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There is a peculiar sadness in watching a great house stumble. The banner that gave us the roaring engines of Dhoom and the muscular swagger of Tiger has now delivered unto us Alpha — a film so luxuriously dull, so exquisitely inert, that it achieves a kind of perfection. Rarely has tedium been mounted on so lavish a scale. One almost wants to applaud.
The Screenplay: A Triumph of Nothing
Let us begin with the writing, for it is here that Alpha truly distinguishes itself. The screenplay — credited to Uday Chopra and two accomplices — is a marvel of sustained emptiness. Not a single scene dares to surprise; not one moment threatens to move us. It is boredom rendered with astonishing consistency, the sort of narrative flatline only a certain surname can bankroll. If ever a case were needed for the corrosive comforts of nepotism, Alpha presents it in gleaming 70mm. Audiences seeking a good night’s sleep will find no finer lullaby in theatres this year.
Action, Beautifully Butchered
For an action spectacle, Alpha displays a rare and admirable commitment to ensuring we never actually see any action. The editing is a whirlwind of cuts so frenetic, so devoted to obscuring the choreography, that one begins to suspect the fights were never staged at all — merely rumoured.
Even the grand unveiling of Alia Bhatt, an actress of genuinely rare gifts, arrives with all the thunder of a polite knock. Her introduction — the moment meant to crown her as an action star — is assembled with such timidity that it evaporates before it lands. Compared to the muscular star entrances modern cinema has taught us to expect, this one is a whisper where a roar was owed.
A Constellation of Wasted Stars
And what a cast to squander!
Alia Bhatt, luminous as ever, is handed a role so hollow it echoes. She commits, she tries, she elevates — and the script, with heroic determination, drags her back down every time. Her performance is a masterclass in acting against nothing. No star, however incandescent, can illuminate a void.
Sharvari is the film’s one genuine flare of life — glamorous, magnetic, and criminally shackled to sidekick duty. Her entry is the closest Alpha comes to entertainment, which makes her relegation all the more galling. Here is a leading lady in waiting, and the film insists on parking her in the passenger seat. May she never accept second billing again.
Bobby Deol is presented to us as a menace to Alia Bhatt, a proposition the film asks us to believe with a straight face. The miscasting is immaculate. Armed with a regional accent that wanders more than the plot, his villain poses roughly the threat of a decorative sword — impressive on the wall, useless in a fight.
Anil Kapoor, that eternal live wire, is deployed here with breathtaking pointlessness. He appears, he exists, he contributes nothing the story could not have survived without. A national treasure, gift-wrapped and left unopened.
The Mercies, Such As They Are
Credit where it is grudgingly due: Sharvari’s electric entrance and Hrithik Roshan’s cameo as ‘Kabir’ are the film’s twin oases. The Kabir sequence, in particular, is the only stretch where Alpha remembers it belongs to a high-stakes cinematic universe — a fleeting glimpse of the film this should have been. And there is a delicious irony in noting that the most palpable chemistry on screen crackles between Hrithik and Sharvari — two people the film never intended as its centrepiece. Someone at the studio should be taking notes.
The Verdict
By the time the second half unveils its “twist” — forced, bland, and visible from the opening credits — Alpha has long since surrendered. A story without grip, a villain without teeth, action without sight, and stars without purpose: it is a comprehensive achievement in failure.
Alpha stands as a gilded warning to the industry: no banner, no budget, and no galaxy of stars can redeem a film built on hollow ground. 1.5 stars — and the half is for Sharvari.
