My focus is on the catalyst that makes us pick the film in the first place.

Do audiences walk into Dhurandhar with fewer preconceived notions?

At this point, I have more questions than answers.

Are we open to violence when it’s packaged as ‘pure entertainment,’ but defensive when it’s framed as ‘important history?’

Did Dhurandhar feel like cinema, while Bengal Files felt like an argument and Kesari 2 like a lecture? Is the acceptance really about violence—or the lens through which we walk into the theatre?

Take Dhurandhar. From the start, it never bothered to share its plot, reveal its intentions, or market itself as a patriotic film that you must watch as some sort of national duty. Is that why it managed to pull in the kind of audience numbers other filmmakers have been craving for so long?

Did Kesari 2 struggle because people no longer trust Akshay Kumar’s patriotism arc?

This led to my second question. Over the last few years, Akshay Kumar—once celebrated for delivering multiple Rs 100-crore films—seems to have suddenly lost his magic. He’s been doing similar heroic stories, with the same dedication and performance, yet audiences have begun to ignore both him and his films.

His recent film Kesari 2 was a similar attempt. He dug into the mystery behind the Jallianwala Bagh tragedy, and the makers didn’t shy away from showing some of the most harrowing visuals. Yet, we dismissed it—or labelled it as “too much.”

Which brings me to my next question…

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Is there a point where repetition creates skepticism?

Did audiences stop believing in Akshay’s sincerity, no matter how strong the story was? If a viewer enters the film already doubting the lead actor, does the film even stand a chance? So is the issue content, or credibility?

Did the marketing decide their fate before the first show even started?

Dhurandhar promised thrills, scale, Ranveer Singh’s return, and stylish mayhem. Kesari 2 and Bengal Files, on the other hand, promised pain, trauma, national duty, and awareness. Both films showed us with stories of human massacre in the name of religion and region.

Which makes me think do audience avoid films that feel like assignments? Do they run from movies that tell them what they ‘must’ feel or ‘must watch’? If Dhurandhar sold excitement, and the others sold suffering – is the audience simply choosing the easier emotional route?

Does the wrapper change the way we judge the same violence?

When gore appears in a slick, stylish action thriller – do we call it ‘realistic’ or ‘propaganda’? What sets apart one from the other?

When it comes through a star with credibility fatigue – do we call it ‘fake’? If the content is identical, why does the packaging change the verdict?

So now I have to ask: who’s really going to these theatres? And are we being a little biased without realising it?

Are we reacting to the brutality – or to the people behind it?

Do some filmmakers arrive with baggage? Do some actors walk into a film with distrust already attached to their names?

Is Dhurandhar succeeding because of its craft or because its creators don’t trigger preloaded opinions in the way Vivek Agnihotri and Akshay do?

So the real question remains:

If Dhurandhar and these films show the same level of violence, and follow a similar arc, why is one embraced so easily while the others are pushed away?

Is the difference in the gore and its tone or in our perception?

Is it about what’s on the screen or who’s standing behind it?

Until we answer that, the success of Dhurandhar — and the rejection of Kesari 2 and The Bengal Files and many such films with same plot lines — remains less a cinematic mystery and more of a reflection on the audience itself.