In 2026, filmmakers have bulldozed through nuance and specificity that separate a spy from a gangster so completely that one feels like the respectable cousin of the other. Directed by Geetu Mohandas, Toxic: A Fairytale for Grown-Ups has raked in Rs. 285 crore worldwide within five days of release.
That’s modest compared to Dhurandhar 2’s Rs. 848-crore haul and the Rs. 625-crore storm that KGF 2 was able to whip up at the ticket window in the same time frame four years ago. Notwithstanding the underwhelming reception of the Yash spectacle that also stars Kiara Advani, Nayanthara and Huma Qureshi, one deduction is undeniable. No matter the variations in box office performance, our contemporary cinema’s obsession with gangster, espionage and criminal-world narratives is here to stay.
Moreover, it is near impossible to ignore anymore (courtesy the onslaught of countless similar big-budget, tentpole films in recent years) that the filmmakers orchestrating these bloodbaths—each gorier than the previous one—are no longer interested in using their tortured protagonist as a tool to interrogate social consciousness and institutional failure that creates outlaws, violence and anarchy the way it was the norm in the 1980s and 1990s. Films such as Deewaar (1975), Agneepath (1990), Parinda (1989), Satya (1998) and Vaastav (1999) that became defining highlights of the genre were more interested in asking uncomfortable questions and probing the socio-economic conditions that conceived the renegade rather than working overtime to position him as a larger-than-life, blown-out-of-proportion mythical creature whose actions (no matter how bloody, reckless or damning) are above consequence. Even though the gangster/spy films of the 80s-90s glamorized violence, it was understated, muted and never fetishized. The films then had a dense moral weather, an unquestionable didactic architecture. Violence was a consequence, often a regrettable one, never aspirational or the entire story.
It was a trap one inadvertently fell into, pushed by circumstance, and wanted to get out of even if that meant getting killed in the process. Today, violence is celebrated. More has become better.
No, the best. No questions asked. Today, the spy and the gangster have increasingly begun to look the same. In Aditya Dhar’s Dhurandhar, Jaskirat Singh Rangi becomes Hamza Ali Mazari as part of a purpose that’s bigger than him, that accords his life the kind of meaning and impact it never had. He is an agent of the state. Meanwhile, Toxic’s Raya is a megalomaniac, power-hungry, operatic criminal who works entirely outside of the law’s bounds.
And yet, on the surface, it is difficult to differentiate between the two, so similar is their constitution, modus operandi and execution. In 2026, filmmakers have bulldozed through nuance and specificity that separate a spy from a gangster so completely that one feels like the respectable cousin of the other. If Deewaar’s Vijay were to meet Raya, he would shudder with contempt. All theatrical entry shots, hyper-stylized violence, over-choreographed action sequences, pulsating background score, elaborate production design and no substance. The modern spy/gangster film starts at half-time, reducing the origin story that could’ve served as a fertile ground for critique into a fast-paced, slickly-edited montage.
Instead of exploring what made the anti-hero, it obsessively focuses on who he is today—a bulked-up, slow-walking killing-machine who exists in a vacuum, utterly divorced from the fractured world that he occupies. His sole mission is to provide the audience an immersive aesthetic fantasy that lets you forget—even if for a few hours—the volatility of the world you live in and its many horrors. The idea is to superimpose the violence of the everyday with a spectacle so heightened that you become numb to what awaits you when you leave the theatre. All through the 80s and 90s, the gangster/spy films aimed to hold a mirror to the society, revealing what was happening—corruption, discrimination, apathy, poverty. Today that reality is so dystopian, it has shattered the mirror and the audience’s will to want to look into it. We are dealing with too much all at once. It’s relentless, exhausting.
No wonder we want to escape.
