Dhurandhar’s quiet power

Cinema has never been just entertainment.

- KUMAR ABISHEK

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