Dhurandhar: How One Indian Film Shattered Bollywood’s Ideological Monopoly and Signaled a Global Cinematic Shift

Ever since Dhurandhar hit the screens, one thing has become impossible to ignore: the sheer panic it has triggered within India’s entrenched Left-liberal ecosystem. The reactions have been so personal, so visceral, that one could be forgiven for thinking the film was made on their own families rather than on a broader socio-political reality.

Sarcasm aside, Dhurandhar is not just another movie. It is a cultural event. A rupture. A long-overdue disruption of an ideological monopoly that Bollywood carefully built and protected for decades.

To understand why Dhurandhar hurts, we must first understand how Bollywood was ideologically hijacked.

The 1970s: When Cinema Became a Political Lens

The shift began quietly in the 1970s. A large number of left-leaning, Marxist-socialist thinkers entered Bollywood as scriptwriters. Their arrival changed not just stories, but worldviews.

A single, repetitive narrative started appearing across films:

• The Indian state is corrupt.
• Indian society is collapsing.
• Institutions are unjust.
• The hero must fight the state to save society.

To make this narrative work, certain choices became inevitable:

• The underworld was glorified as revolutionary resistance.
• Criminals were reframed as rebels.
• Hindu identity was either mocked, trivialized, or portrayed negatively.
• Religious rituals were shown as backward.
• Temples and priests were frequently cast as villains or symbols of decay.

Ideology became a filter. If your worldview didn’t align, you simply didn’t get work. By the end of the decade, an entire ideological class of writers had gained near-total control over Bollywood’s narrative engine.

The 1990s: The Rise of the Elite Gatekeepers

The 1990s added a new layer of control.

Film festivals.

Film critics.

International funding bodies.

Together, they formed an elite club that decided:

• Which films would get global exposure
• Which movies would win awards
• Which directors would gain “international credibility”
• Which stories were “art” and which were “propaganda”

Cultural or civilizational themes were dismissed outright. Instead, films were judged on how effectively they:

• Highlighted caste conflict
• Overplayed Hindu fundamentalism
• Focused obsessively on poverty (“poverty porn”)
• Portrayed the Indian state as brutal
• Reframed separatists as freedom fighters

The goal was simple:

Present India as a failed democracy.

Any film that spoke positively about Indian civilization, culture, or continuity was quickly branded as propaganda and buried.

2002–2015: The International Ideological Overlay

From the early 2000s, international funding further sharpened this lens. Grants from European bodies, the UK, the US, and foundations like Ford reinforced a new template:

• India must be shown as a majoritarian, suppressive state
• Minorities must be portrayed as perpetual victims
• Indian police, intelligence agencies, IB, RAW—must appear dangerous, immoral, and violent
• Terrorists must be “misguided youth”
• Hinduism must be subtly (or not so subtly) equated with fascism

Temples became symbols of oppression.

Priests became caricatures of evil.

Hindu groups were “extremists.”

Meanwhile, Pakistan and ISI were often shown as cultured, complex, or misunderstood.

This narrative ecosystem did not emerge accidentally. It was manufactured, curated, and protected.

Enter Dhurandhar: The Disruption

And then came Dhurandhar.

What does it do differently?

First, it refuses to push Hindus into a guilt complex. Instead, it presents Hinduism as:

• Dignified
• Strategic
• Self-aware
• United

Second, it does something almost revolutionary by Bollywood standards:

It portrays Indian agencies as heroes, not ideological villains.

For decades, audiences were trained to see Indian intelligence and law enforcement as morally corrupt forces. Dhurandhar breaks that conditioning. It reclaims the idea that institutions can protect rather than oppress.

Third, the film openly exposes:

• Foreign funding channels
• NGO interference
• Digital radicalization networks
• The roles of Turkey, Qatar, Pakistan, and ISI

For years, these topics were dismissed as “conspiracy theories.” Dhurandhar drags them into mainstream discourse—and that is precisely what makes certain ecosystems uncomfortable.

Why the Panic Is Real

The real reason Dhurandhar triggers outrage is not its content—it is its implication.

The film asserts something deeply threatening to ideological gatekeepers:

A united Hindu society and a united Indian society are not dangerous—they are powerful.

And power terrifies those who thrive on fragmentation.

For decades, division was the strategy:

• Break society into smaller identity groups
• Control narratives at a micro level
• Manufacture guilt
• Manage perception

But national-level consciousness disrupts this entire playbook.

Movies like Dhurandhar don’t just entertain—they educate, awaken, and unify. And unity is the one thing this ecosystem cannot tolerate.

Beyond the Film: A Larger Reality

What Dhurandhar depicts is not an isolated incident. India’s intelligence agencies have conducted far more complex operations—many never disclosed, many still unfolding.

Some of these stories will emerge in time. When they do, they will further challenge carefully curated myths.

Conclusion: The Burn Is Real

The outrage, the sarcasm, the endless commentary—this is not criticism.

This is burn.

And yes, the burn may need frequent application of ideological “burnol.” Relief will take time.

But the shift is irreversible.

Dhurandhar marks the moment when Indian cinema began reclaiming its narrative sovereignty. And that, more than anything else, explains the panic we are witnessing today.

How Hollywood and Korean Cinema Evolved—And Why India Is Finally Catching Up

Interestingly, what Dhurandhar represents for Indian cinema is not unprecedented globally. Hollywood went through a similar ideological and structural evolution, but with one crucial difference—it eventually course-corrected. In its early decades, Hollywood too romanticized outlaws, glorified anti-state narratives, and portrayed institutions as inherently corrupt. However, post–Cold War and especially after 9/11, American cinema recalibrated. Films began showing intelligence agencies, armed forces, and institutions as complex—but necessary—guardians of national security. Movies like Zero Dark Thirty, Argo, Sicario, and American Sniper did not apologize for American state power; they interrogated it without demonizing it. This evolution allowed Hollywood to remain globally influential while still being nationally rooted. Narrative sovereignty was preserved.

A similar, even sharper transition can be seen in South Korean cinema. Korean filmmakers mastered the art of blending national trauma, geopolitical realism, and cultural pride with world-class storytelling. Films like The Man Standing Next, Steel Rain, Joint Security Area, and even Parasite critique society—but never from a position of civilizational self-hatred. Korean cinema does not seek Western validation by portraying Korea as broken or morally inferior. Instead, it presents Korean identity as confident, layered, and globally competitive. That is precisely why Korean content now dominates global OTT platforms. Dhurandhar signals that Indian cinema is finally entering this mature global phase—where stories are rooted in national reality, told with confidence, and no longer filtered through borrowed ideological guilt.