhar, as a screenwriter, weaves fiction thoroughly into reality. The movie is packed with details that the director relishes filming. Dhurandhar is Dhar's dense, visual novel. Its words are informational; its images instinctive. At one point, Dhar even tucks in archival footage along with onscreen text from a real conversation between two terrorists. Most filmmakers would save a moment like this for the end credits. Dhar simply does what he feels is right.

In Hamza, he also locates one of the most convincing spies in movie history. Here is a man who doesn't speak unnecessarily (this is true for most male characters in the film) and seems to exist on the periphery—listening, surveilling carefully—even though he is front and center in almost every frame of the film. If Dhurandhar is Dhar's epic novel, then Hamza lends humanity to this vision of violence, vengeance, and glory. Had Dhar tapped into this humanity with greater complexity, the movie could have been an epic—not only in its narrative density but also emotionally.

Final Score- [7/10]
Reviewed by - Vikas Yadav
Follow @vikasonorous on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times