Ikkis review: Dharmendra is the beating heart of this biopic on Arun Khetarpal, which moves you more than you expect
Ikkis review: The Sriram Raghavan Dharmendra and Agastya Nanda-starrer works best when it stops trying to be a war film and becomes a painful reminder.
Ikkis Cast: Agastya Nanda, Dharmendra, Jaideep Ahlawat, Simar BhatiaDirector: Sriram RaghavanRating: ★★★.5
I exited the theatre after watching Ikkis with a heavy lump in my throat. Was it the bittersweet realisation that we were witnessing the final bow of the legendary Dharmendra? Certainly. Was it the film itself? To some extent. But above all, it was the weight of the truth.
It slowly dawns on you that the protagonist on screen, 21-year-old PVC Arun Khetarpal, isn’t merely a character, but a testament to a kind of bravery that feels almost mythical today. It’s purely the story that makes this film, directed by Sriram Raghavan, work. (Fun fact: he was offered two scripts by producer Dinesh Vijan. The other was Badlapur 2. Sriram chose this.)
Ikkis story
Ikkis begins with a 1971 flashback. Arun (Agastya Nanda), a tank commander, is headed into war with Pakistan. In the present day, set shortly after the Kargil War, his father, Brigadier ML Khetarpal (Dharmendra), is visiting Pakistan for a college reunion. Tensions are naturally high. He is hosted by Brigadier Khwaja Mohammed Naseer (Jaideep Ahlawat) and his family, with Naseer’s wife repeatedly urging him not to reveal a dark truth to Sr Khetarpal. What follows forms the rest of the narrative.
Ikkis review
Sriram, as a director, is known for his eye for detail, and there are flashes of that trademark finesse here. One particularly striking moment cuts from a character gazing through a telescope to Khetarpal peering through his tank’s periscope. It’s evocative. Unfortunately, such moments are scattered across an otherwise uneven film. The flashbacks arrive without rhythm, and the entire track, centred on Khetarpal’s training days in the first half, fails to make the impact it should.
It’s in the second half that Ikkis truly comes alive, compelling me to bump the rating from 2.5 to 3.5. The reason is simple: Dharmendra and Jaideep Ahlawat. Watching the two share the screen is a pleasure. Sriram, along with co-writers Arijit Biswas and Pooja Ladha Surti, crafts moments between them that genuinely move you, especially in the climax. The realisation that these events unfolded in real life only deepens the emotional punch, leaving you stunned. It's also one of the last on-screen appearances of the iconic jailer of Sholay, Asrani.
Aurally, the background score by Tanuj Tiku and Ketan Sodha accentuates emotions quite a lot. Visually, the battle sequences possess a sense of authenticity.
In the performance area, this is Agastya’s debut theatrical outing, and visually, he fits the bill almost instantly. His boyish, brooding presence works for the part. Beyond that, however, the performance remains surface-level. He struggles with emoting, and his Arun doesn't quite develop a personality of his own until the climax.
Simar Bhatia, also making her acting debut, is pleasant on screen with her girl-next-door looks and carries a superbly quiet confidence as Arun’s girlfriend. Ikkis is a sensible first step for her, giving her room to ease into the craft. From what little we see, she manages to stay afloat and leaves an impact.
In times currently ruled by the Dhurandhar brand of high-octane, raw patriotism, Ikkis takes a more precarious path. Its depiction of a rival commander’s respect for Arun Khetarpal may sit uncomfortably with some viewers who prefer their war cinema in stark black and white. The film itself seems wary of this nuance, evident in a mid-credits disclaimer that bluntly reminds the audience that respect on the battlefield does not translate to national trust.
Overall, Ikkis works best when it stops trying to be a war film and becomes a painful reminder. It tells you something unbearable: that our freedoms were bought by people who never got to live theirs. You leave the theatre not uplifted or proud, but hollowed out. And that ache, the kind that sits in your chest long after, is its most devastating triumph. The silence that follows the final scene is not cinematic. It is grief for a son who never came home, for a father who lived long enough to carry that loss... for a country that remembers its heroes mostly in passing.
