Sikandar (2025)

Sikandar (2025) 

Salman plays Sanjay Rajkot, a.k.a Sikandar, a Gujarati royal with a heart of gold. A do-gooder, we don’t get to know his business, but his doting wife (Rashmika Mandanna) feels a tad ignored. One day, he beats up a lascivious boy in a moving plane to protect a woman. The boy turns out to be the son of the home minister, resulting in a war of attrition. A personal loss triggers a wave of emotions that pushes Sikandar into violence.

These days, it seems, there are so many dos and don’ts in Salman’s image-building or image-saving exercise that the character he plays becomes colourless. He can’t be seen pursuing the gun or the girl. This overt urge to be flawless makes the experience facile, as he invariably ends up like a Santa without a beard.

The writer bleeds his pen to make us understand the syncretic origin of the character’s multiple names. The story begins with an Eid-type song and ends with a Holi number with ludicrous lyrics where Shambhu rhymes with tambu (pole). Salman is seen in saffron and also guarding an old man in a skull cap. In short, boxes are mechanically ticked off to be politically correct. A home minister (Sathyaraj) with a bald pate protecting an unscrupulous son (Prateik Patil) sends our imagination into overdrive for a while, but the result is pretty ordinary.

Thematic subversion works when the top layer is as fertile as the one beneath. Here, there is hardly anything to skim. The trick is that the audience doesn’t get to know when Salman Khan ends and Sikandar begins. But as it turns out, we find Salman sitting on the shoulders of Sikandar to spell out his good work and grievances. Call it lazy or a case of overwriting, the narrative either works like a surrogate advertisement for his charity work or sounds like a threat that if Salman is targeted further, he will enter the political arena by repeatedly flaunting his fan following. When he roars, “Qayde main rahoge toh fayde main rahoge (If you behave yourself, you will be safe),” it sounds like a reply to the recent attacks on him.

Pritam’s music is just a note above pedestrian. Known for creating a layer of intrigue between the action sequences, Murugadoss’s storytelling is pretty flat here. Filled with bumper sticker messaging, the lessons on organ donation and environmental and moral pollution feel contrived. There is a comment against the alpha male as well, but all of it is delivered in a heavy-handed manner with little cohesion, making it increasingly difficult to engage with the plight of the performers.

Salman’s stiff presence and stilted dialogue delivery add to the woes. The action choreography has little novelty. In the absence of effective camerawork, it seems people queue up to be beaten by a star whose intent is intact but whose agility is waning. Saddled with stock dialogues, Rashmika adds one more film to her filmography where her job is to boost the star’s ego. Sharman Joshi and Kajal Agarwal have little to do to justify their presence. Sathyaraj keeps gritting his teeth as if he knows what could have been done with this material.