A Theater Packed with Bhai Fans
So, I finally caught Sikandar last night, and I’ve got a lot to unpack. It’s been a while since I’ve sat down for a Salman Khan film in a theater, and with all the hype around this one—Eid release, A.R. Murugadoss directing, Rashmika Mandanna as the leading lady—I went in with a mix of excitement and curiosity. Salman’s movies have always been an event for me, ever since I was a kid watching Hum Aapke Hain Koun with my family or cheering for Dabangg in a packed hall. There’s something about his larger-than-life presence that pulls you in, even when you know the story might not reinvent the wheel. Sikandar promised to be that kind of ride—an action-packed, emotional rollercoaster with Bhai at the helm. Did it deliver? Well, let’s dive in.
First off, the theater vibe was electric. It was a late show, and the crowd was a mix of die-hard Salman fans—guys in their 20s wearing “Being Human” tees—and families who’d clearly made this their Eid outing. The lights dimmed, the Nadiadwala Grandson logo flashed, and then came Salman’s entry. Oh man, that moment! He’s mid-air on a plane, taking down a sleazy guy (Prateik Babbar, playing a politician’s son) who’s harassing a woman. The slow-motion kick, the signature swagger, the roar of the crowd—it was pure Salman magic. I couldn’t help but smile. This is why we show up for him, right? That feeling of watching a hero who’s invincible, who’s got your back. For those first few minutes, I was all in.
The Royal Hero and His Heart
The story kicks off with Salman as Sanjay Rajkot, a royal figure in Rajkot, Gujarat, who’s loved by his people. He’s got this kingly vibe—think less monarchy, more Robin Hood. He’s donating land to the poor, beating up goons, and living a life that’s equal parts noble and chaotic. His wife, Saisri (Rashmika Mandanna), is his anchor, a sweet and supportive partner who calls him out on his busy schedule but clearly adores him. The age gap between them is noticeable—Salman’s pushing 60, Rashmika’s in her late 20s—but the film tries to address it with a throwaway line about “love beyond years.” It’s a bit awkward, honestly, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that their chemistry felt more like a big brother-little sister dynamic than a romantic one. Still, Rashmika’s charm shines through in her limited scenes, and I found myself wishing she had more to do.
The plot thickens when Sanjay crosses paths with a corrupt minister, Pradhan (Sathyaraj), after thrashing his son on that plane. It’s a classic hero-villain setup, and I was ready for some epic showdowns. But then tragedy strikes—Saisri dies in an accident, and her organs are donated to three people in Mumbai. This twist hit me harder than I expected. Suddenly, Sanjay’s not just a tough guy; he’s a grieving husband with a mission to protect these strangers who carry pieces of his wife. There’s a kid from the slums who gets her lungs, a young woman (Kajal Aggarwal) with her eyes, and another girl with her heart. It’s a noble idea, and for a moment, I thought, “Wow, this could be Salman’s Bajrangi Bhaijaan—a mix of action and heart.”
A Promising Start That Loses Steam
But here’s where things started to wobble. The first half builds up nicely—there’s tension with Pradhan, some solid action (Salman flipping guys like they’re ragdolls), and a few emotional beats that tug at you. I teared up a little when Sanjay imagines Saisri smiling at him, urging him to keep going. Salman’s not the best at crying on screen—his face stays stoic, almost too cool for tears—but you feel his pain in those quiet moments. The crowd loved it too; I heard a guy behind me whisper, “Bhai ka dil bada hai,” and I nodded to myself. That’s the Salman we root for—the guy who’s tough but soft where it counts.
Then the second half rolls in, and it’s like the film forgets what it wants to be. Sanjay turns into this superhuman messiah, tracking down the organ recipients and fighting off Pradhan’s goons to protect them. The idea’s cool—him honoring Saisri’s memory by saving these lives—but the execution feels rushed and messy. One minute he’s punching thugs in Dharavi, the next he’s lecturing a grandpa about women’s rights (Kajal’s subplot), and then he’s dodging bullets in a train station. It’s a lot, and not in a good way. The pacing drags, and the action, which should’ve been the highlight, gets repetitive. I kept waiting for that one standout fight—like the Wanted train sequence or Tiger’s bike chase—but it never came. Instead, it’s just Salman tossing guys around with the same old moves, backed by a loud background score that tries too hard to pump you up.
Music and Supporting Cast: Hits and Misses
Speaking of the music, Pritam’s songs are a mixed bag. “Zohra Jabeen” is catchy—I caught myself humming it on the way out—and “Sikandar Naache” has that festive energy Salman fans crave. But they don’t stick with you like “Munni Badnaam” or “Hud Hud Dabangg” did. Santhosh Narayanan’s background score is decent, but it’s no game-changer. I missed that adrenaline rush you get from a perfectly timed beat drop in a Salman flick.
The supporting cast doesn’t help much either. Sathyaraj as Pradhan is wasted—he’s all growls and gritted teeth, but there’s no real menace. I wanted a villain who’d make me hate him, someone to match Salman’s intensity, but he’s just a cartoonish bad guy. Prateik Babbar’s character disappears after the opening, which is a shame because he had potential. Sharman Joshi plays Sanjay’s loyal friend Amar, and he’s the one bright spot—quiet, steady, and genuinely likable. But even he’s sidelined, popping up just to nod at Salman’s heroics. Kajal Aggarwal and the other recipients get these mini-stories that feel tacked on, like the film’s trying to say something deep about humanity but doesn’t know how.
A Climax That Fails to Soar
By the time the climax hit, I was checked out. It’s predictable—Sanjay takes down Pradhan in a big, loud fight, saves the day, and the crowd cheers. But it didn’t earn that payoff. The stakes never felt high enough, and the emotional thread with Saisri gets lost in all the noise. I wanted to feel that lump in my throat again, that sense of triumph, but it was just… fine. The guy next to me shouted “Bhai zindabad!” and I get it—Salman’s fans will eat this up. His charisma carries the film, no question. He looks good too—fit, stylish, still rocking that bracelet and those aviators. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d seen this all before.
Final Thoughts: The Good, the Bad, and the Bhai Factor
Walking out, I felt torn. On one hand, Sikandar gave me those Bhai moments I love—the entry, the one-liners, the sheer star power. It’s a Salman Khan movie through and through, and if you’re a fan, you’ll probably leave happy. But as someone who’s grown up with his films, I wanted more. More heart, more freshness, more of that spark that made Sultan or Bajrangi special. A.R. Murugadoss knows how to craft a hero—Ghajini proved that—but here, it feels like he’s just coasting on Salman’s aura instead of pushing him. The story’s got bones, but it’s missing meat.
So, wrapping this up, here’s my take on Sikandar with the highs and lows laid out.
Pros:
Salman’s unbeatable screen presence is the biggest win—his entry alone is worth the ticket price, and he’s still got that effortless charm that lights up the screen. The emotional core of Sanjay’s journey after Saisri’s death had me hooked early on; those quiet, heartfelt moments showed a side of Salman I wish we saw more of. Sharman Joshi’s understated role as Amar was a pleasant surprise too—he’s the kind of friend you’d want in real life. And the songs, while not classics, have enough pep to keep the festive mood alive.
Cons:
The second half’s a mess—pacing issues and repetitive action drag it down, making it feel longer than it should. The villain, Pradhan, is forgettable, and the supporting cast doesn’t get enough to do, leaving Salman to carry everything solo. The organ donation subplot had potential but ends up feeling half-baked, like a good idea that got lost in the chaos. And honestly, the lack of a standout action sequence or a memorable score left me wanting more punch.
Would I watch it again? Maybe on TV, with friends, when I’m in the mood for some mindless fun. It’s not a disaster—Salman’s too magnetic for that—but it’s not a win either. It’s like that Eid feast where the biryani’s okay, but you know it could’ve been amazing with a little more effort. For now, I’ll hold onto the memory of that opening scene and hope Bhai’s next one brings back the magic I know he’s got in him.
