Sikandar review: A routine Eid offering by Bhaijaan that backfires more than it thrills!

In an attempt to do what Jawan did for SRK, at 150 minutes, the film is less of an action-packed comeback and more of a bloated tribute to a star whose evolution is debatable.

For the last several years, Khan’s films have trained all of us to leave our expectations at the door. It’s a survival mechanism—if you expect nothing, you can’t be disappointed. By that metric, Sikandar is a step up from Kisi Ka Bhai Kisi Ki Jaan. It attempts to recreate Bhai's Wanted-era magic that revived his career from a slump while letting him have fun in his hyper-masculine, action-hero avatar. But it never reaches the efficiency of Jai Ho or Bodyguard, which, despite their middling sense and flaws, were at least cohesive entertaining vehicles for Khan's star power.

Sikandar exists entirely within the superstar's bubble, doing what only he can do, while everyone is supposed to hop along for the ride—as his films are less about storytelling and more about indulging his larger-than-life persona. Here, Khan plays a raja, a Rajkot-based demi-god, Sanjay, whose devoted praja bestows upon him endless titles, much like his real-life fans who see him as a messiah. He’s the billionaire savior who lives in a palace yet spends his days feeding the poor, donating money, rescuing women, and supporting orphans. He is so revered that when the police come for him, the people rise in silent, unquestioning solidarity. For children, he’s a Santa-like uncle; for everyone else, he’s bhai. His goodness is so boundless that despite swearing off marriage, he ties the knot with Rani sahiba (Rashmika Mandanna) solely to save her from trouble, only for her to dedicate her entire existence to protecting him from the world’s dangers. Even his ever-present entourage of five or six bodyguards seem to have no lives beyond their unwavering loyalty to him, existing solely as extensions of his legend.

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The film could have worked if it had fully embraced this fictionalised reality—leaning into the idea that every time Khan (I lost count the many intro sequences) steps into the frame, logic and gravity take their leave. In this blind-spot reality, enemies would be sent flying at the mere flick of his bracelet cladden wrist, and physics-defying action would be the only rule. It could have been pure, unapologetic entertainment, designed solely to cater to the action-hero fantasy that has fans whistling every time he takes on corruption and injustice. But it is saddening to see this superstar visibly exhausted. Even in the high-octane action sequences, it’s the camera that does most of the work, circling him while he remains largely stationary, whether it’s a battle sequence meant to evoke an epic war befitting a Raja, a face-off with the film’s villains or the enemies attacking in neatly timed batches almost as if waiting for Khan to finish whatever he’s doing before resuming the fight.

Khan’s apparent disinterest in his roles has almost become a signature—often translating into a laid-back charm. But here, that detachment seeps into the film itself where, the story following a self aware, privileged hero stepping down from his ivory tower to “clean up” the country's mess by schooling people and fixing its culture, gets second fiddle treatment. Hence, what we get is a sluggish, tired-looking star surrounded by chaos that doesn’t even try to coalesce into a story. Organ donation, a Dharavi clean-up, battles against political hooliganism, corrupt industrialists, and schooling entitled elites - everything is thrown in yet none of these elements are meaningfully threaded together. The screenplay feels disjointed like an Instagram highlight Reel of a Raja saheb-turned-social-crusader after a tragedy than a film with real stakes.

To its credit, the film’s attempt to use Khan's star power to address alpha male masculinity - positioning him as a figure to correct toxic patriarchy - is an interesting angle given his influence over his male fanbase. So, the contrast between his violence, driven by grief, and the villains’ violence, driven by power, is a thematically strong idea. But this is ultimately undercut by the film’s treatment of its female stars like Rashmika Mandanna or Kajal Aggarwal. Rashmika’s role, reminiscent of Aishwarya Rai in Mohabbatein, is a poorly conceived, emotional catalyst for Khan’s transformation of self actualization. Her appearance, dialogue delivery, and character arc scream tokenism rather than meaningful inclusion.

At the end of the day, Sikandar wants to be a grand, self-referential spectacle that reaffirms Khan’s stardom while addressing larger socio-political issues. Khan’s dialogue—“PM-CM ka toh pata nahi, par itna popular toh hoon ki MP-MLA ban jaaunga. Par main interested nahi hoon, toh mujhe majboor mat karo” - aims for the same bravado as “Bete ko haath lagaane ke pehle baap se baat kar.” Though if Jawan reinvented SRK for a new era - this merely recycles Salman Khan’s familiar persona without intrigue or cinematic flair, making the film feel more like a retread. So, those seeking high-octane action will find it buried in a sluggish narrative, while those who grasp its meta-commentary will lament its lack of commitment. Existing in limbo, weighed down by slogan-like moral messaging and an exhausting barrage of action sequences, this film cannot be even salvaged by A.R. Murugadoss (Ghajini) who stumbles in his attempt at visionary storytelling that meticulously choreographs meta-fiction driven by a pulse-pounding score.

Moreover it is yet another example—following Baby John and Deva—of Bollywood’s urgent need to step out of its bubble and reassess why its brand of heroism is failing to resonate. That said, if there’s one redeeming quality, it’s that Sikandar, despite being hollow, remains largely inoffensive. It’s neither aggressively brain-numbing nor outright problematic - it simply exists, not caring for anything.

Sikandar is currently running in theatres near you! 

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