Amar Kaushik’s Hindi film Stree 2, which has been in cinemas for four weeks and will be streaming on Netflix from September 27.

Amar Kaushik’s horror-comedy, though mindless and meandering, celebrates women’s power and shared heroism in a clever takedown of outdated gender roles


Amar Kaushik’s Hindi film Stree 2, which has been in cinemas for four weeks and will be streaming on Netflix from September 27, is set to become the highest-grossing Hindi film of all time. According to the box office report, it has already clocked a staggering Rs 558.24 crore in India, which makes it the second-highest grossing film of all time, surpassing Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s Animal (2023) — starring Ranbir Kapoor and Rashmika Mandanna, it made Triptii Dimri the ‘national crush’ — which earned Rs 556.36 crore during its run in the theatres. This overwhelming reception to a women-centric film is laden with irony, and a touch of schadenfreude, especially when you contrast its universe with Vanga’s glorification of toxic masculinity in Animal. A sweet vindication of sorts, if you will. And a blistering slap to the face of every film that thinks it’s acceptable to reduce women to mere footnotes — or objects of masochism — in the testosterone-filled sagas of men.

Vanga, who has previously boasted — with smug bravado — about his films’ box office success as proof of his genius, might find this turn of events a humbling experience, a moment of reckoning perhaps. However, given his avowed male chauvinism, one is almost certain it won’t entirely change his perspective though it should at least make him sit up and take note. So, has Stree 2 succeeded because it’s a better film than Animal? Not at all. In fact, both films are just about average and that’s the real tragedy. But then Hindi cinema has a long-standing tradition of lacklustre, less deserving films raking in disproportionate, undeserved riches. The first lesson Vanga should learn perhaps is this: filmmaking is not a tool for scoring points or silencing critics, a tactic he has adopted with alarming overtures. It should not be a battleground for personal vindication or an arena for regurgitating venomous ideals under the guise of storytelling.

An antidote to toxic masculinity

Why does Stree 2 — fifth in Dinesh Vijan’s horror-comedy universe after Stree, Roohi, Bhediya and Munjya — stand in a stark opposition to Vanga’s brand of cinema? Well, first and foremost, it reclaims the space in Indian cinema where women are not merely victims but autonomous agents of power and revenge. Vanga’s Kabir Singh (2019) and its Telugu predecessor Arjun Reddy (2017) sparked intense debate, largely because of their unapologetic portrayal of masculinity. Both films revolve around male protagonists who are, by any rational standard, deeply problematic. Kabir Singh, essayed by Shahid Kapoor, is a violent, self-destructive man with little regard for anyone else’s emotional or physical boundaries. He abuses drugs, hits women, and subjects his love interest to a possessive relationship, all while being shown as a misunderstood genius whose flaws are simply part of his overwhelming ‘passion.’

Arjun Reddy, the Telugu original, mirrors this sketch. Vijay Deverakonda’s character is equally volatile, reckless, and aggressive. Both films attempt to frame their protagonists as tragic heroes, victims of their own uncontrollable emotions, rather than addressing the glaring issues of consent, abuse, and entitlement. It’s as if Vanga’s films are asking the audience to sympathise with these men — not despite their dubious and unsettling behaviour, but because of it. The problem with this kind of cinema isn’t just that it portrays hypermasculinity —it’s that it romanticizes it. Kabir and Arjun are presented as flawed but ultimately lovable characters, with their misogynistic behaviour explained away by their intense emotional turmoil. The underlying message? Male aggression, possessiveness, and abuse are somehow markers of authenticity, a sign of true passion. Their actions are excused by their love for their female counterparts, who are reduced to passive recipients of their noxious affection.

Inverting the traditional power dynamics

Stree 2 flips the script entirely by inverting the traditional gender roles. In its universe, women are not merely background players in a man’s story but central to the plot. The character of She (Shraddha Kapoor) is not defined by her relationships with the male characters but by her own supernatural strength and mystery. In fact, the entire premise of Stree 2 hinges on the idea of women reclaiming their power, both literally and symbolically. The women in Stree 2 fight back against patriarchal oppression in both subtle and overt ways. The film doesn’t preach feminism; it lives it. Where Animal revels in the glorification of male trauma and violence, Stree 2 mocks the absurdity of male dominance. The inscription ‘O Stree Raksha Karna’ (Oh Woman, Protect Us) at the entrance of Chanderi is a tongue-in-cheek reversal of gender roles. It’s the men who live in fear, relying on the stree (woman) to protect them — a clever subversion of the damsel-in-distress trope that has dominated Bollywood for decades.

The film uses comedy as its secret weapon to disarm, again in sharp contrast with the grim, humourless portrayal of masculinity in Animal, painted in strokes devoid of any self-awareness. By surpassing Animal at the box office, Stree 2 sends a strong message to Bollywood: audiences are no longer interested in one-dimensional portrayals of masculinity. The men in Stree 2, including Vicky (Rajkummar Rao) and his friends, are not defined by their brute strength. Instead, they are the bumbling fools who, terrified of a female force they don’t understand, rely on women to save the day. Though it meanders a lot and is meaningless in parts, Stree 2 — perhaps unwittingly — redefines the idea of heroism. As the men in the story repeatedly fail to decapitate the headless villain (Sarkata, the ghost), the ultimate solution comes from a combined male-female force. This shared, cooperative effort critiques the outdated notion of men as singular saviours. In the end, it shows us that the ultimate victory — in cinema and in life — lies in the blurring of rigid gender roles. That true power comes from celebrating fluidity, not dominance of one particular gender.

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