Sam Bahadur (2023) is an earnest tribute to one of India’s most revered military icons, Sam Manekshaw, the nation’s first Field Marshal, whose career spanned four decades and five wars. Directed by Meghna Gulzar, known for her nuanced storytelling in films like Raazi and Talvar, this biopic aims to capture the essence of a man whose wit, valor, and defiance shaped modern India’s military legacy. With Vicky Kaushal in the titular role, the film swings between reverence and restraint, delivering a compelling—if somewhat patchy—portrait of a larger-than-life figure.

The film kicks off in 1933, tracing Manekshaw’s journey from a spirited cadet to the architect of India’s 1971 victory over Pakistan, which birthed Bangladesh. Kaushal is the linchpin here, and he delivers a performance that’s equal parts magnetic and meticulous. He nails Manekshaw’s flamboyant charm—think twirling mustaches and cheeky quips like calling Indira Gandhi “Sweetie”—while grounding it with a quiet gravitas that shines in the war room scenes. His physical transformation across decades, aided by solid prosthetics, is seamless, making you forget you’re watching an actor and not the man himself. It’s a career-high for Kaushal, no question.

Gulzar’s direction is meticulous, weaving historical footage with a polished narrative that spans pre-Independence India to the turbulent 70s. The film shines when it leans into Manekshaw’s personal quirks—his bond with Yahya Khan (a sharp Mohammed Zeeshan Ayyub) before Partition, or his near-fatal brush with bullets in Burma during WWII. The 1971 war sequence, though brief, crackles with energy, bolstered by Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy’s rousing score. Moments like Manekshaw staring down Indira Gandhi (Fatima Sana Shaikh) or outsmarting American diplomats are pure cinematic gold, blending humor with heroism.

But Sam Bahadur isn’t without its stumbles. The script, co-written by Gulzar, Bhavani Iyer, and Shantanu Srivastava, opts for a checklist approach—ticking off milestones rather than diving deep into any one chapter. At 150 minutes, it feels both rushed and overstretched, skimming over pivotal events like the Indo-China conflict or Manekshaw’s internal army battles with a docudrama dryness. The female characters—Sanya Malhotra as his wife Silloo and Shaikh as Indira—get short shrift, reduced to fleeting sketches rather than fully fleshed-out figures. Shaikh’s Indira, in particular, lacks the commanding presence the role demands, making her dynamic with Kaushal feel lopsided.

Visually, the film is a treat, with Rangarajan Ramabadran’s cinematography capturing everything from misty Mussoorie hills to gritty battlefields. Yet, the editing falters, jumping between timelines without giving you room to soak in the weight of what’s unfolding. The music is a mixed bag—stirring in parts, forgettable in others—lacking the knockout punch of a classic war epic.

Sam Bahadur is at its best when it lets Manekshaw’s charisma and Kaushal’s brilliance take the wheel, but it struggles to match that spark with a cohesive, gripping narrative. It’s a respectful salute to a legend, no doubt, and a showcase for Kaushal’s star turn, but it falls short of the cinematic heft its subject deserves. I’d give it 3.5 out of 5 stars—a solid watch for history buffs and Kaushal fans, but not quite the rousing epic it could’ve been. If you’re in it for a lesson on courage and charisma, it delivers; just don’t expect the full fireworks.