Sam Bahadur review: A lacklustre portrayal of Field Marshal Manekshaw’s legacy

Vicky Kaushal combines unfettered acting chops with irresistible star charisma. While his on-screen presence is undeniable, he also has the extraordinary ability to get into the skin of diverse characters. Which is why it’s truly disheartening to witness a film fall short of doing justice to his talent, particularly in the case of Sam Bahadur, a project that held immense promise, helmed by a filmmaker known for delving into the depths of ordinary stories of heroism.

The fault in the filmmaker’s approach

It is hard not to draw a parallel with Kaushal’s understated but scintillating performance — opposite Alia Bhatt — in Meghna Gulzar’s last outing, Raazi (2018). They created magic together. While the film transcended the conventions of war films, its story was shot through with tremendous emotional resonance. It shows that when a high-calibre actor collaborates with a perceptive filmmaker, the potential for cinematic brilliance is limitless. While setbacks are inevitable in the industry, one cannot help but long for more projects that harness the synergy of Kaushal’s acting skills and a director’s ability to unearth the extraordinary in the seemingly ordinary.

A consummate Kaushal seamlessly slips into the Manekshaw’s persona. His posture mirrors that of a seasoned soldier, with a slightly perched neck identical to the officer. His vocal rendition takes on a deep and succinct quality, echoing the commanding presence of the legendary military figure. Kaushal’s smile carries an air of knowingness that befits the character he portrays. His diction, impeccably enunciated and delivered, is reminiscent of Manekshaw, adding a layer of authenticity to his portrayal. In his nuanced performance, Kaushal not only captures Manekshaw’s physicality but also his essence to bring the character to life with remarkable fidelity.

That said, Sam Bahadur is devastatingly underwhelming, resembling more of a hurried crash course on both the enigmatic personality of Manekshaw and the historical wars waged by the Indian military. It’s akin to those fleeting YouTube videos hastily consumed before a daunting history exam, condensing a year’s worth of learning into a mere 15 minutes. Unfortunately, this is precisely the approach Gulzar adopts in her depiction of Sam Manekshaw’s life.  

A stark departure from the emotional depth showcased in Raazi, Sam Bahadur appears alarmingly devoid of sentiment. The very fulcrum that lent Raazi its sentimental allure is conspicuously absent in their second venture. Amidst the risking of lives, the orchestration of wars, and the accrual of both victories and losses, Sam Bahadur fails to evoke any palpable emotion. It leaves audiences untouched — bereft of sorrow, pride, fear, anxiety, or joy — simply because the filmmaking merely skims the surface of various subjects, rushing forward before allowing viewers to invest in the intricacies of subplots and characters.

Merely skims the surface

Here is a man who’s probably led a far more eventful and interesting life than any of us, but Sam Bahadur plays out his life in the dullest way possible. For a film that spans over four wars, there’s literally nothing happening throughout. A fascinating thread in the narrative unspools Manekshaw’s camaraderie with Yahya Khan (Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub) during their shared tenure as majors in the British Indian army. The portrayal poignantly captures how Partition affected Yahya, in sharp contrast to Sam’s seemingly resilient mien. At one point in the film, there was a great potential for compelling storytelling; Yahya’s journey over the years culminated in the events of 1971. However, the disappointment arises as Sam Bahadur chooses to reintroduce Yahya only as the war commences, therefore, again just brushing past the plot point, and never stopping to dig deeper anywhere.

The portrayal of women in the film, particularly Sanya Malhotra as Siloo, Manekshaw’s wife, and Fatima Sana Shaikh as Indira Gandhi, is characterised by bland story arcs. Malhotra’s character, Siloo, especially falls victim to a narrative that reduces her to the stereotypical image of a woman passively awaiting her husband’s return, with little depth or agency. Shaikh’s portrayal of Indira Gandhi, while having slightly more substance, remains only a semblance of a fully developed character.

Despite being figures of historical significance, the film provides these women with mere breadcrumbs in terms of character development. Even the portrayal of the former Prime Minister, a personality celebrated and discussed to this day, feels like a disservice. Instead of capturing the strength and charisma associated with Indira Gandhi, the film portrays her as if she were a newbie desperately trying to prove a point.

The most disheartening aspect lies in the poorly written characters and plots assigned to these women. What is even more regrettable is the unnecessary competition depicted between them, causing their character stature to inexplicably plummet. It raises the question of whether the filmmaker forgot that this isn’t a sequel to Mean Girls, but a narrative involving the former Indian Prime Minister and the wife of India’s first Field Marshal. These are mature, intelligent women, not high school students, yet the film unfortunately treats them as such, diminishing their roles and potential impact in the process.

Alas, Sam Bahadur could have been the next Shershaah (2021), a wonderfully emotional and poignant film around the Indian Army, but ends up a trite amalgamation of Border (1997) and Lakshya (2004), and other common war films that refuse to scratch the surface.