Dhurandhar's quiet power lies in reframing Indian spycraft as statecraft

More than nationalism or spectacle, Dhurandhar signals India's turn to institutional storytelling - where intelligence, bureaucracy and soft power shape cinema's politics

Cinema has never been just entertainment. Around the world, films shape how societies imagine war, intelligence, and national power. Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar arrives at a moment when India, like other rising powers, is beginning to understand this fully. Its significance does not lie in patriotism or unflinching realism. It comes from a subtler shift, from spectacle-driven nationalism to something rarer and more consequential: Institutional storytelling. Individual heroics still matter, but here they are tied to bureaucracy, patience, and the invisible machinery of the state. 

Globally, spy and military agencies have long recognised the stakes of storytelling. Guns and spy satellites deter enemies, but narratives shape legitimacy. The Central Intelligence Agency understood early on that public trust and international credibility cannot be commanded; they must be cultivated. Since World War II, Hollywood has formalised this relationship. The Department of Defense provides filmmakers with ships, aircraft, bases, and technical expertise. In return, the armed forces appear disciplined, ethical, and purposeful on screen. 

This is not deception, it is translation. Popular culture often glamorises espionage and war, but the reality is slow, bureaucratic, and psychologically taxing. Western spy fiction, such as James Bond, prizes spectacle, while films like Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy get closer to the truth: Networks, patience, and moral ambiguity. Former CIA officers note that real operatives rarely act alone or carry guns. Success is usually invisible, reliant on political cover and institutional processes. States turn to cinema because reality is often dramatically unsatisfying. Storytelling simplifies, humanises, and legitimises security institutions for domestic and international audiences. 

The effect is profound. American power comes across as confident and morally anchored. Even superheroes operate within this ecosystem. Captain America is not just strong, he is principled. This is soft power at work: Quiet, patient, and enduring. 

India’s path has been uneven. Decades after independence, Hindi cinema treated the military and intelligence with caution. Soldiers were often tragic figures rather than strategic actors. In recent years, military films such as Uri and Shershaah embraced state narratives, emphasising precision, sacrifice, and clarity. Yet Indian spy cinema largely inherited the Bond formula: Glamorous lone operatives, exaggerated villains, and institutions reduced to wallpaper. Dhurandhar changes this. Ranveer Singh’s Hamza Ali Mazari is a smart lone wolf, but no superhero. Intelligence is portrayed as a system: Layered, patient, often frustrating, and frequently ambiguous. Decisions take time. Outcomes are uncertain. The film reframes Indian intelligence not as a shadowy reaction unit, but as an instrument of long-term statecraft. 

Star-driven spectacles excite audiences but do not persuade foreign observers or elite opinion-makers. Effective strategic cinema legitimises institutions, not just heroes. Hollywood learned this balance over decades, combining Bond-like fantasy with sober portrayals such as Zero Dark Thirty, where bureaucrats and analysts matter as much as commandos. Dhurandhar places India on that more mature axis, less focused on adrenaline despite brutal violence and more concerned with credibility. 

China provides a stark contrast. Films like Wolf Warrior II and The Battle at Lake Changjin are produced with direct military involvement and are internationally assertive. Japan sits at the other extreme. Constrained by postwar pacifism, recent portrayals through anime and live action depict defensive, humanitarian, and technologically capable forces. This is not chest-thumping nationalism, but reassurance, a way to normalise military capability within democratic restraint. 

Critics argue that military-supported films sanitise violence and marginalise civilian suffering. Still, dismissing them as propaganda is intellectually lazy. Every nation tells stories about itself. Democracies that remain silent cede the narrative ground to caricature, misinformation, or hostile framing. 

Dhurandhar does not ask audiences to cheer blindly. It asks them to see how power operates in grey zones, and at moral cost. It is deliberately unsettling. That discomfort is the point. Soft power at this level is not about excitement, it is about plausibility. 

The James Bond era taught the world to enjoy espionage. The YRF Spy Universe taught Indian cinema to globalise it. Dhurandhar attempts something harder: To explain intelligence as governance. In a world where perception travels faster than policy, that is not just artistic, it is strategic.