How is Salman Khan’s new film Sikander, directed by AR Murugadoss? This delayed review attempts to dissect its core essence.
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| Salman Khan and Sharman Joshi in a still of Sikander. |
Murugadoss' morality-driven narrative in Sikander can very well be termed Ghajini 2. The parallels are striking—both films revolve around protagonists obsessed with wealth and power, almost grotesquely opulent like Baron Harkonnen from Dune, but unlike him, they are not grotesquely obese, deformed, or covered in sores. Instead, they are handsome, kind-hearted, and benevolent. They see a problem and solve it with truckloads of cash.
One protagonist owns a national telecom company and travels by private jets; the other is a former king of Gujarat.
Both heroes are named Sanjay—Sanjay Singhania and Sanjay Rajkot.
Both have at least two different names, symbolizing their dual lives.
Both endure a tragedy involving their lover/wife, triggering the main plot twist. Their romantic losses push them out of their palatial existence and into the world of poverty and slums.
Both are constantly surrounded by four to five assistants, including a manager who supports them at all times—Khalid Siddiqui in Ghajini, and Sharman Joshi in Sikander.
A Morality Play in a Grand Setting
Like ancient fables of benevolent kings, Sikander is enjoyable as a moral lesson—akin to the tale of King Raghu and Varatantu, sitting atop a shining peak. However, in today’s era of awareness, the story feels somewhat outdated. Women do not fight for themselves—Sikander or the King must save them. The people do not rise against oppression—the King must do it for them. The film extends the legacy of South Indian cinema classics like KS Ravikumar’s Nattamai (1994) and Chiranjeevi’s Indra – The Tiger (2002), where a singular hero leads his people as their head or king, selflessly sacrificing everything, just like King Raghu or Indrasena Reddy.
The Story
The villain, Arjun Pradhan (Prateik Babbar), is about to assault a woman. Just as the audience is on the verge of looking away in disgust, a noble man enters the frame, unleashing his fury upon Arjun and his burly henchmen. Soon, it is revealed that Arjun is the son of Home Minister Rakesh Pradhan (Sathyaraj), a man even more sinister than his offspring. Enraged by the humiliation, the minister unleashes the entire system against this lone warrior. But his target is no ordinary man—he is the former king, Sanjay (Salman Khan), whose wife (Rashmika Mandanna) fiercely protects him like a shadow. What follows is a series of dramatic and tragic turns.
The Film’s Quality
The film, unfortunately, is not enjoyable. The weakest link? The direction.
What’s Wrong with the Direction?
In a 2002 interview with The Guardian, director George Lucas (American Graffiti, Star Wars) said, “A director makes a hundred decisions in an hour. Film students ask me how to make the right ones. I tell them—if you don’t know how to make the right decisions, then you’re not a director.”
This is precisely where Sikander falters.
Watching scenes featuring Sharman Joshi, Sathyaraj, and Rashmika, one wonders if incorrect takes were mistakenly chosen in the final edit while better ones were discarded.
Several subplots remain unresolved.
- Who orchestrates the attack on Sanjay in the mine? The film never provides an answer. This attack leads to Sanjay’s most devastating loss, yet he never investigates it, and it is never revisited. The audience is stirred into anger over this event, but revenge or resolution is completely absent.
- The arrogant boyfriend whom Sikander teaches a lesson in the gym—what happens to him? No redemption arc, no change of heart—the subplot is abruptly abandoned.
- The villainous minister faces no real consequences.
- The corrupt inspector Prakash (Kishore) neither undergoes a complete transformation nor faces punishment for his actions.
The film relies on exaggerated suppositions that defy logic. In one scene, a patient’s heartbeat weakens, and she seems on the verge of death in a Mumbai hospital. Her father appears financially capable of handling medical expenses, yet King Sanjay intervenes, calls an American doctor (Dr. John), and within minutes, the foreign expert guides the Mumbai doctors via virtual conference to miraculously cure the girl. The scene is absurdly pointless.
Another frustrating sequence involves the home minister, who, despite his immense power, personally murders a witness inside a police station like a reckless gangster. The film portrays a horrifying reality where, in a room full of high-ranking officers, the minister openly conspires to frame and kill a high-profile target, yet not a single officer protests. If this happens in real life (a default argument given by filmmakers), it’s terrifying. If not, then it’s just lazy, implausible storytelling.
Writing: The Silent Killer
The screenplay and story, penned by Murugadoss, repurpose elements from Ghajini. Dialogues by Rajat Arora, Hussain Dalal, and Abbas Dalal feel generic. Three writers collectively produce lines like, “A real Sikander is one who wins hearts.” Lyricist Anjaan had already written in 1978 (for the film Muqaddar Ka Sikandar): "What kind of Sikandar was he who conquered the world through tyranny? The one who wins hearts with love can make even the skies bow down."
The chemistry between Salman and Rashmika is nonexistent. Despite appearing together in three and a half songs, their relationship never feels genuine. Not even once do they seem like a married couple.
Sathyaraj and Rashmika’s Hindi delivery falters at times.
Sharman Joshi’s performance feels stiff and unenthusiastic, his delivery forced and awkward.
A misplaced sense of character infects the entire cast. Salman Khan never quite decides if he’s playing a former king, a present-day ruler, or just a massy film hero. When grateful women, children, and slum dwellers bow before him in tears, he seems unsure of how to react. Mostly he reacts like Salman Khan - the person.
Kishore, as Inspector Prakash, is wooden and unconvincing—surprising, considering his excellent performances in Kannur Squad, Visaranai, The Family Man, and Viduthalai Part 2.
Kajal Aggarwal looks quite different after cosmetic enhancements. Her character, Vaidehi, is one of three key people Sikander meets in Mumbai, yet her presence adds little. Among them, the only standout is child actor Ayan Khan as orphan Kamaruddin, but even his charm fades once he becomes another grateful recipient of Sikander’s generosity.
The Only Bright Spot
Jatin Sarna is the rare exception. Along with Salman’s young entourage, he remains consistently authentic. As cab driver De Niro, he injects energy and humor into the film. In one of the only genuinely enjoyable moments, his words make Salman chuckle, prompting the hero to hand him two bundles of cash, saying, “Take it. It’s been ages since I laughed.” Perhaps, this is the only moment in the film where we laugh too.
