It would be naive to enter a mass entertainer movie like Sikandar, starring Salman Khan, expecting it to talk about bigger political and societal issues. The actor’s brand has long been synonymous with swag and heroism, where evil dissipates in the glow of his larger-than-life persona.
Yet, the 2023 blockbuster Jawan, headlined by another megastar Shah Rukh Khan, proved that masala cinema can marry mainstream spectacle with incisive socio-political critique.
The contrast between the two films raises a question:
When Bollywood’s biggest stars take on real-world issues, does the message deepen with authenticity, or does it buckle under the weight of their own mythmaking? The answer lies not just in the scripts, but in how each star’s persona – Shah Rukh’s introspective outsider vs Salman’s invincible alpha – shapes what their politics can (or cannot) achieve.
Bollywood has long been a mirror to India’s socio-political psyche, but not all reflections are created equal. When Jawan, directed by Atlee, released in 2023, it sparked debates on social media, its critique of systemic corruption, and nationalism cutting deep.
Two years later, AR Murugadoss’ Sikandar has been released with some socio-political themes but with a radically different approach: a large-hearted king whose heroism is measured by grand gestures and crowd-pleasing bravado.
The contrast between the two films is a lesson in why some stories resonate as urgent societal critiques, while others feel like hollow posturing. At stake is a question vital to mainstream Hindi cinema: Can a masala film genuinely provoke thought, or does it reduce complex issues to mere set pieces for hero worship?
Specificity vs Superficiality in Storytelling
Jawan’s success begins with its willingness to name the demons. The film tackles the inadequacies of our health infrastructure, farmer suicides rooted in debt, and the exploitation of soldiers—issues ripped from headlines and etched into public memory. By anchoring its politics in tangible problems, the script forces audiences to confront uncomfortable truths.
It ties individual suffering to systemic failure. The villain is the establishment: corrupt bureaucrats, cynical politicians, and corporate greed.
Sikandar, however, trades specificity for spectacle. It is a plot where the hero solves socio-economic crises through sheer largesse—donating hospitals, forgiving debts, or battling generic real estate goons. Such broad strokes reduce poverty and inequality to aesthetic choices, like dystopian set dressing for the hero’s heroism.
When problems are vague, solutions become simplistic, and any hope of political messaging dissolves into feel-good theatrics.
When the Messenger Shapes the Message
Shah Rukh Khan’s career arc – from the lover boy of DDLJ to the vigilante of Jawan – mirrors a societal shift from romantic idealism to disillusioned pragmatism. His off-screen persona as a self-made outsider who is constantly questioned on his nationalism lends credibility to Jawan’s themes.
When his character questions the same, the audiences hear an echo of Shah Rukh’s own fraught relationship with the nationalist discourse. The star’s vulnerability becomes a metaphor for a nation grappling with its contradictions.
Salman’s stardom, on the other hand, is built on invincibility. From Dabangg’s Chulbul Pandey to Ek Tha Tiger’s spy, his characters are alpha males who bend reality to their will. This persona clashes with Sikandar’s good-hero-good-person narrative. How do you deconstruct a myth when the myth is the movie’s selling point?
When Sikandar shows the king getting applauded for his benevolence, it reinforces the very trope it claims to interrogate. A star’s on-screen roles and off-screen persona coalesce to shape audience reception—and there is massive dissonance in this one.
Narrative Complexity (or Lack of It)
Jawan’s plot is a Russian nesting doll of interconnected injustices. A soldier’s death, a hospital scam, a farmer’s exploitation—all give way how the story moves forward. This structural complexity mirrors the reality of systemic issues—they are tangled, pervasive and resistant to quick fixes.
The film’s protagonist is not a lone wolf, but a catalyst who is uniting victims to fight their own battles. The climax underscores that corruption isn’t defeated by one man’s fists but by collective awakening.
Sikandar, in contrast, seems to follow the standard Salman blueprint: a hero who punches first, skips questions, and leaves a trail of shattered goons (and logic). It involves personal sacrifice like donating wealth or brute force, reducing societal change to a series of grand gestures. Such narratives imply that poverty is a glitch solvable by charity, not a flaw in the system.
The danger here is the erasure of marginalised agency. When the hero is the sole architect of justice, the oppressed are merely props in his legend.
Empowerment vs Tokenism
Jawan’s most radical act is its focus on voices that are often drowned out in mainstream cinema. The subplots are the film’s backbone. This nuance humanises the struggle, making the politics personal. Shah Rukh’s character essentially hands the mic to the oppressed and the marginalised.
Sikandar, however, turns suffering into a trophy for the hero.
Here, the hero’s generosity is the narrative focus. The pain of the oppressed is a backdrop to his glory. This dynamic is offensive in an era where audiences crave representation, not rescue.
Tokenism lurks when trauma is aestheticised: a slum scene to show the king’s humility, a tearful orphan to highlight his compassion, a woman who needs him to fight against the patriarch and so on. The difference between allyship and appropriation is sadly missed.
Moreover, Jawan calls for action—a call to vote wisely, to hold leaders accountable, to recognise that democracy is a contract, not a spectacle. It’s a daring pivot from typical Bollywood endings, refusing to tie resolution into a neat bow. Instead, it implicates the audience—you are the hero now.
Sikandar’s finale, with the king triumphant, crowds cheering, evil vanquished, leaves no such emotion. Individual heroism, while thrilling, suggests that societal change is a one-off event, not an ongoing process.
It’s a comforting lie, the cinematic equivalent of a quick fix.
The Burden of the Blockbuster
Bollywood blockbusters, with their massive reach, carry a responsibility: to entertain, yes, but also to reflect, challenge, and occasionally discomfort. Jawan thrives by trusting its audience to handle complexity, offering politics with purpose. Sikandar, in its avoidance of nuance, makes the choice to placate rather than provoke.
Bollywood’s masala genre thrives on a spectrum: some films like Sikandar weaponise escapism to offer catharsis, while others, like Jawan, use it as a Trojan horse for provocation. There are films that cater to audiences seeking uncomplicated validation—a world where heroes, untethered from systemic complexity, emerge victorious.
The critique here isn’t about choosing between entertainment and messaging, but about how effectively a film’s politics align with its own scaffolding.
When a story gestures at societal issues but sidelines them for mythmaking, it risks feeling performative.
Sikandar’s flaw lies not in prioritising spectacle, but in half-heartedly invoking real-world stakes without any attempt to honour them. Conversely, films like Jawan succeed by ensuring its spectacle serves its substance, proving that even within commercial constraints, a film can choose to challenge its audience.
(Farnaz Fatima has a postgraduate degree in Politics and International Studies. Currently working in advertising, she is interested in exploring the intersections of gender, mental health and popular culture through her writing. This is an opinion piece, and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)