Raja Shivaji Review | Riteish Deshmukh’s Directorial Debut Is Sincere, Yet Struggles Under Its Own Weight

To understand a film of this nature, one must consider not only its construction but also its timing. Contemporary Indian cinema has increasingly leaned toward grand period pieces, often drawing from epics, like Namit Malhotra’s upcoming Ramayana (2026), recounting the legacy of historical figures, making films loosely connected to real life with the suffix “files”, or revisiting fraught political narratives involving India and Pakistan. In such a landscape, invoking a towering figure like Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj raises many questions, particularly when present-day tensions seem to shape the storytelling lens.

Given Shivaji Maharaj’s enduring significance to Maratha heritage and his reputation as a formidable leader, it is unsurprising that filmmakers return to his story. Still, the question persists: what justifies yet another retelling? Riteish Deshmukh steps forward with Raja Shivaji (2026), a Marathi-Hindi bilingual venture in which he directs, co-writes alongside Ajit Wadekar and Sandeep Patil, assumes the lead role while also serving as co-producer. The historical episode he chooses to dramatise carries greater weight and narrative potential than what earlier retellings like Chhaava (2025) attempted. Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj deserves to be tributed with far greater seriousness than as a convenient vehicle for peddling Islamophobic sentiment. Deshmukh’s film calls for a measure of respect that aligns with its intent—one grounded in thoughtful engagement over careless one-dimensional mischaracterisation.

Chhaava (2025) relied heavily on familiar textbook anecdotes, amplifying them with theatrical intensity for audiences inclined towards swaying performances. Deshmukh’s interpretation, by contrast, demonstrates a quieter conviction. A significant contributor to this effect is the commanding score by Ajay–Atul, whose music anchors the film and elevates its emotional cadence. Spanning over three hours, this expansive action drama traces the rise of Shivaji Maharaj in the 17th century, as he establishes the vision of Hindavi Swarajya in defiance of the Mughal Empire’s dominance.

The narrative attempts to navigate the many expectations attached to such monumental subject matter, especially after becoming the most expensive Marathi-language film. The time span stretches from 1629, the year preceding Shivaji’s birth, to 1659, when Afzal Khan met his end. Like other historical retellings, an extended disclaimer appears in the beginning, almost eager to remind viewers that large portions of Raja Shivaji should not be mistaken for a faithful historical record. 

The film initially focuses on young Shivaji (Rahyl Deshmukh, Genelia and Riteish Deshmukh’s son), against a backdrop shaped by political allegiance and shifting loyalties, with his father Shahji Bhosle (Sachin Khedekar) serving the Adil Shahi court. The film also sensitively captures Jijabai (Bhagyashree), presenting her voice and convictions as a steady moral compass guiding Shivaji through periods of upheaval. Shah Jahan (Fardeen Khan), is shown attempting to consolidate authority across the subcontinent, while Adil Shah (Amole Gupte) works to resist that expansion.

Shivaji’s dissenting imagination is fired by notions of sovereignty that take root through the influence of his brother Sambhaji Bhosle (Abhishek Bachchan). Their bond anchors the film’s first half, though it is stretched thin at times by indulgent combat set-pieces and dialogue that leans heavily into theatrical flourish. He evolves into a formidable adversary, prompting calculated responses from the court. Much of this strategic manoeuvring bears the imprint of Khadija Sultana (Vidya Balan), Adil Shah’s begum. The film constructs the legend of the older Chhatrapati Shivaji (Ritesh Deshmukh) with deliberate grandeur. Deshmukh enters amid a swelling crowd and petals cascading from every direction. Alongside him appears Saibai (Genelia Deshmukh), cast once again as his on-screen partner, echoing their earlier collaboration in the Marathi film Ved (2022). The antagonist in Raja Shivaji is Afzal Khan (Sanjay Dutt), a ruthless commander of the Bijapur forces whose schemes are driven by a relentless desire to halt the Maratha leader’s ascent.

Yet, to the script’s credit, it avoids descending into crude ideological posturing or reductive hostility. I went in half-expecting the film to lean on familiar anecdotes about Islam, perhaps even distort them into easy caricature. The narrative has little patience for foregrounding the rulers’ religious identities and turns its attention to the manoeuvring of power and the harsh realities of the conflicts it stages. Where it falters is in its appetite for nuance: the moral terrain is pared down too neatly, leaving the Marathas and the Mughals cast in stark opposition as virtue and villainy.

The film spans the Deccan region, alongside Ahmednagar, Pune and Bijapur fractured by rivals locked in relentless conflict. It gravitates toward displays of courage and grand declarations, shaping its protagonist through sweeping, almost devotional brushstrokes. Yet, the impact begins to wane as the emphasis shifts toward scale, leaving portions of the film feeling unnecessarily prolonged. War is plentiful in this three-hour film—random splashes of blood, severed limbs and cut-throat action. Violence dominates large stretches of the runtime, yet its excess proves counterproductive. The reliance on unconvincing CGI and uneven visual effects repeatedly disrupts immersion, making it difficult to stay anchored in the world the film attempts to build. While the intent to convey brutality and scale is evident, the execution reduces the imagery to something curiously one-dimensional, draining the visual grammar of texture and impact.

Raja Shivaji is undeniably steeped in grandeur, yet it displays a surprising composure in how that intensity is handled. The narrative resists the temptation to inflate its central figure into an invincible spectacle. Instead, it allows the legendary warrior moments of quiet humanity, as his journey is marked by loss and testing circumstances. The film, despite drawing from extensive research, suffers from a lack of cohesion. As it progresses within its overextended runtime, the sheer volume of detail begins to overwhelm.

The narrative remains heavily centred on Deshmukh, keeping him in constant focus. In contrast, Bachchan, in his brief appearance as Sambhaji Shahaji Bhosale, leaves a lasting impact. Bhagyashree as Jijabai also delivers a nuanced performance. Marathi actors Jitendra Joshi and Sachin Khedekar are excellent in their parts, though their presence is noticeably restricted. Balan proves effective as a cold and calculating queen, while Dutt revisits a familiar antagonistic space—delivering a performance that is assured, if not particularly distinctive.

In fact, the film’s most enduring presence comes from two voices that never appear on screen, yet echo throughout—Ajay and Atul. Tracks such as “Raja Shivaji Anthem” and “Jai Shivrai” lend the film its theatrical quality. Raja Shivaji ultimately presents a portrayal that stays faithful to Shivaji Maharaj’s courage and legacy. It also stands among Deshmukh’s stronger performances, marking his directorial debut. Its execution, however, does not always keep pace, even with a generous budget and an expansive cast. For those invested in Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj’s story, it offers enough emotional pull to remain engaging.