Alpha, positioned as a major entry in the YRF Spy Universe and promoted as a female-led action spectacle, has become a revealing case study in contemporary Indian cinema, franchise fatigue, and the uneven standards often applied in film criticism. The discussion around the film is no longer limited to whether its action scenes are impressive. It has expanded into a sharper question: when a film is technically polished but dramatically hollow, should critics praise its representational value while overlooking its failures in story, character, and emotional coherence?

The criticism originally raised by The Commune argued that Alpha is a deeply disappointing film, and that Anupama Chopra’s favourable response to its “badass women” and “kinetic action” appeared far softer than her treatment of other films such as Dhurandhar. The central concern is not merely that two critics disagreed. Disagreement is natural in cinema. The more important concern is whether ideological comfort, branding, or fashionable language around empowerment can sometimes insulate weak filmmaking from the level of scrutiny it deserves.

On paper, Alpha had the ingredients for a compelling spy thriller. A rogue Indian Army officer secretly continuing a super-soldier programme after the government shuts it down could have offered a tense narrative about national security, military ethics, covert operations, loyalty, and the dangers of power without accountability. Such a premise carries enormous dramatic potential. It can examine the fragile boundary between patriotism and institutional overreach, between necessary secrecy and moral corruption, between national interest and individual ambition.

Instead, the film appears to rely heavily on the familiar grammar of large-scale franchise cinema: expensive visuals, slick action choreography, high-decibel background scoring, star presence, and recurring spy-universe associations. These elements can create momentary excitement, but they cannot substitute for dramatic architecture. A spy film needs more than explosions, betrayals, gadgets, and slow-motion entries. It needs an intelligible conflict, layered characters, strategic suspense, and consequences that feel emotionally and politically credible.

The weakness of Alpha, as framed by its harshest critics, lies in this gap between production value and narrative value. A polished action sequence may be technically difficult to mount, but cinema is not evaluated only by physical effort. The audience must understand why a chase matters, why a mission is urgent, why a character’s survival carries emotional weight, and why a villain represents more than a temporary obstacle. When these foundations are absent, action becomes noise. It may look energetic, but it does not necessarily become meaningful.

This is where the praise for “kinetic action” requires closer examination. Kinetic action, in film language, suggests movement, speed, choreography, impact, and visual propulsion. Yet movement is not the same as momentum. A film can move constantly while its story remains static. It can cut rapidly while its emotional stakes remain thin. It can stage combat with precision while leaving the viewer detached from the people fighting. The best action cinema fuses physical motion with moral pressure; weak action cinema simply keeps the frame busy.

The phrase “badass women” also deserves a more careful reading. Indian cinema certainly needs strong female characters, especially in genres historically dominated by male heroes. A female-led spy film can be culturally significant when it allows women to act with agency, intelligence, courage, and strategic competence. However, representation does not become meaningful merely because women are placed inside a traditionally masculine action template. If the writing reduces them to poses, slogans, and fight choreography, the result is aesthetic empowerment rather than dramatic empowerment.

A genuinely strong female character is not defined only by physical toughness. Strength may appear as discipline, restraint, moral clarity, emotional intelligence, sacrifice, tactical judgment, or the courage to resist both enemies and corrupt allies. In Indian storytelling traditions, including Dharmic narrative frameworks, power is rarely only spectacle. Shakti is not noise; it is force joined with purpose. Valour is not merely aggression; it is action aligned with dharma. A modern action film that invokes female power must therefore do more than choreograph combat. It must give its women inner life, ethical complexity, and narrative consequence.

From that perspective, the debate around Alpha becomes larger than one film review. It raises a recurring problem in media criticism: the temptation to reward a film for what it represents symbolically while minimizing what it fails to achieve artistically. Representation can enrich cinema, but it cannot rescue weak writing. Inclusivity can be valuable, but it is not a replacement for character development. Franchise ambition can expand a cinematic universe, but it cannot compensate for a screenplay that lacks discipline.

The YRF Spy Universe has already trained audiences to expect a certain scale. Its films often function through national security threats, cross-border tension, covert operations, charismatic agents, and high-gloss action. Such a framework places a special burden on each new entry. If a film belongs to a shared universe, it must justify both its individual story and its place within the larger franchise. It cannot merely borrow the brand’s prestige. It has to deepen the world, sharpen the stakes, or offer a new emotional and political register.

Alpha seems to struggle precisely because it reportedly mistakes franchise membership for narrative authority. The presence of a known banner, familiar genre signals, and a large cinematic universe may attract attention, but the audience still experiences the film scene by scene. If a conversation is flat, it remains flat. If a twist is predictable, brand value does not make it intelligent. If a character is underwritten, the scale of the production cannot create depth on its behalf.

This is why comparisons with critical responses to other films become unavoidable. When a critic is severe toward one film for its perceived ideological, aesthetic, or narrative excesses, but notably generous toward another film with comparable or greater flaws, audiences begin to question the standard being applied. The issue is not that every film must receive identical treatment. Different films invite different methods of evaluation. The issue is whether the principles of criticism remain visible, consistent, and defensible.

Film criticism has a public function. It is not only consumer guidance, though it often serves that purpose. It also shapes cultural memory, rewards certain forms of storytelling, and influences how audiences understand cinema as an art and industry. When criticism becomes overly impressed by surface markers such as progressive vocabulary, franchise scale, or star image, it risks becoming promotional language in intellectual clothing. A review should be able to admire a film’s intentions while still identifying its failures with precision.

The more rigorous approach would separate the film’s components. The action may be technically competent. The performers may have trained hard. The production design may be expensive. The ambition to build a female-led spy thriller may be commercially and culturally noteworthy. Yet none of these facts automatically produces a good film. A balanced review would ask whether the action advances character, whether the performances are supported by writing, whether the politics of the premise are explored responsibly, and whether the emotional arc survives beneath the spectacle.

There is also a technical problem common to many contemporary action franchises: escalation without intimacy. Each new film tries to appear bigger than the last. The missions become more global, the villains more theatrical, the explosions more elaborate, and the stakes more abstract. But audiences often connect most deeply with specificity. A single credible moral dilemma can be more powerful than a dozen large set pieces. A well-written confrontation in a quiet room can carry more tension than a visually expensive sequence without emotional grounding.

In a spy thriller, the intelligence cycle itself can be dramatic: gathering information, verifying sources, weighing deception, managing assets, anticipating betrayal, and choosing between imperfect options. Indian cinema has only begun to explore the full narrative richness of espionage beyond patriotic spectacle. Alpha could have used its super-soldier premise to examine state power, scientific ethics, military loyalty, and the cost of secret programmes. If those ideas are reduced to convenient plot devices, the film loses the very tension that could have made it memorable.

The sharpest disappointment, therefore, is not that Alpha is loud. Many enjoyable action films are loud. The disappointment is that it appears loud without being intellectually or emotionally persuasive. A film can be stylized, exaggerated, and commercial while still respecting story logic. Popular cinema does not need to become academic cinema, but it does need internal coherence. Mass appeal is not an excuse for careless writing.

The discussion also carries an important lesson for Indian cinema audiences. Viewers are increasingly capable of distinguishing between genuine craft and manufactured hype. They can appreciate difficult stunt work while criticizing a weak screenplay. They can support women-led films while rejecting shallow empowerment. They can enjoy franchise cinema while asking for originality. This maturity should be welcomed, because it pushes the industry toward better writing and more honest criticism.

For a culture with deep traditions of layered storytelling, from the Mahabharata and Ramayana to Buddhist, Jain, and Sikh narrative traditions of moral inquiry, cinema should not be satisfied with spectacle alone. Dharmic traditions repeatedly remind society that power without discernment becomes dangerous, action without purpose becomes disorder, and victory without righteousness becomes hollow. Even a modern spy thriller can benefit from this civilizational insight. Its heroes need not preach, but their choices must carry moral weight.

Ultimately, the controversy around Alpha is valuable because it forces a necessary conversation about standards. If the film is to be criticized, it should be criticized for its cinematic weaknesses: poor narrative construction, underdeveloped characters, excessive dependence on spectacle, and missed thematic opportunities. If a critic praises it, that praise should explain why its craft succeeds beyond fashionable descriptors. Words such as “badass” and “kinetic” may capture attitude and energy, but they are not enough to establish artistic merit.

Alpha may have intended to signal a new phase for Indian action cinema, particularly through a female-led entry in a major spy franchise. Yet intention and achievement must remain separate categories. A film’s politics, marketing, and symbolic value cannot be allowed to conceal weak storytelling. The more honest conclusion is that Indian cinema deserves better female-led action films, better spy thrillers, and better criticism. Strong women on screen should not be asked to carry weak writing; they deserve narratives powerful enough to match their presence.

Inspired by this post on Hindu Post.