While Hollywood star Tom Cruise thrills audiences by hanging off World War II biplanes, Bollywood’s Salman Khan is praised just for turning up on set. This divide shows why Indian blockbusters struggle to keep pace on the world stage. Both actors enjoy near-god status, yet Salman’s trademark bracelet now overshadows the man himself.

Salman’s new film Sikandar hit theaters mere days after Mission: Impossible – Dead Reckoning Part Two. Watching them back-to-back only underlined how far apart their cinema worlds have drifted. Sikandar feels less like a movie and more like a patchwork of half-baked scenes. Its makers seem to believe viewers need stories cut into ten-minute bursts. But this “Snapchat style” of filmmaking leaves audiences more confused than entertained.

At its core, Sikandar is a series of 500 tiny plots dumped on viewers without thought for story or character. Each scene rushes in, does its bit, and dashes off. The result feels like eating too much candy—sweet at first, then just empty calories. Salman plays King Sanjay Rajkot, but his royal bearing can’t save a script that is poorly edited, half-heartedly written, and lethargically acted.

The characters never feel real. Take Saishri, Sanjay’s wife, played by Rashmika Mandanna. If she had been honest with her husband, the entire plot twist—her fake death and the crisis that follows—would never have happened. Instead, Murugadoss leans on the tired “fridging” trope, where a woman is killed off just to fuel a man’s story arc. And even that device is mishandled here.

After Saishri’s supposed death, Sanjay learns she signed up as an organ donor. He then chases down the recipients of her eyes, lungs, and heart, convinced this will bring her back in some spiritual way. But the film never shows us why he breaks under grief. Their on-screen marriage barely exists, with just forty-five minutes of fleeting “first-date” vibes before tragedy strikes.

In contrast, directors Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg on Apple TV+’s The Studio use long takes and thoughtful pacing to train viewers’ attention. They’re asking audiences to meet them halfway, to slow down and stay present. Cruise’s globe-trotting stunts ask the same of big-screen fans: hold your breath, stay focused, and you’ll be rewarded.

By most measures, Dead Reckoning will rake in more at the box office than Sikandar. Cruise didn’t need to make promotional stops on reality TV or mall tours. His work speaks for itself. Salman, on the other hand, has spent much of the last decade leaning on star power alone, even as his films falter.

Is Sikandar the bold comeback Salman hoped for? Not really. He delivers just enough to call it a day. Co-star Pooja Hegde has said she sometimes had to speak to a stand-in when Salman was unavailable. That says it all—bare minimum effort for maximum hype.

Even Bollywood music feels caught in the same trap. Sikandar’s songs, scored by Anirudh Ravichander, mix English and local lyrics in a way that often feels like schoolroom homework. The main theme tries for poetic flair—“Show me a crown without a leader in his jewels”—but lands as gibberish.

In chasing easy thrills and bite-sized stories, films like Sikandar show cinema at its weakest. They cater to what studios think audiences want. But in doing so, they rob viewers of real challenge, real character, and real heart. And until Bollywood learns to push audiences, rather than pander to them, it will stay a step behind.