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By:

Bharati Dubey

17 May 2026 at 7:08:10 am

Why Sunny Deol’s ‘Batwara 1947’ failed to impress

Mumbai: The failure of ‘Batwara 1947’ has emerged as one of those box-office mysteries that is difficult to explain purely through the usual parameters of filmmaking. The film brought back the celebrated combination of Sunny Deol and director Rajkumar Santoshi after nearly three decades, carried a powerful Partition backdrop and featured acclaimed performers. Yet, despite the pedigree, the film struggled to attract audiences to theatres. For trade analyst Taran Adarsh, the failure was...

Why Sunny Deol’s ‘Batwara 1947’ failed to impress

Mumbai: The failure of ‘Batwara 1947’ has emerged as one of those box-office mysteries that is difficult to explain purely through the usual parameters of filmmaking. The film brought back the celebrated combination of Sunny Deol and director Rajkumar Santoshi after nearly three decades, carried a powerful Partition backdrop and featured acclaimed performers. Yet, despite the pedigree, the film struggled to attract audiences to theatres. For trade analyst Taran Adarsh, the failure was particularly difficult to understand. He felt Batwara 1947 was a well-made film, praised Santoshi’s direction, appreciated the performances and singled out the emotional scenes between Shabana Azmi and Sunny Deol. “What has really surprised me is why this film has not worked. In my opinion, it was a well-made film,” Adarsh observed. He particularly praised the emotions captured between Azmi and Deol, calling the performances of a very high order and Santoshi’s direction top-notch. He also felt the finale was gripping. Yet the question remained: if the film worked on these creative levels, why did audiences stay away? One explanation that surfaced repeatedly in trade circles was Sunny Deol’s image. Sunny’s Image For more than two decades, Sunny Deol has become almost synonymous with a particular kind of India-Pakistan narrative. His most iconic performances have often placed him in situations involving patriotism, national identity, Pakistan, borders and confrontation. Gadar: Ek Prem Katha transformed that association into a phenomenon. More than two decades later, Gadar 2 revived the same persona and became a massive theatrical success. Even Jaat continued to reinforce the image of Sunny Deol as the larger-than-life action hero who speaks loudly, fights harder and takes on overwhelming odds. That image is undoubtedly one of Sunny’s biggest strengths. But with Batwara, it may also have become a liability. The problem was not necessarily Sunny’s performance. In fact, Adarsh specifically rejected the argument that Deol was completely mellow in the film. According to him, the actor was restrained only up to a point and did eventually deliver the kind of action audiences associate with him. “I don’t feel that Sunny was mellow over here,” Adarsh explained. “He was mellow only up to a point, and later, he did indulge in action.” His larger point was that the film itself deserved a better response. “I just fail to understand... Somewhere down the line, people had decided not to watch the film for reasons known best to them.” That observation may actually hold the key to the film’s failure. Audience’s Rejection A theatrical film is judged long before the audience reaches the climax. The poster, trailer, casting, subject, star image and promotional material collectively create an expectation. With Batwara, the audience saw Sunny Deol and a Partition-related story and may have immediately associated it with Gadar and Gadar 2. But Batwara was not simply another Sunny Deol action vehicle. That distinction may have been difficult to communicate. The Sunny Deol of Gadar is a fantasy figure—an ordinary man transformed into an unstoppable force by love, patriotism and rage. His physicality, dialogue delivery and explosive action are central to the experience. A Partition drama built around human suffering, relationships and emotional conflict demands a different response from the audience. Consequently, the film faced an unusual problem: the actor’s strongest established image may have overshadowed what the film was actually trying to say. Wrong Casting Exhibitor Sanjay Ghai offered an even more blunt assessment of the problem. According to him, the issue was not necessarily the quality of the film but the casting. “Everyone knew beforehand about Batwara that the casting has gone wrong,” he said, adding that a different hero was needed. That is an important distinction. Ghai was effectively arguing that Sunny Deol may not have been the ideal commercial casting choice for this particular story, regardless of how well he performed in it. From an exhibitor’s perspective, this matters enormously. A film can be well made and still fail if the casting does not generate sufficient curiosity. And Batwara faced another problem: the Partition subject itself was no longer fresh. Tired Audience There is an undeniable familiarity surrounding Hindi cinema’s treatment of Partition and India-Pakistan relations. For years, filmmakers have returned to the same historical wound from different perspectives. Some films have focused on families separated by the border, some on communal violence, some on patriotism and others on the continuing emotional relationship between India and Pakistan. Then came the enormous success of Gadar and Gadar 2, which further cemented Sunny Deol’s association with the subject. Sanjay Ghai’s comparison with Border is therefore significant. He pointed out that Border had worked despite dealing with a similar broad territory. The difference, from a trade perspective, is that Border offered a particular combination of scale, patriotism, ensemble casting, music, spectacle and war drama that created a clear theatrical identity. Batwara may not have had an equally irresistible proposition. The audience had already seen Partition stories. They had already seen Sunny Deol in India-Pakistan conflicts. They had already seen the actor deliver high-octane patriotic drama.

Selective Outrage

India’s left-liberal media has long prided itself on being the torchbearer of secularism, dissent and moral rectitude. In the aftermath of ‘Operation Sindoor,’ the precision military strike launched by the Modi government against Pakistan-based terror camps, it has revealed its not a principled commitment to peace or truth, but a disturbing penchant for ideological prejudice, performative sanctimony and selective outrage.


The operation itself was a textbook display of calibrated force and geopolitical prudence. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, often caricatured as ‘authoritarian’ by the ‘liberal’ English-language commentariat, chose patience over provocation. He consulted opposition leaders, held detailed discussions with defence chiefs and took key international stakeholders, notably the United States and Russia, into confidence before authorising limited military action. The symbolism of ‘Operation Sindoor’ was also carefully crafted: a pointed reminder that the attack’s real victims were Hindu women widowed by Pakistan-sponsored militants in Kashmir. The government’s briefings were also strategic and symbolic as two ranking female officers, one of them Muslim, were made the public face of the mission, underlining a new Indian confidence that blends military muscle with democratic pluralism.


But this was unacceptable for India’s entrenched ‘left-liberal’ press, steeped in academic jargon, Western validation and a knee-jerk hostility to anything remotely ‘Hindutva.’ That a Muslim officer briefed the nation on ‘Operation Sindoor’ was branded ‘tokenism’ by such commentators. Others crudely alleged that the April 22 Pahalgam massacre was the logical culmination of reported atrocities against Muslims since Modi came to power in 2014.


The semantic nitpicking over ‘Operation Sindoor’ was maddening. An editor of a prominent magazine dubbed the operation’s name as ‘patriarchal’ and coded in Hindutva tropes. In a bizarre case of moral inversion, sindoor was likened to symbols of ‘honour killings’ and gender oppression, ignoring both its cultural resonance and the cruel reality that these women had lost their husbands in cold blood. For years, India’s ‘secular’ commentariat nurtured a preordained binary: the Congress may be flawed but was at least ‘secular’ while the BJP was an inveterate ‘fascist.’ Thus, the 2002 Gujarat riots are always focused upon but the Congress-backed pogrom of the Sikhs in 1984 is either downplayed or rationalised. Terrorism in Kashmir is tragic, but state retaliation is ‘jingoism.’ A strong Muslim voice in government is ‘tokenism’ but its absence is ‘exclusion.’ Even journalistic rigour is selectively applied. When Pakistan claimed to have downed Indian jets, some Indian outlets rushed to amplify the story before verification, inadvertently echoing enemy propaganda.


Dissent is vital in any democracy. But when its becomes indistinguishable from disdain, when editorial choices are dictated by ideological conformity, then the press becomes a caricature of itself. Ironically, many of these journalists enjoy robust free speech and loudly lament India’s supposed slide into ‘fascism’ from the safety of their X handles. Yet they turn a blind eye to Putin’s repression, Erdogan’s purges or Xi Jinping’s camps. In their eyes, Modi remains the greatest threat to democracy even as they broadcast their outrage freely, without fear of censorship or reprisal. ‘Operation Sindoor’ was a statement of cultural self-confidence. That confidence has rattled those who have spent their careers gatekeeping Indian discourse. Today, their monopoly is over. The people are watching and they no longer believe that the emperor has clothes.

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