Dhurandhar: The Revenge Review | Aditya Dhar’s Bloated Spy Sequel Centring Ranveer Singh Is More Jingoist-Than-Thou

Dhurandhar: The Revenge (2026) resumes the narrative from the point at which the first instalment concludes. Hamza’s (Ranveer Singh) assassination of Rahman Dakait (Akshaye Khanna) has further destabilised the already fraught political landscape of Lyari. The film opens with an extended disclaimer that stresses its fictional nature, clarifying that it is neither a documentary nor an affront to any religious community and advising viewers to exercise discretion. This prefatory note’s impact, however, fades quickly against the film’s considerable runtime, stretching beyond four hours.

The film is demanding in terms of sustained engagement, with its relentless depictions of violence and underlying messaging. It is also difficult to disregard the support it has gathered from a surge of pro-government accounts and orchestrated online agitators—used much like expendable forces in battles of those in power. Any attempt at critique is promptly dismissed and met with amplified retaliation. In an environment where only a certain kind of reaction to a film is permitted, what does it reveal about its intent? In fact, the pressing question audiences also ought to ask themselves is, does this approach genuinely register the suffering of victims of war or does it reduce them to instruments of provocation for a gory spectacle?

Aditya Dhar’s second instalment in the franchise reveals his clear ambition, as it deepens its inquiry into the making of both a gangster and a deshbhakt. While the first film centred on the naya Bharat infiltrating Pakistan, this chapter shifts toward the ghus ke maarna bit—which is quite frankly relentless and intentful. The film delves further into Hamza’s earlier life as Jaskirat in India, before his descent into Lyari’s criminal underworld. It offers a fairly cohesive portrayal of a man let down by institutional systems, yet driven by an enduring impulse toward violence and retribution. Jaskirat’s personal history is closely tied to a turbulent family past shaped by gang violence. His volatile emotional terrain is eventually used by Ajay Sanyal (R. Madhavan) and manipulated into nationalist sentiment. It draws on Jaskirat’s assertion of “ghayal hoon issliye ghatak hoon,” transforming the personal into the national and, in turn, the communal. 

Ranveer Singh maintains a commanding presence in this segment as well, as the film’s tension rests on pushing the boundaries of his endurance. Hamza and Jaskirat embody two distinct dispositions: one has moved beyond material ties, while the other remains deeply bound to his land and kin. Positioned between them are those he considers his own—Yalina (Sara Arjun), daughter of the scheming politician Jameel Jamali (Rakesh Bedi) and Mohammad Aalam (Gaurav Gera), his trusted associate. Hamza now stands as both a devoted family man and the authoritative head of Lyari. The narrative repeatedly places his loyalty under strain, especially in relation to those closest to him, while he remains trapped in a constant state of vigilance. A striking line in the film suggests its strongest point—“Politics and loyalty ought not to coexist” and Jaskirat or Hamza becomes its living expression. 

Hamza’s steady rise coincides with the film’s shift into the BJP years in power. It even includes news coverage of the current prime minister taking the 2016 oath to safeguard the nation as Pakistanis foam at the mouth witnessing it. Hamza advances his aim by aligning himself with the inner circle of Iqbal (Arjun Rampal) of ISI. The narrative builds towards a decisive confrontation shaped by a chain of terrorist events attributed to Pakistan, particularly the 2008 Mumbai attacks with alleged links to the fugitive Dawood Ibrahim. Within this context, Hamza adopts the identity of a “Babbar Sher”, as they call him, marked by resolve and tasked with delivering retribution. The film’s overt jingoism, expressed through grand hypermasculine displays of violence, soon turns repetitive.

The film feels expansive, yet its steady pacing, Shivkumar V Panicker’s editing and Shashwat Sachdeva’s score (while not as compelling as the first instalment) guides it with fluid cohesion overall. While the first half unfolds at a slightly sluggish pace, the latter portion, particularly the climax, gains considerable momentum. In the earlier film, India occupied only a limited scope in the narrative as the gang conflicts remained in focus, within which Hamza became absorbed. In the second part though, the Lyari underworld loses much of its pull as the narrative attention shifts towards India’s politics and the pro-BJP messaging. 

Much like the first instalment, this film continues to exclude women from any central narrative presence. It constructs a distinctly male-dominated space in which women function as instruments within male power dynamics, subjected to abduction, mistreatment and political exploitation. Yalina is denied the freedom to pose personal questions to Hamza and is confined to the role of a subdued wife. Her child is drawn into a tense conflict shaped by the competing political interests of her father and her husband. Ulfat (Saumya Tandon) reappears only to mourn and deliver her signature slap.

Stylish characters with their own distinct personas tend to elevate the material, yet not quite at par with the first instalment. Bedi delivers the limited but well-timed comic relief through his portrayal of the bumbling Jameel. Sanjay Dutt’s policeman SP Chaudhary Aslam moves with a heavy, unrefined presence, while Arjun Rampal’s Major Iqbal is repeatedly subdued by his bitter, wheelchair-bound father. In this circus of gangsters, one misses Akshaye Khanna’s Rahman Dakait. 

Though one cannot fully do so, separating the film from its anti-Pakistan rhetoric, state-glorifying tendencies and subtle provocations aimed at Indian Muslims would allow Dhurandhar: The Revenge to stand as a competent gangster film. It features gripping action sequences, endless pools of blood, majestically long-haired, bearded men and foot-tapping music. After a point though, one becomes numb to the violence—a feat the film achieves with deliberate intent. One is truly compelled to consider an alternate reality wherein this gangland narrative could exist independent of state messaging. In such a premise, it actually holds immense potential as a study of crime, violence, political influence and personal conflicts. 

Yet, the film ultimately amplifies the imagery of the ruling establishment with mentions of the “chaiwala” who demolished Pakistanis. It does so more overtly here, referencing events such as the Babri Masjid demolition, the so-called good intent behind demonetisation and even subtle name-dropping of “allies” like Israel. Audiences ought to reflect on where the story is leading you with lines such as, “Each country must demonstrate its allegiance to the Muslim community, whether it is India or Pakistan.”

Dhurandhar: The Revenge does not aspire to subtlety, nor does it pretend otherwise. It emerges from a milieu that actively enables and perpetuates such expression. When political ideology merges with popular entertainment, the result grows strident and unwavering in its stance. Its custodians multiply steadily, often driven by communal hatred and an indifference to pressing realities. The film gestures towards a so-called “new India,” obsessively preoccupied with other nations, even as the “present India” grapples with fuel shortages, unemployment and worsening air quality.

It is disquieting to reflect on how cinema can assume a darker role, provoking anger while diverting attention from pressing realities faced by ordinary people. To echo a widely shared meme, “Give them Dhurandhar and cricket and they shall forget about the long queues at ATMs and LPG cylinders outlets.” Ultimately, Dhurandhar: The Revenge moves between two distinct tonal registers, within the first film and the second. The latter struggles to match the immersive world-building and stylistic sharpness that defined its earlier counterpart. Does expansive scale, precise cinematography and technical sophistication invariably result in a “good” film? One is compelled to wonder. What remains consistent though, is Dhar’s “peak detailing” in highlighting a far bleaker future for our nation and the world, as masses are swept away in institutional profit-making that rises alongside this film’s abhorrent ticket prices.