Sikandar Is More Like "Sick-ander" — A Cringe-Fest That’s Hard to Digest
Release Date : 30 Mar 2025
If you enjoy movies that make you question the very essence of storytelling, Sikandar is for you. But if you have any shred of dignity left, do yourself a favor—skip it. Your brain will thank you.
Director - AR Murugadoss
Cast - Salman Khan, Rashmika Mandanna, Sathyaraj, Kajal Aggarwal, Sharman Joshi, Prateik Babbar, Kishore, Jatin Sarna, Sanjay Kapoor
Duration – 135 Minutes
Rating – 1
Sikandar isn’t just a bad movie—it’s an assault on your senses, a cinematic crime that deserves to be banned from existence. It’s like the film industry got together, said, “How can we take everything that’s wrong with Bollywood and put it in one movie?” and Sikandar was the result.
Salman Khan, the self-proclaimed “Raja Saab” of Rajkot, plays Sanjay Rajkot—because apparently, being a king means having zero charisma, a permanent scowl, and the emotional depth of a soggy biscuit. His wife, Saisri (Rashmika Mandanna), dies in a tragic event that’s about as emotional as a wet sponge. Before she passes, she donates her organs to three random strangers in Mumbai. Now, the villainous minister (Sathyaraj) decides to target the organ recipients to erase her memory. Sounds like a potentially emotional, high-stakes drama, right? Wrong.
The plot unfolds like a checklist of Bollywood clichés: the righteous hero, the tragic love story, the evil minister, the underdog organ recipients, and of course, the mandatory “I will save the world” monologue. It’s like watching a bad soap opera with a bigger budget and fewer creative ideas.
Salman Khan’s performance is a masterclass in “how not to act.” He’s bulky, stiff, and somehow manages to make even the simplest lines sound like he’s reading from a grocery list. His emotional scenes are so forced that you’ll be begging for the comfort of a reality show’s dramatic pauses. His iconic “punchy dialogues” feel like someone forced him to improvise after forgetting his script. “Ab insaaf ki nahi, inhe saaf karne ki zaroorat hai.” Wow, Shakespeare would be proud.
Rashmika Mandanna, who’s usually a breath of fresh air, has little to do here. Her character is so underwritten that she’s basically a plot device with a pretty face. Her death scene? A masterclass in how to kill emotional weight. The audience’s reaction? Crickets. Silence. A few confused glances.
Sharman Joshi is the only saving grace. He’s the kind of actor who looks like he’s actually trying, unlike the others who seem to have shown up just for the paycheck. His performance is restrained, genuine, and makes you wonder why he’s stuck in this mess.
Ah, the action. You’d expect adrenaline-pumping, jaw-dropping stunts, right? Instead, you get a series of slow-motion shots that make you question if the editor accidentally hit the “slow-mo” button too many times. Flying goons, cars exploding for no reason, and enough slow-motion to make you think the entire film was shot in reverse. It’s not thrilling; it’s exhausting.
A Murugadoss must’ve thought, “Let’s take everything that’s wrong with Bollywood cinema and turn it into art.” The editing is worse than a student project—lip-sync issues that make you wonder if the actors were even in the same room while filming. The transitions are jarring, and the pacing is so off that you’ll find yourself checking your watch, wondering if you’ve accidentally been transported to another dimension.
Oh, the music. Generic background scores that make you wish for the sweet silence of a library. The songs are so forgettable that you’ll forget them the second they end. Not that they matter because the movie is too busy cramming in forced emotional moments and recycled action scenes.
Sikandar isn’t just a bad movie—it’s a cinematic crime scene. It’s like watching someone try to bake a cake but using salt instead of sugar, forgetting to turn on the oven, and then serving it with a smile.
If you enjoy movies that make you question the very essence of storytelling, Sikandar is for you. But if you have any shred of dignity left, do yourself a favor—skip it. Your brain will thank you.