Bollywood in recent years has witnessed a surge of lavish period films, epic historical dramas set in India’s past. From grand medieval sagas to colonial-era stories, these movies have captured the public imagination and sparked debate. Big-budget productions like Padmaavat (2018), Tanhaji: The Unsung Warrior (2020), Samrat Prithviraj (2022), and the newly released Kesari Chapter 2 (2025) draw on real historical figures and events. They promise spectacular battles, royal intrigue, and patriotic fervor. But as these films rise in number and popularity, a key question emerges: Are they fueled by a genuine nostalgia for history and heritage, or do they double as vehicles for modern nationalism and ideological agendas? The answer, as we will explore, is complex.
These films certainly rekindle interest in India’s rich past and often instill pride, yet many critics argue they oversimplify history to fit present-day narratives. In this deep dive, we analyze the trend of Bollywood period films from the last decade, their themes, accuracy, reception, and the nationalistic undertones that increasingly frame them.
Contents
- A New Wave of Historical Epics (2015–2025)
- Spectacle and Scale in Period Films
- Themes of Valor, Sacrifice, and Pride
- Fact vs. Fiction: Rewriting History on the Big Screen
- Nationalism on the Silver Screen
- Audience Reception: Blockbusters, Backlashes, and Debate
- Cultural Impact and Ongoing Debate
- Looking Ahead: Balancing Heritage and Narrative
A New Wave of Historical Epics (2015–2025)
Period dramas are not new to Bollywood, but the frequency and scale of such films have grown notably in the 2015–2025 period. Filmmakers seem eager to revisit historical chapters, especially tales of valor against invaders or colonizers. Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Bajirao Mastani (2015) and Padmaavat (2018) set the stage with opulent recreations of 18th-century Maratha courts and 14th-century Rajputana, garnering both critical acclaim and commercial success. These successes proved that audiences had an appetite for grand historical romance and warfare. Soon after, a flurry of historical action films followed:
- Tanhaji: The Unsung Warrior (2020): A 17th-century Maratha warrior’s fight to recapture a fort from the Mughal Empire.
- Panipat (2019): The Third Battle of Panipat (1761) between the Maratha Empire and the Afghan invader Ahmad Shah Durrani.
- Manikarnika: The Queen of Jhansi (2019): The story of Rani Laxmibai and the 1857 uprising against British rule.
- Kesari (2019): The 1897 Battle of Saragarhi, where Sikh soldiers fought Afghan tribesmen.
- Samrat Prithviraj (2022): A biopic of 12th-century king Prithviraj Chauhan and his battles against Muhammad Ghor.
- Shershaah (2021): A modern historical (Kargil War hero Captain Vikram Batra) – not a medieval tale, but indicative of the patriotic biopic trend.
- Shamshera (2022): A fictional 19th-century rebel vs. the British – blending dacoit folklore with colonial resistance.
- The Kashmir Files (2022): A low-budget film about the 1990 exodus of Kashmiri Pandits, which, while set in the late 20th century, was marketed as revealing “hidden” history and became part of this trend.
- Kesari Chapter 2 (2025): A sequel in spirit to Kesari, dramatizing the legal fight for justice after the 1919 Jallianwala Bagh massacre.
- Chhaava (2025): A recent epic on Maratha king Chhatrapati Sambhaji’s conflict with Emperor Aurangzeb, which reportedly ignited communal passions upon release.
This wave is characterized by stories of legendary warriors, kings, and freedom fighters. The films often claim to bring “untold stories” or “unsung heroes” of Indian history to light. The timing of this surge is notable: it coincides with a period of rising nationalistic sentiment in India’s socio-political landscape (post mid-2010s). The choices of subjects tend to reflect military conflicts and resistance, essentially, heroic Indians versus some form of oppressor or invader. Whether it’s Marathas versus Mughals (Tanhaji, Panipat, Chhaava), Rajputs versus Sultanate invaders (Padmaavat, Samrat Prithviraj), Indians versus the British (Manikarnika, Kesari, Sardar Udham), or Indian soldiers versus modern enemies (Shershaah, Uri: The Surgical Strike), the common thread is a celebration of bravery and sacrifice for the motherland.
It’s worth noting that Bollywood’s interest in historical subjects was present earlier too, classics like Mughal-e-Azam (1960) or more recent hits like Lagaan (2001) and Jodhaa Akbar (2008) come to mind. However, those films were fewer and often treated history with a different lens (for instance, Jodhaa Akbar emphasized a cross-cultural romance in the Mughal court). In contrast, the 2015–2025 batch of period films leans heavily into battle-centric, hyper-patriotic storytelling. It feels like a concerted revival, if not a new genre wave, within mainstream Hindi cinema.
Spectacle and Scale in Period Films
One reason these period films attract audiences is their grand production scale. Filmmakers are mounting these projects with massive budgets, elaborate sets, detailed costumes, and cutting-edge visual effects. The goal is to offer a spectacle that can compete with Hollywood blockbusters and draw people to theaters for an immersive experience. The trend has seen budgets soaring, with producers willing to invest heavily in historical epics, expecting rich returns if a film clicks with the audience.
To understand the scale, consider the budgets and box office figures of some major Bollywood period films in recent years:
| Film | Year | Budget (₹) | Worldwide Gross (₹) | Box Office Verdict |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| Bajirao Mastani | 2015 | ~145 crore | ~356 crore | Blockbuster |
| Padmaavat | 2018 | ~185–215 crore | ~545 crore | Blockbuster |
| Kesari | 2019 | ~100 crore | ~150+ crore (est.) | Hit |
| Manikarnika | 2019 | ~100 crore | ~132 crore | Average |
| Panipat | 2019 | ~85 crore | ~35 crore | Flop / Disaster |
| Tanhaji | 2020 | ~125 crore (est.) | ~367 crore | Blockbuster |
| Shershaah (OTT) | 2021 | ~55 crore (est.) | (digital release) | Super Hit (OTT viewership) |
| Samrat Prithviraj | 2022 | ~175 crore (est.) | ~90 crore | Flop |
| Shamshera | 2022 | ~150 crore | ~63 crore | Flop |
| The Kashmir Files | 2022 | ~20 crore | ~337 crore | Blockbuster |
| Kesari Chapter 2 | 2025 | ~150+ crore (est.) | ~170 crore (est.) | Underperformed |
| Chhaava | 2025 | (Not disclosed) | (In release) | Hit the domestic market |
Table: Budgets and worldwide grosses of select Bollywood period films (2015–2025). Figures are approximate. “OTT” indicates a direct digital release.
The table above illustrates that when these films succeed, they can become massive hits (earning several times their budget). Padmaavat and Tanhaji, for example, were among the top-grossing films of their respective years. The Kashmir Files, albeit a different kind of “historical” film, was a surprise blockbuster in 2022 with a tiny budget and enormous profit. On the other hand, failures are equally dramatic: Samrat Prithviraj (2022) and Shamshera (2022) were big-budget ventures that flopped, incurring heavy losses.
Production values in these movies are at an all-time high. Many are shot on sprawling sets replicating ancient forts and palaces, with thousands of extras or CG soldiers in battle scenes. War sequences involve extensive VFX to depict large armies, historic cities, and sometimes creatures (for instance, Tanhaji even features a climactic scene with a CGI elephant and a monitor lizard aiding the hero). Costume designers painstakingly create period-accurate (or at least grandiose) royal attire and armor. Top stars and character actors are cast to give life to historical personalities, adding to marketing appeal. Some films, like Padmaavat and Samrat Prithviraj, were even released in IMAX or 3D formats to enhance the spectacle.
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Why are producers betting big on historical epics? One reason is the theatrical draw, these films promise an experience best enjoyed on the big screen, which is crucial in an era when OTT streaming competes with cinemas. A period epic offers visuals and drama that are harder to replicate on a TV at home. There’s also a sense that these movies have a cross-generational appeal: families can watch them together, the older generation relishes stories of historical heroes, and the younger might be attracted by the action and visuals (often likened to fantasy blockbusters like Baahubali, which, though not Bollywood, set a pan-India trend for epic films).
Directors like Ashutosh Gowariker (known for Lagaan and Jodhaa Akbar) and Sanjay Leela Bhansali have shown that meticulous art direction and cinematography can make history come alive. Following their lead, newer filmmakers (Om Raut of Tanhaji, Chandra Prakash Dwivedi of Prithviraj, etc.) emphasize scale and polish. The result is that even critics who pan the content often praise the visual splendor. As one review noted, Tanhaji “boasts of path-breaking visual effects” and is arguably the closest Bollywood has come to matching the grandeur of a Baahubali film.
However, bigger scale doesn’t guarantee better storytelling, and this is where the debates around these films truly begin. With all the money and might poured into them, what exactly are these epics saying?
Themes of Valor, Sacrifice, and Pride
The recurring themes in Bollywood’s period films revolve around valor, sacrifice, patriotism, and civilizational pride. Nearly all these movies idolize their protagonists, be it a king, a warrior, or a freedom fighter, as paragons of bravery and virtue. The hero is ready to give up his (or her) life for the homeland, for honor, or for duty. Rousing speeches about the motherland (“Matrubhoomi”), honor (“aan–baan–shaan” of a community or empire), and freedom from tyranny abound. For instance, Ajay Devgn’s character in Tanhaji repeatedly invokes the honor of the Maratha flag and the dream of a free Maratha kingdom. In Kesari, Akshay Kumar’s Sikh officer and his men choose to fight to the death against overwhelming odds as a matter of honor and courage. Manikarnika portrays Rani Laxmibai almost as a goddess of war, rallying her people with cries of independence against the British.
These films consciously stoke pride in Indian heritage. They highlight legendary historical figures from Indian history, especially those who fought foreign invaders. The narrative framing is often India (or Hindustan) versus the outsider. This outsider could be a colonial British officer, an Afghan king, or a Turkic/Mughal sultan. The conflict is typically cast in clear moral terms: the Indian hero defends righteousness and the motherland, while the invader is there to plunder or oppress. Good and evil are painted with broad strokes. There is little room for grey nuance when the emphasis is on valorizing the ancestors and invoking national pride.
Another theme is nostalgia for a “golden” past. Some dialogues and voiceovers explicitly lament how India was a “sone ki chidiya” (golden bird) that lost its glory due to foreign invasions. Such lines feed the idea that if not for historical subjugation, India’s civilization was exceptionally prosperous and virtuous. By extension, the films suggest a reclaiming of that lost glory, a sentiment that resonates with nationalist notions of restoring past greatness.
Religious and cultural identity often underpins these themes. In Padmaavat, the valor and purity of the Rajput ethos are contrasted against the lust and chaos represented by Alauddin Khilji. Tanhaji makes symbolic use of the saffron flag (the Bhagwa dhwaj of the Marathas) as a marker of Maratha/Hindu identity and resolve. Often, there will be a subplot or minor character used to show that the filmmakers aren’t demonizing an entire community, for example, Tanhaji includes one “good” Mughal-side character (a Hindu general who eventually switches allegiance) and one “innocent” Muslim in the Maratha camp. But such token elements are usually overshadowed by the larger Hindu vs. invader battle narrative.
At the same time, these movies try to entertain on a masala level. So we also find personal drama and romance weaved into history. Bajirao Mastani is fundamentally a love story set against war. Padmaavat also gives significant focus to Rani Padmavati’s marriage and bond with her husband before the conflict. This human element can provide relief from battle scenes, and it broadens the appeal (especially drawing female audiences, as traditional wisdom in Bollywood goes). However, in the more recent films, the balance seems to tip towards action and patriotic fervor over nuanced personal storytelling. Samrat Prithviraj, for instance, largely centered on the king’s military exploits and his duty, with only cursory attention to romance or inner life, a factor some critics felt made it a dull, one-dimensional saga.
The themes serve a dual purpose: they evoke emotional pride in one’s identity (national, cultural, or religious) and dramatize history into a rousing tale of good vs evil that is easily accessible to all ages. This mix of patriotism and nostalgia, served with spectacle, is the hallmark of the trend. Yet, it is precisely this formula that has raised questions about historical accuracy and ideological motives.
Fact vs. Fiction: Rewriting History on the Big Screen
Every historical film walks a line between fact and fiction. Bollywood period films openly take creative liberties, usually declared in a disclaimer at the start. Some dramatization is expected; after all, these are entertainment products, not documentaries. But the extent and nature of alterations in many recent films have drawn substantial criticism from historians and discerning viewers.
One major concern is that historical accuracy is being sacrificed for a compelling narrative or a convenient message. Padmaavat (2018) was a flashpoint in this regard. The film portrayed Sultan Alauddin Khilji in an extremely negative light, as a barbaric, almost deranged villain who eats raw meat and is consumed by lust and tyranny. While Khilji’s invasion of the kingdom of Chittor is historical, many other aspects (including Queen Padmavati herself) come from a medieval epic poem rather than confirmed history. Historians criticized Padmaavat for “bypassing facts” and turning Khilji into a caricature of evil. In doing so, the film arguably reinforced a simplistic notion of Hindu valour versus Muslim depravity. It was hugely successful at the box office, but left academia and minority groups uneasy about its depiction of the past.
In 2022, Samrat Prithviraj went a step further in what some called “revisionist” history. The movie lauds Prithviraj Chauhan as the “last Hindu ruler of Delhi” and frames his defeat as the end of an era before “Islamic conquest” engulfed India. Its intent was clearly to lionize Prithviraj, but to do so, the film omitted key facts, notably, it downplayed or excluded the king’s eventual defeats and death at the hands of Muhammad Ghori. By showing only his victories (and ending on a triumphant note), the movie distorted the true outcome of those wars. Scholars and critics panned this, noting that glossing over Prithviraj’s losses was a way to avoid a “negative” ending and to cater to present-day political narratives.
Similarly, Ashutosh Gowariker’s Panipat (2019) strove to be faithful to the 1761 battle where the Marathas historically lost to Ahmad Shah Durrani’s forces. The film did portray the tragic defeat, making it a rare case where a mainstream movie didn’t alter the unhappy ending. However, it still faced backlash for other reasons: communities like the Jat descendants of Maharaja Suraj Mal (a character in the story) accused the film of misrepresenting their ancestor, showing him as hesitant and selfish in providing help to the Marathas. Protests erupted in Rajasthan over this perceived slight, leading the filmmakers to trim scenes. On another front, some in Afghanistan (and observers of Indo-Afghan relations) were upset by Panipat’s portrayal of Ahmad Shah Durrani as a one-note invader, fearing it could harm cultural ties. These incidents highlight how sensitive and contested historical narratives can be, especially when condensed into a commercial film.
Even ostensibly straightforward biographical films take liberties. Manikarnika (2019) added melodramatic elements and side characters that are not in historical records, and it arguably mythologized Rani Laxmibai to an extreme (for example, showing her single-handedly slaying dozens of British soldiers in stylized combat). Kesari (2019) was more grounded, but it still dramatized the Battle of Saragarhi for effect, simplifying some aspects of the battle and enemy portrayal to fit the David-vs-Goliath heroic template.
Filmmakers defend these choices as necessary for storytelling. They argue that compressing timelines, amalgamating characters, or exaggerating traits helps make the story cinematic and emotionally impactful. There is truth to that; a perfectly accurate depiction might feel dry or overcomplicated for the average viewer. However, the pattern in changes is telling. More often than not, changes tend to favor the hero’s image or the ideological message. We rarely see a Hindi historical film that portrays an Indian hero in a truly flawed or negative light. Nor do we often see nuance given to the “villains” or adversaries in these stories; they are usually painted as thoroughly deserving of defeat.
Reviewers have noted this trend with concern. One critic quipped, “What’s a historical in Bollywood nowadays without alternative facts and jingoistic nationalism?”. This tongue-in-cheek remark captures the cynicism some feel that these movies are less about educating on real history and more about presenting a fantasy of history aligned with what many in the audience want to believe or cheer for. The disclaimer about “creative liberty” at the start of films like Tanhaji is often followed by content that clearly stretches or skews facts. For instance, Tanhaji adds fictional subplots and characters, and even introduces anachronistic elements (like a Mughal cannon named “Naagin” for dramatic effect) that never existed in the actual 17th-century battle.
The risk here is that audiences may take these films’ version of history as truth, especially younger viewers who might not read academic history. While the films do spark curiosity about historical figures, they can just as easily cement misconceptions. The balance between educational value and entertainment tilts heavily toward the latter in Bollywood. Some films are essentially nationalist folklore wearing historical garb.
On the flip side, there have been a few films that aim for more authenticity. Sardar Udham (2021, released on streaming) garnered praise for a gritty, realistic portrayal of the Jallianwala Bagh massacre aftermath and the life of revolutionary Udham Singh. It avoided melodrama and jingoism, instead showing the senseless brutality of colonial rule and the complexity of revenge. Interestingly, Sardar Udham was not chosen as India’s Oscar entry, with one jury member reportedly saying it “projected too much hatred towards the British”, a somewhat ironic criticism for a film about an oppressive atrocity.
This incident itself became a talking point: it showed that even telling factual history (the massacre was real and horrific) can be uncomfortable if it doesn’t fit a certain narrative or if it’s too blunt. Nonetheless, Sardar Udham proved that a historical film can be both artistic and patriotic without bending facts; it just didn’t have the mass appeal of a more dramatized film like Kesari or Tanhaji.
Bollywood’s period films often simplify and reshape history. They do bring history to the forefront of pop culture, which can be seen as a positive for awareness. But the way they rewrite events, usually to make one side nobler and the other more evil than reality, suggests that creative liberty is sometimes used as a cover for ideological storytelling. This brings us to the crux of the debate: the element of nationalism.
Nationalism on the Silver Screen
One cannot ignore the nationalistic undercurrents (and sometimes overt themes) in this new crop of historical films. The timing is significant: the surge since 2015 aligns with the period after 2014, when India’s political climate shifted with the ascent of the Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) and its brand of assertive nationalism. Cinema often reflects the zeitgeist, and it’s evident that many filmmakers have been inspired by, or at least aligned with, the prevailing nationalist sentiment.
In these films, nationalism manifests in a few ways. First, the consistent portrayal of Hindu kings and warriors as righteous heroes pitted against invaders who are often Muslim (Turkic, Afghan, Mughal) or British. This in itself isn’t new; Indian cinema has long told stories of freedom fighters against the British, for example. But the frequency and tone have changed. As noted earlier, older films sometimes humanized even rivals or took a secular approach to history. Now, there is a stronger tendency to frame history as a series of civilizational clashes, with a subtext of “us versus them”. In Padmaavat and Panipat, it’s Hindus vs Muslim powers; in Kesari, Sikh (and by extension Indian) valor vs Afghan aggressors; in Kashmir Files, noble Pandits vs murderous militants (the film pointedly generalizes the militants as representative of Kashmiri Muslims, which was controversial).
Second, many of these films play into the narrative espoused by right-wing groups that India’s history and school curricula for too long “glorified invaders” or gave insufficient credit to Hindu rulers. Thus, movies like Padmaavat, Tanhaji, Prithviraj, and Chhaava can be seen as a form of cultural rebalancing, telling the stories of Hindu icons and victories that, in the nationalists’ view, haven’t gotten their due in popular culture. Indeed, Prithviraj was explicitly marketed with the tagline of him being the “last Hindu emperor” resisting an Islamic conqueror. Tanhaji was subtitled “The Unsung Warrior”, implying the film is finally giving due respect to a forgotten hero. This has an undeniable political resonance when it coincides with a government promoting slogans of reclaiming India’s past glory.
Third, direct support and endorsements have come from political figures and governments for some films. It’s not uncommon now for state governments (especially those led by the ruling party) to declare a film tax-free, effectively subsidizing tickets to encourage more viewers. Tanhaji was made tax-free in Uttar Pradesh and Haryana, with leaders saying the film inspires people through the hero’s valour. Samrat Prithviraj was similarly exempted from tax in multiple states even before its release. Perhaps the most striking example is The Kashmir Files (2022): several state governments not only made it tax-free but actively promoted it; even the Prime Minister praised the film for “showing the truth” of a historical tragedy.
The PM’s endorsement was extraordinary; it sent a clear message aligning the movie with the government’s viewpoint, effectively turning it into a tool of political narrative. Meanwhile, films that do not fit the dominant narrative struggle to get support or even distribution. (For example, a filmmaker’s project about a Muslim family’s experience in Kashmir was allegedly shelved by a major streaming service, reflecting industry caution in the current climate.)
Chhaava’s release led to incidents where extremist groups, emboldened by the film’s narrative, demanded the removal of Aurangzeb’s tomb, taking historical grudges into the streets. Maharashtra’s Chief Minister had to acknowledge that the film might have contributed to these inflamed sentiments. This example underscores a double-edged sword: period films can unite audiences in pride, but they can also exacerbate communal or nationalistic fervor if not handled carefully.
Critics argue that Bollywood has, in the past decade, shifted away from its more secular, syncretic storytelling towards a cinema that often mirrors the majoritarian viewpoint. Where older films might celebrate Hindu-Muslim unity or gloss over religious identities in historical contexts, newer ones accentuate them. The portrayal of historical Muslim figures, in particular, has become unflattering in many cases (Padmaavat’s Alauddin Khilji, Tanhaji’s Aurangzeb, Panipat’s Ahmad Shah Durrani, etc.). An academic noted that since 2014, Bollywood seems to be aligning with the Hindutva ideology, consciously or subconsciously, by choosing what stories to tell and how to frame them.
It’s telling, for instance, that Karan Johar’s ambitious project Takht, which was to focus on Mughal royals (and presumably show internecine Mughal politics with some nuance), was indefinitely shelved around 2020; rumor had it that the subject matter was deemed too risky in the current political climate. In contrast, films glorifying Hindu warrior-kings find easy backing.
Moreover, some films venture beyond just history into political commentary by proxy. For example, Kashmir Files was embraced by those who felt it validated the current government’s tough stance on Kashmir and Islamist extremism, whereas others decried it as propaganda that painted an entire community in a bad light. Movies like URI: The Surgical Strike (2019) – based on a 2016 military operation, though not a “period” piece, further established that strongly nationalistic, pro-military content can strike gold at the box office. The commercial success of such movies, described by some as “propaganda releases”, has proven the saleability of nationalist themes to filmmakers. Many of these even received government incentives (like tax breaks), as noted, blurring the line between state endorsement and cinema.
It should be mentioned that not everyone in the film fraternity is on board with this direction. There are filmmakers and writers who have tried to tell more pluralistic or critical stories, but they often face backlash. They operate in an environment where expressing an alternative view of history or politics can invite online trolling, boycotts, or worse. The atmosphere has thus led to a degree of self-censorship; mainstream Bollywood is less likely now to produce a film that, say, sympathetically shows a Mughal protagonist, or questions a legendary figure’s decisions. The nationalist wave has, in effect, narrowed the space of acceptable historical narrative, if the goal is to avoid controversy.
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Nationalism – both cultural and political – is a driving force behind many recent period films. These movies often resonate with audiences who feel a surge of pride and identity. On the other hand, they can alienate or alarm those who prefer a less divisive interpretation of history. The nationalism in these films ranges from the benign (just patriotic pride in ancestors) to the overt (vilifying certain past communities, or aligning with current political rhetoric). This raises the final question: how have audiences and critics received this trend, and does it ultimately educate or indoctrinate?
Audience Reception: Blockbusters, Backlashes, and Debate
Audience reaction to Bollywood’s period films has been mixed, reflecting India’s diverse society. Many of these movies have indeed struck a chord with the mass audience, translating into huge box office numbers. The success stories (Tanhaji, Padmaavat, The Kashmir Files, Bajirao Mastani, etc.) indicate that viewers love grand historical dramas, especially if the films are well-crafted and emotionally stirring. For a large section of viewers, these movies are an exhilarating blend of entertainment and patriotism. It’s not uncommon to hear cinema halls erupt in cheers during a rousing speech or a climactic victory scene. For instance, Tanhaji’s scenes of Maratha triumph reportedly had crowds clapping and even chanting in some theaters, and its ₹280 crore domestic haul showed strong repeat viewing in some regions.
However, not every film in this genre has been applauded. Several high-profile period films stumbled at the box office, suggesting that audiences are discerning about quality and authenticity, not just subject matter. Samrat Prithviraj (2022) is a case in point: despite heavy promotion, a patriotic theme, and tax-free incentives in some states, the film opened to a lukewarm response and soon fell off, earning only around ₹90 crore on a massive budget. The audiences simply did not connect, some found the film dull and dated in its execution, others perhaps felt Akshay Kumar was miscast, or that the story offered nothing new.
This indicates that jingoism alone is not enough; the film still needs to be engaging. Similarly, Shamshera (2022), though a fictional story, it was marketed on its historical setting and nationalistic fight, and was rejected by viewers, who criticized its screenplay and direction despite the star power of Ranbir Kapoor. In these cases, even though the theme fit the nationalist mold, the films flopped, signaling that Indian audiences won’t lap up content blindly. The story and treatment have to click.
Critical reception has been equally polarized. Many mainstream critics praise the visual ambition of these films, but are split on the messaging. Some reviews celebrate that Bollywood is finally putting its resources into “our own history and heroes” rather than aping Hollywood. They argue that a film like Tanhaji or Manikarnika instills pride in younger generations about figures like Tanaji Malusare or Rani Laxmibai, who might not be well-covered in textbooks. There is also a section of the public and press that defends the nationalist tone, asking why it’s problematic for Indian films to be proudly patriotic when, say, Hollywood frequently makes war movies lionizing their national heroes.
On the other hand, several critics and intellectuals express alarm at what they call propagandistic elements. They point out how certain films seem to have an agenda beyond just creative expression, for instance, the way Kashmir Files was embraced by one political narrative or how Prithviraj appeared to rewrite history to avoid any hero’s blemish. A common theme in more negative reviews is the lack of nuance. Words like “jingoistic”, “hyper-nationalistic”, and “simplistic” appear in critiques. The New Indian Express, in its review of Tanhaji, explicitly called it out as “a jingoistic history lesson” with a clear subtext of Hindu vs Muslim framing. Film Companion and other outlets have published think-pieces analyzing how movies like Tanhaji portray Mughals in a one-dimensional way and feed into current majoritarian narratives. This critical discourse doesn’t necessarily stop people from enjoying the films, but it contributes to an ongoing debate: Are these films harmless fun that boosts morale, or are they subtly conditioning society with a particular worldview?
Social media amplifies these divides. For every tweet hailing a film for “awakening patriotic feelings”, there’s another decrying it for “twisting history” or stoking prejudice. During Padmaavat’s release, the debate was somewhat different (focusing on whether glorifying jauhar, the practice of Rajput women self-immolating to avoid capture, was regressive, or whether the protests by Rajput groups were justified or absurd). But with films like Prithviraj, Panipat, or Kashmir Files, the online arguments often break along ideological lines. If one side accuses a film of being propaganda, the other side accuses the critics of being anti-national or too Westernized to appreciate Indian pride. It’s a microcosm of larger political polarization, played out through film criticism.
One notable aspect of audience reception is the regional variation. A film like Tanhaji did extraordinary business in Maharashtra in particular (given it’s about a Marathi hero), whereas Panipat did poorly even in Maharashtra, partly because it ended in a defeat, and perhaps locals already knew the story’s sad outcome. Padmaavat saw huge interest in Rajasthan (despite or because of the controversies there). Kashmir Files became a nationwide phenomenon largely via word-of-mouth from smaller cities and towns, not just the metros. This shows that when a period film’s subject has a strong local or emotional connection, the response is magnified. Conversely, if the subject doesn’t resonate or is viewed with skepticism (say, a lesser-known king or a perceived propaganda piece), people might simply ignore it.
In terms of box office, the highest-grossing films of the late 2010s and early 2020s in Bollywood include quite a few historicals, but by 2023-2024, the trend showed some fatigue. Big hits in 2023, for instance, were more from contemporary masala or comedy (Pathaan, Jawan, etc.), while purely historical epics took a backseat after a string of underperformers. It suggests that the industry may not overplay this formula without innovation. Future projects (like the announced film Emergency on Indira Gandhi’s Emergency period, or Battle of Bhima Koregaon, etc.) might diversify the kind of “history” being shown, moving into 20th-century political history or neglected stories, as opposed to repeating the medieval war epic template.
Cultural Impact and Ongoing Debate
Beyond entertainment and box office, the proliferation of nationalist-tinged period films has a broader cultural impact. On one hand, it has undoubtedly increased interest in Indian history among the general populace. Children and teenagers who watch these films often get curious about the real historical events. Teachers have noted students asking about Panipat or Prithviraj in classrooms after the movies came out. This could be seen as a positive, spurring people to learn more about their heritage. The films have also given Indian pop culture some new iconic characters and imagery. For instance, the sight of Rani Laxmibai charging with a sword (as portrayed by Kangana Ranaut) or the depiction of Maratha warriors bowing to their saffron flag has become part of popular iconography through posters and memes.
However, the cultural conversation around these films is deeply divided. For those who subscribe to the nationalist narrative, these movies are almost a correction of history, they feel these stories inspire patriotism and unity, and rectify what they perceive as decades of neglecting indigenous heroes in favor of secular or Mughal-centric history. To others, this trend looks like the entertainment wing of a broader ideological project to redefine Indian identity in singular terms (primarily Hindu, valorizing warriors, and glossing over the pluralism of Indian history). They worry that such films contribute to an atmosphere where minorities (especially Muslims) feel targeted or vilified by the historical framing, and where critical thinking about history is lost in the din of rousing background music and simplified narratives.
There have been real-world consequences as well. Films have influenced public actions: after Kashmir Files, there were reports of increased inflammatory speech at some screenings, where sections of the audience raised angry slogans targeting the perceived villains of the story. Similarly, as described earlier, Chhaava coincided with heightened tensions, with mobs using the film’s theme to justify attacking a tomb of a long-dead emperor. While one cannot blame films alone for such incidents (they tap into pre-existing sentiments too), it shows the power of cinema in shaping discourse. Bollywood has a massive reach in India, and when it puts its weight behind certain narratives repeatedly, that does affect popular consciousness.
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Another area of impact is the political appropriation of film content. Politicians have quoted or referenced these films in speeches. The slogan “How’s the josh? High, sir!”, from URI, was even used by political leaders to gin up crowds. Historical dialogues or images from films get circulated on social media as if they were facts or as motivational real quotes, blurring the lines between reel and real history. This can be problematic when the films themselves took liberties, for instance, if someone believes Prithviraj Chauhan actually uttered the exact patriotic lines written by Bollywood scriptwriters, or that Khilji was truly as demonic as shown.
Amidst these concerns, there’s an ongoing debate in artistic and academic circles about the responsibility of filmmakers. Should they prioritize entertainment since their primary job is to engage and sell tickets? Or do they owe a duty to history to present it responsibly, especially when dealing with sensitive topics? Some argue for a balanced approach: it’s fine for a film to have a perspective or even an agenda, but it should not fabricate history or vilify entire groups. Others say art will always have a point of view, and audiences are smart enough to understand a movie is not a textbook.
This debate isn’t unique to India; Hollywood, too, has had its share of critiques for war movies or historical dramas with an American patriotic slant. The difference is that in India, the interplay of religion, colonial history, and current politics makes the issue more volatile. Hindi cinema’s shift has even drawn international notice, with foreign media and observers commenting on the rise of Hindu nationalist themes in Bollywood. This affects India’s image of cultural diversity on the world stage, according to some commentators, though it also boosts India’s soft power in terms of spreading a confident, assertive narrative about its past.
Looking Ahead: Balancing Heritage and Narrative
As Bollywood continues to churn out period films, the tug-of-war between nostalgia and nationalism in these narratives is likely to persist. The audience’s appetite for well-made historical epics is real, people love to see their history brought to life, provided it’s engaging. The sense of awe and pride one feels seeing ancestors’ tales on the big screen is a unique cinematic high. This is the nostalgia factor done right: it can unite people with a shared heritage and even educate in parts. If filmmakers focus on authenticity and storytelling, period films can be a wonderful medium to keep history alive in public memory.
On the flip side, if the trend veers too far into one-dimensional propaganda, audiences may grow wary or bored. There are already signs that formulaic nationalist films don’t automatically succeed; content and creativity matter. Going forward, filmmakers might experiment with more varied historical subjects. We might see stories of scientists, artists, or reformers from history, not just warriors and battles. If the genre can diversify, it could avoid becoming stale. There is so much in Indian history, from the Indus Valley to the freedom movement, beyond just medieval warfare. Tapping into different eras and perspectives (for example, a film from the viewpoint of a common person in a grand historical event, or a balanced biopic of a figure like Akbar or Ashoka) could enrich the genre.
The challenge will be achieving a balance. It is possible to make inspiring, pride-inducing films about the past without tipping into xenophobia or factual distortion, but it requires a nuanced approach and perhaps more courage to buck the trend of oversimplification. As audiences, our role is also important: an informed viewer can enjoy the cinematic experience while remaining aware that films often take liberties. If a movie piques interest in a historical figure, one can always read further to separate fact from fiction.
In conclusion, the rise of period films in Bollywood is a mirror to India’s current cultural climate, a mix of genuine love for history, pride in identity, and a dose of politicization. For some, it is nostalgia, a comforting (or thrilling) look at a glorified past; for others, it clearly serves a nationalist narrative of the present. In reality, it is a bit of both. These films have, intentionally or not, become part of the cultural dialogue about “who we are” as a nation.
The hope is that Bollywood will continue to celebrate India’s rich history, but with open-minded creativity that respects the complexity of that history. Striking that fine balance between engaging storytelling and honest representation will determine whether future period films are remembered as mere propaganda pieces or as cinematic classics that also enlighten. The next few years will be telling, as the industry and audience navigate this potent blend of history and ideology on the silver screen.