A new Amazon Prime Video drama, Shershaah, tells the story of a Param Vir Chakra awardee, Vikram Batra (Sidharth Malhotra), during the 1999 Kargil War.
As a war film, it has an inherent disadvantage of narrative fatigue: the subgenre, often serving predictable storylines, has almost exhausted its arsenal. But there’s a silver lining, too: the default format of such Bollywood productions – marked by bloodthirsty jingoism, convenient realities, and heightened propaganda – is so low that even a relatively level-headed film stands out.
Alternating between Vikram’s past and present, Shershaah follows his early days in the army, when he’s posted in Kashmir, as a Lieutenant in 1998. Most Hindi films, parroting the Delhi party-line, have a poor record of depicting the Valley’s complex political realities.
Fixated on nationalist chest-thumping, such movies solely see the conflict through the lens of soldiers and terrorists. Shershaah at least tries to be different. Vikram seems amiable and helpful, mingling with the locals, recognising the importance of being a humane army officer.
A still from ‘Shershaah’.
But writer Sandeep Shrivastava and filmmaker Vishnuvardhan dilute the initial promise with predictable plot turns. The film achieves this through two main means: foreshadowing and reveal. The former is so obvious that it spills out the latter.
In an early scene, for instance, while talking with an old man, Vikram tells him that he doesn’t see his son, Arslaan (Afnan Ashia), these days. This exchange is so heavy-handed that it only means one thing: the young man has become a militant and plans to cross the border. (The film soon confirms this assumption.)
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Later, a Naib Subedar, Bansi (Anil Charanjeett), tells Vikram that he’s recently become a father, showing his daughter’s photo. This bit, too, looks like a trite build-up. To no one’s surprise, Bansi is shot dead, and Vikram holds the same photo while looking at the officer’s dead body. There’s an echo of this scene towards the climax, when Vikram calls an Army Major (Nikitin Dheer) a “shield”, a reliable bulwark against the enemies. We can almost product what will happen soon.
Vishnuvardhan’s inability to create original heartfelt moments hurt this film. Even its narrative framing via a voiceover — Vikram’s twin relaying his brother’s entire story in front of a live audience, resembling a very TED-talk like set-up — is quite unconvincing, explaining a film that doesn’t need much explanation.
A still from ‘Shershaah’.
When Shershaah relaxes its guard to tell Vikram’s personal story, centered on his college girlfriend Dimple (Kiara Advani), the result is as insipid. We get such awkward lines – “Palampur ka seedha saadha launda”, “mujhe neend bhi nahin aati”, “mauka dekh kar dhar liyo bandi ko” – that the earlier portions seem thunderingly nuanced. But upon closer inspection, this entire subplot makes no sense.
Given that Shershaah essentially arises from a long speech, Vikram’s brother knowing (and sharing) the intimate details of the college romance is way too far-fetched, even for a Dharma Productions film. To make things worse, this subplot plays in a flashback where, due to contrived writing, Vikram and Dimple are recounting their love story to each other. (Now that is narrative fatigue.)
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We hear a lot about Vikram’s passion for the Army. But the film offers only superficial explanations: a) He was a hardy and stubborn kid; b) he was inspired by Chetan Anand’s Param Vir Chakra (1988). When a film has such pedestrian writing, its main hope rests on the performances. But Malhotra lacks the brute intensity and the screen presence of a celebrated army man. Advani, too, is forgettable in a formulaic role.
This could have been a comprehensive disaster if not for some redeeming elements. Unlike other war dramas, Shershaah resists the easy calls of jingoism. It tries to show some compassion towards the Kashmiris, where Vikram talks about earning their trust. (This attempt doesn’t go beyond mere lip service, though, as the film eventually depicts them as brainwashed masses who must be saved – but it is still a refreshing departure from most Bollywood productions that don’t even care for basic decency.)
A still from ‘Shershaah’.
There’s one bit of layered foreshadowing that works: Vikram, as an army man, being oblivious to rules and hierarchy. It produces some funny scenes, but it also prepares us for the climax, where he transcends those very rules to become an exemplary officer. Some familiar beats, such as Vikram’s interview on TV intercut with his friend’s and family’s reactions, land well.
Even during the intense war scenes – shot and edited with impressive rhythm and momentum – the film doesn’t drown in Islamophobic dog-whistling or repulsive self-absorption. Towards the end, Vikram even tells his subordinates, “I’m not going to give you a loud lecture on patriotism. You’re patriots, that’s why you’re here.”
But the more remarkable, even surprisingly moving, part about the film is that it understands the essence of war: that it is insanity, and the battlefield courage – especially the kind shown by Vikram – comes to those who embrace madness, valour, and patriotism with such ferocious intensity that it is impossible to distinguish among them. (At one point, a fellow officer tells Vikram, “This is madness.”) The film ceased to exist for me in those moments, and I could only think about the 24-year-old who didn’t think twice. Who was he? What drove him?
What compels some people to snap all cords with rationality — even when that irrationality is for a higher purpose? Shershaah only posits stale simplistic answers and, as a result, dilutes the portrait of exceptional courage that it tries to purportedly honour.