Ikkis Movie Review: A Quiet War Film That Chooses Unease Over Triumph

I walked into Ikkis carrying more emotional and cinematic baggage than I would have liked. Over the past several months, stories centred on India Pakistan conflicts have arrived in quick succession, and when any genre begins to cluster like that, fatigue becomes inevitable. This exhaustion has nothing to do with patriotism or ideology. It comes from repetition. Another war backdrop, another familiar enemy, another expected ending. By the time I saw the announcement, poster, and teaser for Ikkis, my first response was suspicion rather than excitement. I genuinely questioned whether we needed yet another film set during the 1971 war, especially when other films with similar backdrops were already in the pipeline.

That hesitation stayed with me as I took my seat. I was prepared to disengage early, prepared for the usual beats, prepared for the emotional manipulation that often accompanies war cinema. What I was not prepared for was the fact that Ikkis did not seem interested in reassuring me at all. From its opening movements, the film made it clear that it was not here to energise or uplift. It was here to unsettle.

A Director Choice That Changes Expectations

What first shifted my mindset was the name behind the film. Sriram Raghavan is not a filmmaker one instinctively associates with war cinema. His body of work brings to mind morally tangled narratives like Andhadhun, Badlapur, Ek Haseena Thi, and Merry Christmas. These are films obsessed with psychology, moral ambiguity, and the unpredictability of human behaviour. They are intimate, not expansive. So when I realised that he had chosen to step into a war setting, my curiosity replaced my scepticism.

Very quickly, it became evident that this was not a genre pivot aimed at scale or spectacle. Ikkis does not behave like a conventional war film. It does not ask you to clap, chant, or feel victorious. It does not build towards moments designed for applause breaks. Instead, it places you in a position of discomfort and keeps you there. The war is not framed as a stage for heroism but as an environment of fear, confusion, and irreversible consequence.

An Anti War Film Disguised as a War Story

From the early stretches, Ikkis establishes itself as an anti war film in spirit, despite being set during one of India’s most decisive military victories. There is a noticeable absence of chest thumping nationalism, slow motion hero shots, or grand speeches about soil and sacrifice. The film does not deny bravery or duty, but it refuses to romanticise them.

The most effective creative decision lies in the perspective the film adopts. Much of the action unfolds from inside tanks. This choice fundamentally alters how war is experienced on screen. Rather than open battlefields and sweeping visuals, we are confined within metal walls. The tank becomes both shield and prison. You never feel invincible inside it. You feel boxed in, dependent on limited vision, dependent on communication that can fail at any moment. Every sound carries threat, every vibration triggers anxiety. I found myself physically tense during long stretches, not because of explosive action, but because of sustained uncertainty.

This tank versus tank approach strips war of grandeur and reduces it to survival. The enemy is often unseen, reduced to sound, movement, or suspicion. That sense of vulnerability stays constant and defines the emotional texture of the film.

Visual Integrity Over Artificial Spectacle

Visually, Ikkis stands out as one of the more grounded war films in recent memory. The film deliberately avoids excessive reliance on artificial spectacle. In an era dominated by green screens and exaggerated visual effects, this restraint feels refreshing. The tanks feel heavy and dangerous, not like props. The terrain feels lived in rather than digitally assembled. With the exception of a couple of moments where the effects slightly stand out, most of the film maintains convincing realism.

That realism is not cosmetic, it is functional. Because the space feels believable, the tension works. The camera often stays close, framing characters within tight compositions that reinforce the lack of escape. Movement inside the tank is controlled and purposeful, reminding you that every action has consequences. The filmmaking constantly reinforces the idea that war is not about dominance but about navigating chaos without control.

Humanising a National Hero Without Mythmaking

At the heart of the film lies the story of Arun Khetarpal, who was only 21 years old when he was martyred in the 1971 war and later awarded the Param Vir Chakra. What impressed me was the film’s refusal to turn him into a mythic figure. He is not portrayed as an unstoppable force or a larger than life personality. He is young, visibly inexperienced in moments, and often overwhelmed by the weight of responsibility placed on him.

Casting Agastya Nanda in the role initially felt risky, given the inevitable scrutiny that follows any debut actor with a famous surname. However, in terms of physicality and presence, the choice makes sense. He looks his age. He feels like a young man still forming his identity while being forced into extraordinary circumstances. His performance is sincere rather than forceful. He does not dominate scenes through intensity, but through quiet persistence. For a character shaped by duty rather than bravado, that restraint often works in the film’s favour.

That said, my emotional connection to Arun fluctuated. There are moments where I wanted to feel closer to him as an individual, beyond his role as a soldier. While the film respects his legacy, it sometimes keeps him at a distance emotionally. I admired him more than I felt him, and that distinction matters.

A Love Story That Feels Peripheral

The romantic subplot, involving Simar Bhatia’s character, did not leave a lasting impression on me. It functions within the narrative but never feels essential. The relationship appears to exist because the genre expects it, not because the story demands it. While Simar Bhatia performs sincerely, the writing does not give the relationship enough space or complexity to anchor emotional stakes. It never fully blossoms into something that deepens our understanding of Arun. Instead, it remains a familiar addition that feels slightly underdeveloped.

The Father Son Relationship as Emotional Core

Where the film gains significant emotional depth is through the father son dynamic. Dharmendra, playing Arun’s father, brings with him not just experience but a lived sense of history. The film operates across two timelines, one set during the war and another approximately 30 years later, when the father visits Pakistan. This structural choice adds a reflective layer that many war films avoid.

Rather than ending the narrative at martyrdom, the film asks a harder question, what remains decades later. Medals do not conclude grief. They coexist with it. Loss does not freeze in time, it evolves, softens, and resurfaces in unexpected ways. Dharmendra’s presence anchors this idea with quiet dignity.

Crossing Borders Without Simplistic Villains

The Pakistan segment is one of the film’s boldest narrative decisions. When Dharmendra’s character meets a Pakistani brigadier, the conversation that unfolds avoids simplistic binaries. The other side is not reduced to caricatures or villains. This is where the film’s anti war philosophy becomes most explicit.

Some viewers may find this approach uncomfortable or even interpret it as being too restrained. For me, it felt honest. War, the film suggests, does not belong to one side alone. Its consequences ripple across borders. The scenes between Dharmendra and Jaideep Ahlawat are particularly effective. They are measured, mature, and emotionally weighted without resorting to melodrama. Their interactions rely on pauses, shared silences, and unspoken understanding.

Sound, Silence, and Narrative Restraint

Technically, Ikkis is a masterclass in controlled filmmaking. The sound design inside the tanks heightens tension without overwhelming the senses. The background score is used sparingly, often allowing silence to do the heavy lifting. This is not a loud film. It does not instruct you how to feel at every moment.

However, this restraint does come with risks. The middle portion of the film moves quietly, sometimes to the point of losing momentum. I found myself slightly disoriented during certain stretches, where the narrative progression felt subdued. Between the early setup and the final act, the film occasionally drifts. For viewers accustomed to more assertive storytelling, this may test patience.

Supporting Characters and the Presence of War Machines

The supporting cast is thoughtfully assembled. Every soldier feels like a real presence rather than a narrative filler. Interactions within the unit feel functional and authentic. The confrontations between Indian and Pakistani forces are staged with clarity and respect for tension rather than spectacle.

Interestingly, the tanks themselves begin to feel like characters. They are imposing, unforgiving, and emotionally neutral. They do not care about bravery or fear. They respond only to physics and firepower. This impersonal nature reinforces the film’s underlying message about war’s indifference to human cost.

Imperfections That Prevent Greatness

Despite its strengths, Ikkis is not without flaws. Casting remains a debatable aspect when viewed against the real life figure it portrays. Photographs of Arun Khetarpal suggest a personality that may have been sharper or more intense than what the film captures. Additionally, the narrative occasionally leans too heavily into the broader India Pakistan dynamic, slightly at the expense of Arun’s personal journey. While the geopolitical context is important, I did wish for more moments that belonged solely to him as an individual.

A Finale That Understands Weight Over Noise

The final act is where Sriram Raghavan’s strength with endings becomes evident. Emotion, action, and reflection converge in a manner that feels earned rather than forced. There is a quiet power in how the film concludes. One particular line about Arun remaining Ikkis forever carries haunting resonance. It is not delivered with emphasis or theatricality. It is allowed to sit, and that restraint gives it lasting impact.

Walking Out With Thought, Not Thrill

When the film ended, I was clear about one thing. Ikkis is not designed for universal appeal. This is not a film for viewers seeking spectacle, slogans, or easy gratification. It demands patience and openness to discomfort. I did not leave the theatre exhilarated, but I did leave reflective.

I would not call Ikkis a masterpiece, nor would I rank it among the most unforgettable films of its decade. However, it undeniably rises above the crowd within its genre. Its realism, visual integrity, and anti war stance give it a distinct identity. Stronger emotional grounding, tighter pacing in places, and deeper character exploration could have elevated it further.

In a time when war stories often aim to reassure us of strength, Ikkis chooses to remind us of vulnerability. That choice alone makes it worth experiencing, provided one enters with the right expectations. For viewers who value cinema that prioritises thought over spectacle, this film deserves attention.

Rating – 3/5