Eko Explained: The Hunter, The Hunted, and The Unseen Master

Dinjith Ayyathan – Bahul Ramesh, EKO is their third collaboration, after Kishkindha Kaandam and part of Bahul’s animal trilogy after Kerala Crime Files Season 2. And with Eko, it becomes clear that Bahul Ramesh is not interested in neat thrillers or clever twists. In both KCF and EKO, he is saying similar things- power that hides behind care, and loyalty that slowly erases free will. This article is not a “what happened in the climax” summary. This is an attempt to understand the psychology of Eko, decode its symbols, and explain the unanswered questions the film deliberately leaves behind.

Spoiler Alert: We will be explaining the entire movie, including the climax.

The World of Eko: A Story That Begins With Absence

The story begins with a void.

Kuriachan — a legendary dog breeder, trainer, fixer, manipulator — has been missing for six years.

What matters is this:
Everyone is still orbiting around Kuriachan, even in his absence.

Some want revenge.
Few want justice.
Some want answers.
And one person wants nothing except his master back.

That absence is the engine of Eko. Kuriachan may not be physically present for most of the film, but his control lingers everywhere — in people, in stories, in fear, and most importantly, in loyalty.

People, Dogs, and Masters: Understanding the Characters of Eko

1. Kuriachan (Saurabh Sachdeva)

Who he is: A notorious dog breeder and trainer with a dark reputation. He is known for his exceptional ability to control dogs and has connections with police, army, and even Naxalites. He owns acres of hills near the Kerala-Karnataka border in a remote area called Kaattukunnu.

Relation to the story: He is the central mystery. The entire film revolves around his disappearance and the search for him. Everyone is looking for Kuriachan – some to find him, some to kill him, some to get answers.

Why he matters: Kuriachan is not just a dog trainer – he is a manipulator of both animals and humans. He treats people like dogs, training them for blind loyalty. He has multiple families, cheats people, and uses his cunning to escape consequences. His most loyal “dog” is not an animal but a human – Manikandan.

2. Mlaathi / Soyi (Biana Momin)

Who she is: Kuriachan’s Malaysian-born wife. Her real name is Soyi. She is an elderly woman living alone in Kuriachan’s isolated hill estate with her caretaker Peeyoos and the dogs.

Relation to Kuriachan: She is his wife, but their relationship is built on lies. Kuriachan manipulated her into marrying him after framing her first husband Yosiah in British Malaya during World War II. She believed Yosiah was dead, but he was actually imprisoned.

Her revenge: She doesn’t kill Kuriachan. Death would be too easy. She keeps him alive but imprisoned – the same “protection” that was actually “restriction” that she suffered under both her husbands.

3. Peeyoos / Manikandan (Sandeep Pradeep)

Who he is: The young caretaker living with Mlaathi Chedathi. But this is a lie. He is NOT the real Peeyoos. His real name is Manikandan – Kuriachan’s most loyal follower, his “human dog.”

Backstory: Manikandan’s parents were Naxalites. They committed suicide by igniting a stick of dynamite while hugging each other. Young Manikandan witnessed their dead bodies. Kuriachan took him in after this trauma and molded him into a ruthless, blindly loyal enforcer.

Relation to Kuriachan: He is Kuriachan’s right-hand man. He has killed for Kuriachan. When Kuriachan disappeared, Manikandan came to Kaattukunnu disguised as “Peeyoos” (a caretaker Mlaathi’s children had arranged) to find his master. He sends money to the real Peeyoos to keep him quiet.

Why he is there: He is searching for Kuriachan. Unlike others who want to harm Kuriachan, Manikandan wants to find and rescue his master. He is the only truly loyal person to Kuriachan.

4. Mohan Pothan (Vineeth)

Who he is: A former close friend and associate of Kuriachan. He was recently released from jail after serving time for a crime Kuriachan framed him for.

Why he is there: He comes to Kaattukunnu seeking revenge and also searching for a rare dog breed. He brings a female dog in heat, hoping to lure Kuriachan’s male dogs and through them, find Kuriachan. Also, it confirms whether the dogs are still under the control of their master or not.

What happens to him: Mohan visits Mlaathi and reveals the truth about Kuriachan’s betrayal – that her first husband Yosiah was not killed but imprisoned. This revelation triggers Mlaathi’s revenge. Later, Mohan is killed by dogs – pushed off a cliff. Mlaathi ordered this killing as revenge for his role in destroying her life in Malaysia.

5. The Navy Officer (Narain)

Who he is: A mysterious ex-Navy officer who arrives at Kaattukunnu searching for Kuriachan.

Relation to Kuriachan: The exact details are not revealed, but Kuriachan cheated or betrayed him in some way. He has a personal vendetta.

Why he is there: He wants to find Kuriachan, likely to confront or kill him. He represents one of the many people Kuriachan has wronged over the years.

6. The Two Truckers / Undercover Policemen (Binu Pappu, Ranjith Shekhar)

Who they are: Two men posing as loggers/truckers. They are actually undercover policemen hunting for Kuriachan.

Why they are there: To find and arrest Kuriachan.

What happens: Manikandan discovers their true identity and kills them to protect Kuriachan.

7. Appootty / Appunni (Ashokan)

Who he is: A local man in Kaattukunnu who knows Kuriachan and his history.

Relation to Kuriachan: He is loyal to Kuriachan, like a “loyal dog.” He helps hide information about Kuriachan and protects his secrets.

Why he matters: He provides exposition about Kuriachan’s legendary abilities with dogs. He also spreads the rumor that Mlaathi practices “Malayan black magic” – which is actually just villagers’ xenophobia. The truth is simpler: she controls the dogs through care and feeding.

8. Pappachan (Saheer Mohammed)

Who he is: Another local character who shares stories and information about Kuriachan.

Role: He helps build the mythology around Kuriachan – the “infinite chronicles” that everyone talks about but no one fully knows.

9. Yosiah

Who he was: Soyi’s first husband in British Malaya. He was a skilled dog trainer who trained rare breed dogs. His dogs were fiercely loyal to him.

The Malaysia Flashback: The First Prison

Soyi was married to Yosiah, a skilled dog trainer. His dogs were fiercely loyal, so loyal that they would not let anyone near her. On paper, this was protection.

In reality, it was a cage.

Soyi could not leave the house.
The dogs would stop her.
Her safety came at the cost of her freedom.

This is the first time Eko introduces its central idea:
protection that removes choice is not kindness.

When Kuriachan and Mohan Pothan arrive by boat, the dogs sense danger immediately. They bark. Block access. They refuse to let Soyi step outside.

This is one of the film’s most important insights:

“No human can measure another human like a dog can.”

The dogs were not controlling Soyi.
They were protecting her from Kuriachan.

Betrayal in Malaysia: Where Everything Breaks

Kuriachan wants two things:

  1. Yosiah’s rare dogs
  2. Soyi herself

With Mohan Pothan’s help, Kuriachan frames Yosiah for a crime. Yosiah is imprisoned. Kuriachan tells Soyi her husband is dead.

Heartbroken, isolated, and with no way out, Soyi accepts Kuriachan’s “rescue”.

This is not love.
This is abduction disguised as salvation.

She is taken to India. To Kaattukunnu.
From one prison to another.

The Lie That Sustained a Lifetime

For decades, Mlaathi lives a lie.
Her marriage, her loyalty, her silence, all built on falsehood.

The truth is revealed by Mohan Pothan.

Vineeth as Mohan Pothan

Mohan is not a hero. He is not a saviour. Mohan is a man consumed by Karma. He gave ideas to Kuriachan to frame Yosiah, now Kuriachan betrayed him too, got him imprisoned, destroyed his life.

In his anger, Mohan tells Mlaathi the truth:

Yosiah was never dead.
He was imprisoned.
Kuriachan lied.

This revelation shatters Mlaathi. Her entire life with Kuriachan was built on a lie. He didn’t save her – he kidnapped her. He didn’t love her – she was just another trophy, another thing to control.

Her Patience is what we see next.

Mlaathi’s Revenge: How She Became The Master

Mlaathi does not confront Kuriachan.
She does not scream.
She does not seek sympathy.

Mlaathi, the seemingly powerless woman, begins her own hunt. She uses the one tool Kuriachan taught her to value above all else: loyalty.

As she tells Peeyoos, 

“Feeding the dogs is like claiming ownership.” 

While Kuriachan was away with his mistresses and business, Mlaathi was quietly feeding his dogs, transferring their allegiance from their loud, absent master to their silent, present one. She became the unseen master.

Loyalty shifts.

Not suddenly.
But completely.

When Kuriachan finally comes to hide in his secret cave, the trap is already set.

The dogs surround the cave.
The dogs, now loyal to Mlaathi, become his jailers
They do not let him leave.

Kuriachan is alive.
But he is contained.

He is fed just enough to survive — through bamboo containers, delivered by dogs.

This is not revenge through violence.
This is revenge through mirroring.

The same protection that imprisoned Soyi now imprisons Kuriachan.

The Central Theme: Protection vs Restriction

At its core, Eko is not about dogs, crime, or revenge.

It is about control disguised as care.

Protection, when imposed without choice, becomes restriction.
Loyalty, when conditioned, becomes obedience.
And obedience, when absolute, destroys identity.

Every major character in Eko exists somewhere on this spectrum.

The Loyal Dog: Who is Peeyoos?

While Mlaathi’s revenge unfolds, another drama plays out. The caretaker, Peeyoos, is not who he seems. He is Manikandan, Kuriachan’s most loyal disciple—his “human dog.”

Manikandan’s backstory is a tragedy. His Naxalite parents committed suicide with dynamite, leaving him an orphan. 

Kuriachan took the traumatized boy and forged him into a ruthless weapon, what Kuriachan gave Manikandan was not healing.

This is shown in a subtle way. While the Navy officer is showing the movie to Pappachan, we can hear a background voice-over from the film where a boy asks someone for food, and the other person offers him food.

It was purpose through obedience. 

He is in Kaattukunnu disguised as a caretaker for one reason: to find Kuriachan.

Manikandan is the only one searching for Kuriachan out of pure, unwavering loyalty. He kills the undercover cops and, he is the one who removed the break cable and attempts to kill the Navy officer, all to protect a master he hasn’t seen in years.

The Ending Explained: Two Endings, One Truth

The climax of Eko is a masterclass in subtle storytelling, offering two interpretations that both lead to the same terrifying conclusion for Manikandan (disguised as Peeyoos).

Manikandan discovers the bamboo container used to feed Kuriachan. He smells it, and the memory of the Malaysia flashback clicks into place. 

The Bamboo Container: This is the most powerful symbol. It’s a direct visual echo of how Yosiah’s dogs fed him in Malaysia.

Mlaathi uses the very method of her first husband’s imprisonment to imprison her second.

In the climax, Manikandan checking Bamboo sticks and rice

He knows. He confronts Mlaathi, ready to force the truth from her. But her dogs surround him, a silent, growling wall of protection.

This is where the brilliance of Bahul Ramesh’s script shines. It’s not about what happens next, but what has already happened.

Ending 1: The Prisoner

In this interpretation, Kuriachan is still alive, trapped in the cave. Mlaathi is his eternal jailer. Manikandan is now trapped in a horrifying stalemate: the only person who knows his master’s location is the one person he cannot touch. He is frozen, a loyal dog with no master to serve, forced to live in the shadow of his master’s captor.

Ending 2: The Judge, Jury, and Executioner

This is the darker, more subtle ending, hinted at by a crucial visual clue. Throughout the film, we see 5-6 dogs around Mlaathi’s house.

5-6 dogs

In the final confrontation, 12 dogs appear.

An Army of dogs surrounding Manikandan

Where did the extra dogs come from? They are the guards from Kuriachan’s cave.

Mlaathi has called them back. Why?

1.Kuriachan is dead. Her revenge is complete. She may have finally poisoned his food. The guards are no longer needed.

2.She needs them to control Manikandan. Now that he knows the truth, he is a threat. She has summoned her full army to deal with him.

When Manikandan sees the expanded pack, his eyes fill with tears. He understands. His master is either dead or his fate is sealed, and Mlaathi is now demonstrating her absolute power. This is her checkmate. She has not only imprisoned Kuriachan but has now neutralized his most loyal follower, forcing him to witness her total victory.

The Doubts Eko Doesn’t Answer Directly

Why the Name Eko?

This can be interpreted in multiple ways- 

In Japanese, it can mean “transfer of merit.” From Kuriachan to Mlaathi there is an absolute transfer of power.

In Sanskrit, it relates to “Ekam” or “one,” signifying that the dogs obey only one true master. 

It also, of course, refers to the echo of Kuriachan’s past sins coming back to haunt him.

Who killed Mohan Pothan? 

Mlaathi. She ordered the dogs to push him off the cliff. Her revenge was not just for Kuriachan, but for everyone who had a hand in her lifelong imprisonment, including his co-conspirator.

The Thought Eko Refuses to Let Go

Overall Eko is more than just a mystery thriller; it is a complex psychological drama that rewards patient viewing. I would say, it’s an extension of Kerala Crime Files Season 2, written by Bahul. You can see the similar character shades in Ambili, Ayyappan and Jaison.

The film ends with this standoff. Mlaathi has won. Kuriachan is her prisoner forever or might be dead. Manikandan is neutralized. The Navy Officer has his answer but cannot act on it.

The hunter has become the hunted. The master has become the prisoner. The protector has become the jailer.

This is the echo – the “Eko” – of the past. What Kuriachan did to Soyi in Malaysia has come back to him in Kerala. The manipulation, the lies, the control – all of it echoes back as his punishment.

Dies Irae Explained: The Ghosts We Create From Guilt

If you’ve seen Rahul Sadasivan’s Dies Irae, you know it’s not your usual horror movie. It doesn’t give you answers, it asks you to question. You come home, and the silence feels a little heavier. Here we are decoding the unanswered questions and symbols from Dies Irae..

Dies Irae is a story built on guilt, obsession, and the ghosts we create inside our own heads. Spoiler Alert: We will be explaining the entire movie, including the ending.

The Story: A Rich Brat, a Ghosted Girl, and a Stolen Hair Clip

We meet Rohan (Pranav Mohanlal), a rich, self-absorbed guy living in a huge, empty mansion. He has everything — money, parties, friends — but cares about very little. His life is easy.

Then he hears about Kani (Sushmitha Bhat), a former classmate who has died by suicide. They had a brief fling, and he ghosted her. He gets a little worried. Did she leave a note? Could he be in trouble?

He goes to her house, not really to pay respects, but to check for anything that might incriminate him. While there, he sees her hair clips. He picks one up and takes it home.

 It’s a small, thoughtless act. But it’s the mistake that unleashes hell.

The Haunting: Who is the Real Ghost?

Back in his mansion, strange things start happening. Rohan feels someone in his bed. He sees a dent in the mattress next to him. His hair is gently caressed, just like Kani used to do. And then there’s the sound — the faint, chilling jingle of anklets (chilanka).

At first, Rohan thinks it’s Kani. It makes sense, right? He wronged her, and now she’s back for revenge. But the haunting gets more violent. He is dragged, thrown, and attacked. This doesn’t feel like Kani.

This is where the film plays its first trick on you. As many fans on Reddit correctly pointed out, there isn’t one ghost in this story. There are two.

1      The Gentle Ghost: The one that caresses his hair. The one that feels like a sad memory. That’s Kani.

2      The Violent Ghost: The one that attacks him and Kani’s brother, Kiran. This is someone else entirely.

Rohan finally sees this violent spirit — a thin, terrifying man wearing the anklets. The mystery deepens. If it’s not Kani, then who is it? And why is he here?

The Investigation: Uncovering a Story of Obsession and Black Magic

Rohan, terrified, seeks help from Madhusudhanan (Gibin Gopinath), a contractor who has prophetic visions. Together, they dig into the mystery. They learn that Kani’s anklets are also missing. The ghost must be connected to both the hair clip and the anklets.

Their search leads them to a man named Philip — a quiet, strange man who was obsessed with Kani. He used to stare at her from a distance, but never had the courage to speak.

But the final piece of the puzzle is the most disturbing. Philip is the son of Elsamma (Jaya Kurup), the old woman who used to work as a domestic help in Kani’s house. And Philip is dead.

The Horrifying Truth: A Mother’s Love Turned Monstrous

Here is the full, dark story that Rohan and Madhusudhanan uncover:

Philip was dying of cancer. His mother, Elsamma, was heartbroken. Her prayers to God went unanswered, so she turned to a darker path. She decided that death would not be the end for her son.

Using her access to Kani’s home, she stole Kani’s belongings — her hair clip, her anklets. She performed black magic rituals to tie her son’s spirit to these objects. Her twisted idea was that if Philip couldn’t have Kani in life, he would be bound to her in death.

When Philip died, his mother didn’t bury him. She kept his decomposing body in a hidden room in her tiny, old house, with Kani’s anklets fused to his decaying feet. She was feeding a demon born from a mother’s desperate, monstrous love.

When Rohan took that hair clip, he didn’t just take an object. He took a cursed anchor, inviting Philip’s violent, obsessive spirit into his home.

The Climax: Fire, Wrath, and a Severed Leg

The final confrontation is pure chaos. Rohan and Madhusudhanan find Philip’s corpse. Elsamma, completely unhinged, attacks them with an axe. The corpse itself seems to come alive.

They realize they need to destroy the anklets to break the curse. But the anklets won’t come off the decomposed body. In a moment of desperation, Rohan cuts off the corpse’s leg, anklets and all, and throws it into a fire.

The spirit of Philip is banished in a blaze of fire and rage. The house burns down. It seems over.

The Ending Explained: You Can’t Escape Your Ghosts

The film is not just a simple revenge story. It’s a story of two very different kinds of hauntings happening at the same time.

Why Rohan Helped Elsamma?

Look at Elsamma (Jaya Kurup), Philip’s mother. She was a mother broken by grief. Her actions weren’t driven by logic, but by a desperate, maddening love for her dying son. She performed black magic and hid a corpse not because she was a monster, but because she couldn’t let her son go.

This is what makes her character so terrifying. She is both a villain and a victim. Her love is what creates the monster. She is a perfect example of how the film uses human emotion — not supernatural evil — as the true source of its horror.

This understanding is what makes Rohan help her in the end. There we see a helpless mother, and a matured Rohan.

Is Kani’s Ghost Still haunting Rohan?

This is the final, chilling twist of Dies Irae. Rohan escaped Philip, the ghost of obsession. But he can’t escape Kani, the ghost of his own guilt. He abandoned her, and that is a debt he now has to pay. The film ends with his scream of terror, realizing his haunting has only just begun.

Dies Irae means “Day of Wrath” in Latin. It’s about a final judgment. But in this film, the judgment doesn’t come from God. It comes from the people we hurt.

The true horror of Dies Irae is not the supernatural. It’s the idea that our actions create their own ghosts. And some ghosts don’t want to hurt you. They just want to sit with you, forever, to make sure you never forget.

So in the end, the film doesn’t ask us to forgive Rohan. It asks us to watch him face the consequences of his actions. And that’s what makes the horror so effective. We’ve all been Rohan at some point. We’ve all hurt someone and moved on without looking back. Dies Irae forces us to imagine what it would be like if we couldn’t move on. If the person we hurt came back and sat with us, forever.

The Unanswered Question: Why Was Kiran Attacked?

The movie never tells us why Philip’s ghost violently attacks Kani’s brother, Kiran..

Was Kiran secretly involved in Kani’s death? Did he do something to her? The film gives us no proof, but the attack feels too personal to be random. Philip’s ghost is focused. He attacks Rohan, the man who had a relationship with Kani. So why Kiran?

One theory is that Philip’s obsessive spirit was jealous of everyone in Kani’s life, including her own family. He wanted to possess her completely, and anyone who was close to her was a threat.

Another, darker theory can be that Kiran’s grief was complicated. Maybe he felt guilty about not protecting his sister, or maybe there was a family secret we never learn about. The ghost’s attack could be a punishment for something we, the audience, are not allowed to see.

The film’s refusal to answer this question is what makes it so brilliant. It leaves a space for us to wonder, to debate, and to feel uneasy. The horror isn’t in the answer; it’s in the not knowing.

The Chilanka and the Hair Clip: Cursed Objects or Emotional Anchors?

Small details often hold the biggest clues. If you listen to the chilanka (anklet) sound, it wasn’t the sound of someone walking or running. It was the sound of someone tapping their foot, like a dancer but not a dancer (no proper rhythm). This was Philip, a non-dancer, wearing the anklets of Kani, the dancer. It’s a creepy, perfect detail that shows how he is trying to become a part of her, even in death. 

And then there’s the hair clip. Rohan steals it, and that’s what starts the haunting. He thinks if he returns it, the curse will break. But it doesn’t.

Because in the final scene, the hair clip is back on his bed. Kani’s ghost brought it back to him.

This confirms that these objects are not just cursed items from a typical horror movie. They are emotional anchors. They are physical representations of guilt and obsession. You can’t get rid of them by simply throwing them away. Because the feeling they represent is still inside you.

What Dies Irae Gets Right About Modern Horror

Most horror films today rely on jump scares, loud music, and CGI monsters. Dies Irae does the opposite. It uses silence, shadows, and human emotion. Dies Irae doesn’t try to shock you every five minutes. It tries to make you feel something deeper — guilt, regret, fear of your own actions.

This is what Rahul Sadasivan understands. Horror is not about the monster. It’s about the person running from the monster. And sometimes, the person and the monster are the same.

Dies Irae is not a film you watch for fun. It’s a film you watch to feel something uncomfortable, something real. And that’s why it works.

How Rahul Sadasivan Redefined Malayalam Horror — Explained

If you enjoy breaking down hidden clues, twisted endings, and unanswered questions, you’ll love these analyse of Rahul Sadasivan’s narrating style.

Avihitham vs Ore Kadal: How Malayalam Cinema Portrays Infidelity

Avihitham by Senna Hegde is a simple satirical film. Co-written with Ambareesh Kalathera. What makes it interesting is how it touches on female desire and infidelity, a theme that has often been explored in Malayalam cinema in very different ways. To understand this better, let’s look at how female desire is portrayed in Avihitham compared to Ore Kadal, a layered and emotionally complex film.

The movie opens with a striking quote: “They weigh us, they measure us, and then they decide our worth.” This line perfectly sums up the essence of the film.

Avhitham Movie Poster

A Scandal in the Dark: How Avihitham Unfolds

One night in Ravaneshwaram, Kasaragod district, the local loafer Prakashan (Ranji Kankol) spots two people secretly making out. From a distance, he recognises the man as Vinod (Vineeth Chakyar), who works at a flour mill.

He can’t see the woman’s face because of the darkness. Since the act happens near the house of Nirmala (Vrinda Menon), who lives there with her daughter and mother-in-law while her husband Mukundan (Rakesh Ushar), a carpenter, is away at work, Prakashan assumes she must be the woman.

Avhitham Lyrical Song

What follows is an elaborate, supposedly foolproof plan by Prakashan and a group of men, including Nirmala’s husband and his family, to catch the lovers red-handed.

Avihitham’s treatment is similar to Senna’s previous flick Thinkalazhcha Nishchayam, but there, the climax hit hard, forcing us to introspect and empathise with the victims.

Here, due to weak writing and the absence of strong turning points, the audience may struggle to empathise with the secret lover or her choices. The flat narration and preachy, predictable dialogues at the end make it even weaker.

Characters That Speak Louder Than the Plot

Why someone enters an illicit affair is often reduced to a single reason — “the husband is not caring” — but I expected more nuance from a director like Senna Hegde.

That said, I liked how he wrote certain characters. For example, Tailor Venu concludes that the woman was Nirmala based purely on her body measurements, which he claims to calculate in darkness — cleverly echoing the opening line: “They weigh us, they measure us, and then they decide our worth.” Similarly, Prakashan’s voyeuristic pleasure and Mukundan’s blind trust in everyone except his wife add layers to the village dynamics. Senna builds the soul and core of Avihitham on a strong foundation, but the film loses its grip by the end.

Now, let me draw a parallel between Ore Kadal by Shyamaprasad and Avihitham. This might help explain why I find the climax of Avihitham more of a mockery than a solid, emotionally convincing moment.

(Read this only after watching Avihitham.)

The Climax That Missed Its Reflection

Senna Hegde is known for holding a mirror to small-town social structures with a dry, observational tone. But in this case, the way the film ends — with Geetha explaining her actions almost in a moral-preachy way — can feel like it’s trying to “justify” a personal choice that’s actually morally and socially complex.

Geetha is a housewife in Avihitham. She is married to Mahesh, a carpenter from a typical patriarchal community. He is a male chauvinist who believes women should obey and follow men. In their world, being expressive or caring is considered a sign of being “henpecked.” Geetha develops a love interest in Vinodh, a mill owner, and they begin meeting near the bathroom at night to have sex.

Director Senna Hegde justifies this relationship through Geetha’s dialogue in the climax, where she says Mahesh never cared about her feelings, never listened to her, and didn’t even allow her to watch her favourite TV serial. Vinodh, on the other hand, listened to her worries. In a preachy tone, the film ends with Geetha delivering a few lines explaining her actions — and then the story simply wraps up.

Why ‘Avihitham’ Climax Didn’t Work for Me

1. Patriarchal setup vs individual choice

Yes, Geetha’s husband Mahesh is portrayed as a classic patriarchal male, emotionally unavailable, controlling, and dismissive. That part is very real in many households.
But patriarchy doesn’t automatically justify infidelity.
What it explains is why she might feel suffocated, not why she must cheat.

The emotional neglect here sets the context, not the moral defence.

2. Emotional connection vs sexual escape

From what the film shows, Geetha’s relationship with Vinodh happens in secret, in a bathroom corner at night, repeatedly.
There’s no serious conversation between them on screen beyond her venting.

That clearly points to a physical and emotional outlet, but more heavily leaning on sexual release and escapism than a deep, emotionally meaningful connection.

So when the film suddenly ends with a “justifying” monologue, it feels like it’s trying to frame lust as liberation, which isn’t automatically valid or convincing.

3. Problem with preachy justification

A stronger script would have let the act speak for itself or shown its consequences, instead of Geetha explaining it in a moralising way.

When the movie uses her explanation as the final word, it:

  • Silences other perspectives (e.g. the betrayal involved, Mahesh’s flaws notwithstanding).
  • Flattens the complexity of such relationships into a “good vs bad” binary.
  • Feels emotionally manipulative to the audience, telling us what to feel, instead of letting us decide.

The film clearly wanted to keep Geetha’s identity as the “surprise” element, which is probably why Senna avoided showing her perspective or building parallel emotional layers around her character. 

But that choice comes at a cost, the climax ends up depending entirely on a preachy dialogue to justify her actions. If they didn’t want to reveal her directly, they could have still hinted at her emotional state through other female characters or parallel situations. That would have allowed the film to show the greyness of both characters and make the ending feel more earned and organic.

Orey Kadal’s Deepti vs Avihitham’s Geetha

Deepti’s Journey in Ore Kadal: Plot

Now let’s look at Ore Kadal, directed by Shyamaprasad and based on the Bengali novel Hirak Deepti by Sunil Gangopadhyay. Starring Mammootty as Nathan and Meera Jasmine as Deepti, the film explores how human desires and social realities often clash in messy, painful ways. 

Orey Kadal Movie CharacterS

The story is about Deepti, a young housewife whose husband is struggling to make ends meet. Their life is full of financial stress and emotional distance. One day, she meets Nathan, an older social scientist who helps her during a tough moment. Slowly, their bond grows — but while Deepti starts to develop deep feelings, for Nathan it’s just a physical connection. This difference in how they see the relationship changes her life completely, pulling her into guilt, pain, and emotional turmoil.

This layered storytelling gives the film a quiet but powerful emotional weight, making it very convincing, even though Ore Kadal and Avihitham speak about similar themes in the end.

Avihitham vs Ore Kadal: A Question of Depth

1. Context vs depth

  • In Avihitham, Geetha’s affair with Vinod happens quickly, physically, in secrecy, and the script tries to justify it in one dialogue, framing it as “Mahesh didn’t care about me, but Vinod listened.”
    It simplifies a very complex human situation.
  • In Ore Kadal, Deepti’s relationship with Nathan is not just about physical desire. It begins with:
    • Economic and emotional vulnerability,
    • Intellectual awe,
    • Gradual internal transformation.

She doesn’t enter the relationship out of rebellion but is slowly pulled into a web of emotions, class dynamics, and personal longing.

This depth makes a huge difference in how we perceive her choices.

2. Character motivation

  • Geetha is reacting to her husband’s control and neglect. Her relationship is an escape, not an evolution.
    It is more lust and rebellion than layered love. Even the movie doesn’t give us more than a shallow justification.
  • Deepti is a woman crushed by economic dependence, class inferiority, and intellectual loneliness.

Nathan represents everything missing in her life: intellect, security, attention, and a kind of forbidden freedom.

Even when the relationship is exploitative in a subtle way, her emotional investment is genuine.

This is why you may felt empathy for Deepti but not for Geetha.

3. Filmmaking choices

  • Avihitham ends with a preachy justification, almost spoon-feeding the audience how to feel.
    It takes a moral stand: “she was right to do this because her husband was wrong.”
  • Ore Kadal does the opposite: it does not justify or condemn.
    It simply shows the consequences, love, guilt, loneliness, madness.
    It treats Deepti as a human being, not a symbol for rebellion or morality.

This subtlety gives viewers the space to think and feel.

4. Lust vs longing

  • In Avihitham, the relationship is framed around physical meetings in a corner at night. It never explores why she’s drawn to Vinod beyond “he listens.”
  • In Ore Kadal, Deepti’s longing for Nathan is shown through:
    • Her hesitation to meet him,
    • Her emotional dependency,
    • Her heartbreak when she realises he doesn’t love her.
      This isn’t just sexual, it’s a deep emotional entanglement.

This is why Deepti’s actions feel more tragic than immoral.

5. Why is my reaction different

I instinctively felt Geetha’s act was just about desire and rebellion, because the film gave me no real emotional bridge to her decision.
But I felt Deepti’s act was understandable, even if not “right,” because the film made me walk through her inner world step by step.

That’s the power of layered writing.

  • Avihitham: simplifies morality: “bad husband = justified affair.”
  • Ore Kadal: complicates morality: “broken woman → human desire → guilt, collapse, pain.”

I felt like Senna Hegde tries to explain; but Shyama Prasad reflects.

And that’s why Ore Kadal lingers in your head long after it ends, whereas Avihitham might leave a feeling of imbalance or superficiality.

Final Thoughts: Avihitham vs Orey Kadal

Now, I do agree, you can’t compare apples and oranges. You can’t put a black humour satire next to a complex, layered feature film. Yet, the reason I’m making this comparison is because of what I witnessed in the theatre. 

Many people were openly abusing Geetha’s character; some even shouted, “slap her!” That clearly shows whatever Senna Hegde was trying to communicate didn’t connect with a large part of the audience.

 If the intention was to create a mirror for society, then the writing needed to be more serious and layered. And that’s exactly where Ore Kadal becomes a good example. Avihitham is still running in theatres, while Ore Kadal is available to watch on YouTube, and both offer two very different ways of handling the same sensitive theme.

The Spirit World of Kantara Chapter 1: A Thematic Study

In one word, if I define Kantara: Chapter 1, it is a magnum opus. Louder and more prudent than the first Kantara. I would like to compare it to the Indian version of Apocalypto. Why?

The Apocalypto Parallel

Mel Gibson’s Apocalypto (2006) is more than just a survival thriller set in the Mayan world. In the film, nature feels harsh, but it plays by clear rules. If you’re strong and smart, you survive; if not, you don’t. Human systems, on the other hand, twist those rules.

Slavery, sacrifice, and the hunger for power create cruelty that doesn’t come from nature. The message is that people themselves end up corrupting what was once simple and balanced.

Kantara: Chapter 1 is built on similar lines. On one side, a human system backed by hunger for power and ego—people who believe everything in this world exists for them to hunt and feed, where bloodshed is a hobby.

On the other side, another set of humans who worship every element of nature. They believe the world is protected by gods who appear in the form of tigers, pigs, trees, and land. Kantara is the clash between these two sets of humans.

Tracing the Beginning

In Kantara, we saw Guliga and his power. Here, we are tracing its beginning. The film aims to explore how ancient beliefs, rituals, and conflicts started. It asks: Where does the divine or supernatural tradition come from? How did current struggles arise from those roots?

Spiritual or divine forces (through rituals, deities) are not separate from nature—they are entwined with it.

Kantara Chapter 1: Rishab Shetty’s Masterclass

Kantara is a masterclass by Rishab Shetty in world-building, balance between spectacle and story, and creating sync between character arcs and conflicts. The pacing and structure work beautifully for a big-budget entertainment-focused film.

Most importantly, some Telugu directors should learn from him that chanting Sanskrit hymns or just showing Shiva on screen is not how you set up emotional or spiritual resonance. Rishab nails it at its best. The way he established that spiritual and divine forces are not separate from nature—but deeply tied to it—is such a brilliant thought. Sarvam Khalidham Bramha

The World of Kantara and Bhoothaloka

The world of Kantara is inspired by the concept of Bhoothaloka. To understand Kantara Chapter 1, you need to know this tradition first.

In Tulu Nadu, a coastal area in Southern India, people still follow an old tradition called Daiva Aradhane or Bhoota Kola. It is a way of worshipping spirits through rituals, stories, music, and dance. These rituals act like a bridge between humans and the divine. This is the inspiration for Kantara.

bhootha kola
Buta Kola

“Bhoota” is derived from the Sanskrit bhūta, meaning “spirit,” “past,” or “creature.” However, in Tuluva culture, a Bhoota is not a ghost but a guardian spirit, a powerful being worthy of reverence.

The Ritual of Bhoota Kola

A Bhoota Kola is a night-long ceremony where the spirit enters the human world through a performer. This performer, called a paatri, belongs to hereditary families like the Nalike or Pambada. From a young age, he is trained in dance, songs, and discipline to carry the spirit safely.

Before the ritual, the paatri purifies himself with fasting and celibacy. During the ceremony, his face is painted with bright designs, he wears a skirt of coconut leaves, brass anklets, and a tall headpiece. Music with drums and pipes fills the air.

The pāḍdana, an oral epic in Old Tulu, is sung to narrate the story of the spirit—its birth, deeds, and why it is worshipped there. As the song continues, the performer goes into trance, shaking and convulsing, until the spirit takes over his body. At that moment, villagers believe he is no longer human—he has become the Daiva.

A core belief is that these spirits were once living beings who walked the earth—heroes, ancestors, or animals of totemic importance. Some were human beings who died tragically fighting injustice. This makes the spirit world very personal and ancestral. Tuluvas believe that all people join Bhoothaloka after death. It is very similar to Kerala’s Theyyam concept. This is the answer to why Rishab Shetty’s character vanishes into Bhoothaloka in Kantara.

Guliga: The Enforcer Spirit

Among the hundreds of Daivas worshipped in Tulu Nadu, Guliga holds a position of prominence and fear. He is primal, powerful, and often violent—his role is to serve as the ultimate enforcer of divine law.

The Origin of Guliga

The pāḍdanas of Tulu Nadu tell us how Guliga was born. In Kailasa, the home of Lord Shiva, Goddess Parvati once brought Shiva a pile of ash. Inside was a strange stone. Shiva threw it away, and from that stone, Guliga was born.

From birth, he was wild. He had two unstoppable traits: endless hunger and violent fury. He tried to swallow the sun, drank Lord Vishnu’s celestial lake, and devoured the blood of elephants and horses. His hunger only stopped when Vishnu offered his own little finger to eat.

But Guliga’s ferocity was too much for the heavens. Vishnu sent him down to Bhoothaloka, the world of spirits. This was not just punishment—it was duty. Guliga was made the Kshetrapala, the guardian of the land, to protect boundaries and watch over people. His story explains why he is both feared and worshipped: a force of chaos tied to sacred purpose.

Guliga’s Role

Because of this, Guliga became the strict enforcer among the spirits. While Daivas like Panjurli protected prosperity and harvests inside the village, Guliga guarded the edges—fields, borders, and family lands. He punishes without mercy, sometimes with death. That is why people fear him but also trust him to uphold dharma.

Shrines for Guliga are simple: just an uncarved stone under a sacred tree. He is older than temples—raw and elemental.

Guliga Kola

The Guliga Kola is one of the most fearsome rituals. The paatri purifies himself, then transforms into Guliga with paint, costume, and dance. The performance is wild and violent—torches in hand, frenzied steps, terrifying presence. Unlike gentler Daiva rituals, Guliga Kola includes raw meat and blood from sacrificed chickens, symbolising his hunger.

When Guliga takes over the paatri, the entire village believes it is no longer a man before them, but Guliga himself—raging, punishing, and protecting.

The Many Faces of Guliga

  • Rudra Guliga – fierce form, punishing injustice.
  • Tantra/Mantra Guliga – linked to fire and esoteric rituals.
  • Kathale Guliga – Guliga of darkness and mystery.
  • Nethara Guliga – Guliga of blood and sacrifice.
  • Agni Guliga – Guliga of fire, with torch rituals.
  • Raja Guliga – royal form tied to justice and rule.
  • Rahu Guliga – the most violent, linked to chaos and eclipses.

These are not separate gods but different forms of the same primal energy.

The Deeper Meaning of Guliga

Guliga’s story is more than fear. He was born from stone and ash—raw matter, not life. His hunger is chaos itself, strong enough to swallow the sun. The gods did not kill him—they gave his chaos a purpose. He became guardian of the land, punisher of injustice, keeper of balance.

This reflects a deep Tulu idea: order is not built by destroying chaos, but by containing it, honouring it, and making it serve the community.

Chamundi: The Tiger Goddess of Tulu Nadu

Chamundi is another powerful Daiva in Tulu Nadu. She shows how local beliefs merged with big pan-Indian traditions. She is not just borrowed from Hindu scriptures—in Tulu Nadu, she blended with local spirits and became a unique guardian tied to forests and land.

From Chaundi to Chamundi

Long ago, people worshipped Chaundi, sister of Guliga, along with Jattiga and Rahu Guliga. She was one of the oldest Daivas of the land. Later, as Vedic and Puranic ideas spread, Chaundi was linked to Chamundi, a fierce form of Devi, the Mother Goddess. In Mysore, Chamundeshwari became the royal goddess. But in Tulu Nadu, Chaundi did not vanish—she blended with Chamundi, keeping her old roots while gaining new prestige.

Pilichamundi: Tiger and Goddess Together

The most famous form is Pilichamundi. Pili means tiger in Tulu, and Chamundi is her Sanskrit name. This fusion connects the tiger spirit of Tulu Nadu with the pan-Indian goddess.

Tulu Nadu once had dense forests where tigers threatened people, cattle, and crops. To turn fear into protection, people worshipped the tiger spirit. Over time, this spirit merged with Chamundi. This is ell established in Kantara Chapter 1, with the tiger sequences in the first half.

One pāḍdana says a tiger was born from an egg offered to Shiva and Parvati. The tiger killed Shiva’s cow, and instead of destroying it, Shiva sent it down to earth. There, it became a protector of the same cattle and crops it once harmed.

This theme—wild beings punished yet given purpose—is the same as Guliga and Panjurli.

Thus, Pilichamundi is not just Chamundi riding a tiger. She is the tiger and goddess fused into one. Local people preserved her Tulu name Pili, while linking her with the prestige of the Great Goddess. It was not replacement, but blending. That is why she remains one of the strongest Daivas today.

Final Word

Overall, Kantara: Chapter 1 is a magnum opus—with its visuals, themes, performances, and music. It goes beyond entertainment, bringing alive the ancient spirit world of Tulu Nadu. By blending myth, folklore, and cinema, Rishab Shetty has created India’s answer to Apocalypto, a tale where nature, spirit, and humanity are inseparably bound.

Kantara Chapter 1 is a must watch, and I am eagerly waiting for Chapter 2.

Lokah Chapter 1 (2025) Explained

So, you just finished watching Lokah: Chapter 1, and you might have questions. Who exactly are these immortals? Who is Dulquer, and what is he doing as a Ninja? And what’s with that surprise ARM–Maniyan connection at the end? This blog will walk you through the climax, explain the roles of Neeli, Chathan, and Odiyan, and highlight all the unanswered questions that set the stage for Chapter 2.

LOKAH CHAPTER 1 EXPLAINED

Lokah vs Minnal Murali: A Different Superhero Blueprint

We have Minnal Murali, our first superhero film from Mollywood. While Minnal Murali was a complete story about one hero’s origin, Lokah is designed as the first part of a larger film series. It introduces a new world and many characters to build a foundation for future stories.

Lokah: A Full Plot Summary (Spoilers)

Nasleen as Sunny & Kalyani Priyadarshan as Chandrah (Neeli)

The story of Lokah Chapter 1: Chandra is an origin story that introduces the main character and her world.

  • The film is set in modern-day Bengaluru.
  • The central character is Chandra (Kalyani Priyadarshan), mysterious with a difficult past. She works night shifts at a café.
  • Living across from her are three unemployed men—Sunny (Naslen), Nijil (Arun Kurian), and Venu (Chandu Salimkumar). They notice her strange behaviour. Sunny develops a crush and curiosity about her.
  • Chandra is revealed as a Yakshi called Kalliyankattu Neeli, inspired by Kerala folklore. In the myths, Neeli terrorised Panchavankadu and was impaled by Kadamattathu Kathanar.
  • In Lokah, Kathanar (Sunny Wayne) once impaled Neeli, but later he liberated her after realising she was a good spirit who was fighting against evil men. In modern times, his descendants run a secret hotel in Bengaluru where immortals gather. They are controlled by a supreme power called Moothon, whose identity remains unrevealed.
  • The conflict begins when Chandra’s co-worker is threatened by an organ trafficking gang. She steps in, revealing her superhuman powers.

Later, the director reveals glimpses of many other immortals—like Chathans, Tovino in the form of a magician in Bengaluru, and Dulquer Salmaan is playing the character of Odiyan (Ninja fighter).

Analysis of the Screenplay

The screenplay for Lokah was written by the director, Dominic Arun, with additional screenplay and dramaturgy by actress and writer Santhy Balachandran.

In 2017, when Tharangam came out, I thoroughly enjoyed it because of its narrative style and black humour. Even his short film Mrithyumjayam (a noir short film) worked for me.

Dominic Arun’s First Short Film

What went wrong with Tharangam was its racy screenplay and intricate plot that used non-linear sequences, animation, and split screens to create a dynamic viewing experience. But many felt it was too overwhelming and complex.

In Lokah, the film’s main plot is very simple. I felt the story did not have enough complexity. The script focuses more on introducing the world of Lokah and its many characters than on telling a complicated, self-contained story. This focus on world-building is a key part of its design as the first chapter of a franchise.

Moothon Glimpse from Lokah

Santhy Balachandran’s contribution to the screenplay is significant. Her work on dramaturgy suggests she helped shape the story’s structure and its mythological themes, ensuring the folklore elements were woven into the modern superhero narrative in a meaningful way. Her views on a patriarchal society are also layered in Lokah.

Santhy Balachandran in Lokah

How Lokah Uses the Superhero Formula

Superhero films typically follow the hero’s journey. Let me explain that  with my favourite superhero Batman:

  • Origin and Backstory – Bruce Wayne witnesses his parents’ murder.
  • Call to Action – He decides Gotham needs a protector.
  • Training or Preparation – Learns combat and stealth from the League of Shadows.
  • Initial Confrontation (Setback) – Faces Joker but suffers losses like Rachel’s death.
  • Low Point / Dark Moment – Bane breaks him and Gotham falls.
  • Final Battle and Transformation – Returns, defeats Bane, and finds a life beyond Batman.

Lokah follows a similar structure, but with non-linear narration.

Is Chandrah a Vampire? Why is she Immortal?

Chandra, as a child, was infected with a mysterious virus. She became a Yakshi, called Neeli. This is inspired by Aithihyamala, where Kalliyankattu Neeli was a Yakshi eventually liberated by a priest called Kadamattathu Kathanar.

But Santhy gives an alternate ending here: Neeli was not evil. Kathanar gave her freedom to do good, and she continued fighting evils across centuries, living on as an immortal.

Now in Bengaluru, she keeps a low profile and works night shifts. This is clearly inspired by vampire stories (Even chandra’s super speed is inspired from MCU Quick silver effect)—where someone bitten also becomes a vampire, avoiding sunlight as they age.

If you notice, during the Kiliye Kiliye song, Chandra enters Sunny’s house only after he invites her inside. This is just like the scenes in Sinners, where vampires can enter a home only if they’re given permission. That’s another hint that Chandra is actually a vampire.

People might ask: Why doesn’t Kalyani look old even after hundreds of years? The same reason—Santhy and Dominic Arun are portraying Kalyani’s character, Chandra, as a vampire-like immortal who was infected by a virus. Vampires reach maturity faster and then stop ageing.

She confronts an organ trafficking gang. The editing by Chaman Chacko is brilliant here, along with the narrative style. A grandfather (played by Vijayaraghavan) tells the story of how a little girl became a Yakshi and fought against mercenaries of an evil king, while in parallel, the director shows us modern-day Neeli, aka Chandra, fighting against organ traffickers.

So the rise of Chandrah in the modern day and past is presented in parallel. It answers, how she became a vampire.

Who is the Goddess in the Cave

While explaining the flashback, we see child Neeli looking at a cuneiform text — the wedge-shaped script of ancient Mesopotamia — carved inside the cave.

This links the beheaded idol that Neeli sees to Ishtar, the Mesopotamian goddess.

14 Immortals & They Live Among Us Book

Vijayaraghavan’s character Daniel is revealed to be the author of the book They Live Among Us. He is researching 14 immortals who live among us. These include Maadan, Marutha (likely played by Santhy Balachandran or Ahana Krishna, since Marutha is a female spirit), Chathan (Tovino), Yakshi (Kalyani), Odiyan (Dulquer), and possibly Bhootham/Jinn (Soubin). This is my assumption, based on Aithihyamala.

Lokah Ending Explained: The Final Battle & Post-Credit Scenes

In the end, Neeli, aka Chandra, kills the villain. Like in old myths, immortals have a weak point—the heart. This mirrors how Kathanar once tied Neeli in the past, piercing a holy knife into her heart.

After that, we see Odiyan (Dulquer) killing a few gangsters at the hotel. Chronologically, this happens before Kalyani’s fight at the same hotel. Then we get Tovino’s character, Chathan, asking someone how he managed to find him. The reply is about a viral video, where Tovino—as a magician—performed the trick of tying a shoelace in Bengaluru.

Now if we look back, in the very beginning, Naslen’s character talks about this: “I am trying to tie my shoelace the way that magician did.” That line connects directly to Chathan’s reveal.

Then, the Guest (played by Vijay Menon) asks Chathan about a picture he received from some architects who explored a cave. The picture looks exactly like Tovino. Chathan explains that there might be nearly 389 Chathans in the world who look exactly the same as him.

And here comes the real connection in the second post credit scene: we are shown Maniyan’s picture (from the film ARM, where Tovino played a mysterious character named Maniyan).

Now it all ties together — Maniyan mostly lived in caves, and his death was mysterious. Maniyan moves fast, and we can see his magical powers, so it’s fair to assume he might be a form of Karimkutty Chathan or Theekkutti Chathan.

Maniyan Character from ARM

That’s where the movie ends, leaving us with the hint that Maniyan could also be one of these Chathans.

How Maniyan( ARM) Can Be A Chathan

As per mythology and folklore, when Lord Shiva and Parvati disguised themselves as Valluvan and Valluvathi, they had two children named Karuval(Goddess) and Kuttichathan. Another story says Lord Shiva’s encounter with a beautiful forest woman named Koolivaka led to the birth of Vishnumaya Kuttichathan.

So, in all popular stories, Kuttichathan is essentially a form of Shiva. Now, if you look at the Bhairava song in ARM, the entire song is about dualism. In Hindu mythology, Bhairava is Shiva’s most wrathful form.

That connection makes the logic correct: the makers can absolutely bring Maniyan into the world of Lokah. And if they do, it would be a powerful addition to the universe.

But the real question is this: if Maniyan is indeed a Chathan, will Listin Stephen (the producer of ARM) agree to make Maniyan part of the Lokah universe?

Cultural Innovation: Kerala’s Myths in a Superhero Template

This shows that the film relies heavily on the conventional superhero template for its plot progression, choosing not to innovate structurally.

But Lokah’s innovation is not structural or deconstructive—it is cultural. The film does not parody the superhero genre or fundamentally question the morality of its hero. Instead, its main contribution is cultural transposition.

It takes the largely American superhero template, adds vampire-like features, and grounds it in a specific non-Western mythological framework: the folklore of Kerala.

The central premise of the film—that immortal beings from these legends exist in today’s world—is summed up in one idea: They live among us.

And I’m happy this is not another poor imitation of a Hollywood superhero or vampire movie sprinkled with Sanskrit verses (which is mostly what Tollywood does).

The Immortals Explained: Who Are They?

Chandra = Kalliyankattu Neeli.

Chathan = Tovino’s Kuttichathan is a mischievous but powerful spirit. Some myths say that when Kuttichathan was killed and his body torn apart, every piece became a new Chathan. This explains why there are hundreds of Chathans. Karim Kuttichathan, Vishnumaya Kuttichathan, Pulakkutti Chathan, Neerkkutti Chathan and Theekkutti Chathan are the prominet ones.

Odiyan = Dulquer’s shape-shifting assassin. Odiyans were fighters. Their primary method was assassination through fear. The source of an Odiyan’s power came from a secret and gruesome ritual that created a magical oil called Pilla Thailam (literally, “child oil”).

Possibly others: Maadan, Marutha, Bhootham/Jinn.

Together, they form a clandestine immortal society that has lived among us for centuries.

Daniel’s Secret Motive (Fan Theory)

Vijayaraghavan’s Daniel is introduced as the author of They Live Among Us, writing under the pen name Joseph Dominic. At first, he looks like a researcher documenting immortals, but his actions raise bigger questions. Why does he meet Nachiappa, the infected police officer? He collect his blood, why? Why he is doing this research?

One possible theory is that Daniel’s obsession is personal, not academic. We see hints that his granddaughter suffers from a chronic illness. If true, Daniel’s entire research may not be about revealing immortals to the world — it’s about finding a cure.

If Lokah explores this, Daniel could become one of the most morally complex characters in the universe. A grandfather trying to save his family at any cost, even if it means reviving antagonists, experimenting with immortal blood, or breaking the balance between good and evil.

And if Moothon’s control is already pulling strings, maybe Daniel isn’t just researching — maybe he’s unknowingly working for the antagonists. That twist would make him less of a mentor figure and more of a tragic player caught between love for his granddaughter and manipulation by a greater power.

Too many Questions For Lokah Chapter 2

The ending leaves us with more questions than answers. If Maniyan is really one of the 300 Chathans, what does that mean for the larger Lokah universe? 

Who is Moothon? How many more immortals are hiding in plain sight? What was the mission Kalyani was trying to accomplish in the opening scene? Who is Ishthar?

Read About Moothon and his Link between Mesopotamian Dieties Here.

Is the organ trafficking gang leader Gajendran a reincarnation of the old evil king, since they look the same? 

Nishanth Sagar’s character Prakash says, “Even you are a daughter to Moothon!!”—what does that mean? Why did Neeli have to come to Bengaluru in the first place, and what was her motive? 

Did she already know about Gajendran’s organ trafficking and plan to kill him? And why is Dulquer’s Odiyan killing so many gangsters at the hotel?

These are questions that Lokah Chapter 1 doesn’t answer—but maybe it doesn’t need to. For now, it has given us Neeli, Chathan, and Odiyan. The rest of the story waits in the shadows.

For More Reviews and Analysis: click here

Constable Kanakam: Season 1 Review & Explained

Constable Kanakam streaming on ETV Win, directed by Prasanth Kumar Dimmala starts with a promising idea — a rural village near a mysterious forest, a series of missing girls, and a constable (Varsha Bollamma) trying to connect the dots. The story thread is genuinely gripping, with the right mix of folklore, temple traditions, and a murder mystery that builds well towards a solid ending. Here is my detailed review of Constable Kanakam starring Varsha Bollamma.

title card of constable kanakam

Overused Templates & Poor Execution

“A serial killer with a childhood trauma” – oh, not again!!!! Unfortunately, that’s what waiting for you in Constable Kanakam.

The making is below average, with poor CGI & cliched lazy writing that breaks the immersion. Character establishments feel cliched, and the psycho backstory with childhood trauma is something we’ve seen too many times before. The attempts at showing women empowerment are there, but instead of feeling natural, they look force-fitted and artificial.

climax scene constable kanakam

Technicals & Performances

Cinematography (Sriram Mukkapati)
The camera work is neat, especially in capturing the rural landscapes, temple shots, and forest sequences. The visuals create the right mood for a village mystery, even when the making elsewhere feels average.

Editing (Madhav Kumar Gullapalli)
One of the strongest aspects of the series. The pacing is sharp, transitions are smooth, and even the reveal sequences are stitched well. Without this editing, the show could have felt much slower.

Music (Suresh Bobbili)
The background score feels familiar, often reminding us of Saripodhaa Sanivaaram OST. Instead of bringing originality, the music leans heavily on cinematic tropes. It supports the scenes but no freshness.

Performances

Varsha Bollamma is impressive, balancing innocence and determination in her role as Kanakamahalakshmi.

varsha bollamma & Rajiv Kanakal in a  scene constable kanakam

Srinivas Avasarala plays the president with controlled menace, good presentations at the climax portions.

Rajeev Kanakala once again slips into the zone of a helpless man, but his overused expressions make it feel repetitive.

The supporting cast — Ramana Bhargava, Megha Lekha, Sunny Naveen — are serviceable but don’t leave a lasting mark.

Constable Kanakam Explained (Spoilers Ahead)

For those who want the full breakdown — here’s the story in detail:

Adavigutta, Constable Kanakam and Missing Cases

Kanakamahalakshmi (Varsha Bollamma) works as a constable in a small village that sits on the edge of the dense Adavigutta forest.

The place is steeped in old beliefs and is watched over by a centuries-old temple, where the respected village president also holds authority. But beneath the quiet rural life — young girls keep going missing, villagers believe there is something wrong with Adavigutta.

When Kanakam’s best friend Chandrika disappears, Kanakam realises this is no ordinary case. She decides to dig deeper, uncovering secrets buried in both the forest and the faith that governs the village.

What do crows and Sanjeevani sticks have to do with it?

On her night duty at the Adavigutta checkpost, Kanakam notices an unusual number of crows circling the area. She learns that their nests hide Sanjeevani sticks, rare items linked to old rituals. Someone has been cutting down these nests, collecting the sticks, and using them for tantrik practices.

The deeper she looks, the clearer the pattern becomes. Every time a girl disappears from the village, it’s a full moon day. The time when such tantrik is believed to be most powerful.

This realisation shifts the case completely. It’s no longer just about missing girls — Kanakam is staring at a connection between black magic, missing case of Chandrika, and Adavigutta’s secrets.

Who is the man with the Trishul tattoo?

A witness says he saw a man doing black magic in Adavigutta forest, and on his back was a Trishul tattoo. Kanakam starts chasing this lead. First, she meets the old tattoo artist Bakthuraalamma, asking if she ever drew such a tattoo. The old woman denies it straight away.

Next, Kanakam checks a villager covered in tattoos from head to toe — but he doesn’t have the Trishul either. Still restless, she goes to the jatra festival, because that’s when most men walk shirtless. She scans the crowd, but again finds nothing.

Just when it feels like a dead end, something catches her eye — a snake coiled around a Trishul. The image rings a bell. She remembers seeing the exact same picture once in a doctor’s file back in the village.

Who Is Vikram Singh? Is he the Killer?

The file belongs to Dr.Hanumanth Rao, who redirects her to Vikram Singh, an ex-military man in Delhi.

Vikram explains that after surviving a terrorist attack at Kedarnath, his 25-member unit all got Trishul tattoos as a tribute to Lord Siva.

But in the group photos, one man is missing — the cook. He was from the South and known for making Mandasa Kova sweets. That one missing soldier’s description connects back to Mallibabu, a village chef who also practices tantrik rituals.

The Final Act: Adavigutta Mystery

Kanakam goes back to Adavigutta, following her trail of clues. She doesn’t expect to meet the president there, but suddenly he appears in front of her. For a moment she is shocked — because a temple priest had once said the sweets Mandasa Kova for rituals came from the president himself. That link makes everything fall into place.

Before she can even react, the president attacks her. Kanakam is caught off guard and struggles to defend herself. Just then, Constable Sathi Babu jumps in, fighting to protect her. The fight turns rough inside the forest — Kanakam, still hurt, somehow gathers strength, grabs her belt, and lashes out at the president.

The strike throws him off balance. Memories of his abusive father beating him with a belt come rushing back, and he begins to hallucinate, seeing Kanakam as his father. In that moment of weakness, Kanakam pins him down. With Sathi Babu’s help, she finally arrests the president.

Why did the president kidnap girls? What’s the motive?

Under interrogation, the president’s childhood trauma spills out:

  • He had killed his own mother when he was young.
  • His uncle Mallibabu raised him, teaching him both sweet-making and black magic.
  • He later served as a military cook, learning more occult practices.
  • After becoming president and temple head, he exploited temple records to track girls born under his mother’s birth star, Bharani Nakshatra.
  • On full moon nights, he kidnapped them for rituals to bring his mother’s soul back. But the mantras only made the girls faint, never succeeding. To cover his tracks, he murdered and buried them in a farm.

Ending & Season 2 Hook

The final shock comes when the president reveals that Kanakam’s birth star is Bharani Nakshatra — making her his true target. On the night Chandrika went missing, his plan had been to kidnap Kanakam. But a villager named Babji interfered, saving her unknowingly. Since Chandrika didn’t share the birth star, she was never meant to be a victim.

The president is arrested, but the bigger mystery remains unsolved — if Chandrika wasn’t kidnapped by him, then where is she? This unanswered question sets the stage for Season 2. So season 1 is not giving clues about Chandrika; for that, we need to wait till season 2.

Final Thoughts

Overall, Constable Kanakam Season 1 is an average series. The core story is strong, the mystery holds till the end, and the village backdrop works.

But the poor production values, forced messaging, and predictable character arcs stop it from being memorable. Worth a watch if you’re curious about small-town thrillers, but don’t expect high standards.

Read More Reviews and Analysis Here.

Coolie Review: Big Cast, Bigger Budget, But No Magic

There’s a saying: “Don’t rest on your laurels.” That’s exactly what I was thinking after watching Coolie. This is not my review for the Coolie movie, but rather an opinion or sharing the disappointment of a fan.

I like Lokesh Kanagaraj as a director, he has brought several innovative tactics in narration over the years. For example:

  • In Kaithi, we saw a fight sequence with an old vibing song.
  • In Vikram, Agent Tina’s reveal and the way he kept such surprises for action sequences.
  • Leo’s most celebrated title card.
  • He studies his heroes and takes the best gestures or mannerisms from their past films.
  • He popularised the now-famous machine gun sequence.
  • His signature of introducing a big figure as a villain in the climax and keeping the ending open for a sequel.

All of these were fresh and entertaining when they were new. But what happens if everything repeats? Then it becomes cliche, not surprise. That’s the major problem with Lokesh Kanagaraj’s Coolie.

Rajinikanth and the Risk of Repeating Himself

The same point applies to Rajinikanth as well. In Jailer, he brought in stars from different industries and each entry surprised us. There were adrenaline-pumping moments. But if the same tactic is repeated, the surprise is gone and it becomes predictable.

When Shivraj Kumar entered in Jailer, we clapped and whistled — credit to Nelson’s brilliance in narration for keeping such a high moment as a surprise. But in Coolie, when Upendra entered, Anirudh’s music did the magic, yet viewers had already predicted it: ‘Oh, it’s Upendra’s entry now.

A movie is a manipulative art, like magic. If you can’t manipulate the viewer, you won’t entertain the viewer.

Plot Summary: Coolie

Rajashekhar (Sathyaraj) is murdered. He was working with Simon (Nagarjuna) and Dayal (Soubin Shahir). But Simon didn’t kill Rajashekhar — in fact, he wanted him alive. Deva (Rajinikanth), Rajashekhar’s old friend, starts digging into the murder, accompanied by Rajashekhar’s daughter Preethi (Shruti Haasan).

Who killed Rajashekhar? Why does Deva care so much about him? How is Simon related to Deva? Who is Deva really? The rest of the film answers these questions.

A Big Test for Lokesh Kanagaraj, Not Rajinikanth

I genuinely believed this was a big test — and not for Rajinikanth (who tried and passed almost everything as a superstar) — but for Lokesh as a filmmaker.

After Leo, which faced more backlash than praise even from his own fans, Coolie seemed like the film where he needed to prove what he had learned and improved.

Not just in creating big ‘moments,’ but in handling a full story with emotional depth while still giving the high-energy action. Sadly, that didn’t happen.

Missteps in Execution

Maybe he was under pressure. But was the “Monica” song required? No. Was it rightly placed? No. I felt a friction during that song. Once the viewer gets into the world of a movie, they shouldn’t be disconnected.

The best example is Kaithi — from beginning to end, we are in its world. No unwanted songs or melo-scenes. We don’t think about logic; we’re hypnotised by the maker. That’s the magic of a good film.

In Coolie, things appear abruptly or are predictable. Either we disconnect and think, “How’s that possible?” or we predict what’s going to happen next.

Then why? The commercial aspect. The ‘Monica’ song and Pooja Hegde were for promotion, the star cast was there for the hype — everything was pivoted towards the ₹1000 crore mark.

The director forgot the art; it became a business. In business, we scale up what worked best, but that doesn’t work in art. In art, it’s boring.

Casting Choices

Nagarjuna shouldn’t have signed for this film — nowhere did I feel it did justice to his potential. Aamir Khan tried to be a Rolex-like presence and somewhat excelled, but instead of enjoying his mass dialogues or charisma, you may find yourself thinking, “Wait! What? How’s that possible?”

Honestly, I felt Shruti Haasan was miscast, and even that role was not required at all. Many scenes turned cringey or overly melodramatic, which spoiled the momentum of a high-voltage action thriller.

Shruti’s performance and dialogues made it worse. I feel her accent and dialogue delivery could have been better, and her Tamil needs more fine-tuning. Her expressions have also felt repetitive, we saw a similar ‘Preethi’ in Salaar, and I think that’s where we disconnected with Coolie’s Preethi.

Soubin Shahir, Nagarjuna, Rachita Ram, and Upendra were top-notch. Rajinikanth’s aura, as usual, shone through. But Rajini should step away from the predictable superstar pattern.

In Jailer, he surprised the audience by playing a grandpa role with minimal action and emotional weight in the end. That shade of Rajini was refreshing. Now, he’s repeating the same mode in Coolie. Maybe the commercial aspect outweighed the creative risks. They’re minimising risk by underestimating the audience’s taste.

Technical Strengths, Highs and Lows

Girish Gangadharan’s cinematography and Anirudh Ravichander’s music are the best aspects of Coolie. These two elements keep you excited even when the writing falls flat.

Yes, Coolie has the “mass” elements.

  • The interval block is great.
  • Upendra’s screen presence and entry were good.
  • Aamir’s entry created some hype.
  • Soubin Shahir had whistle-worthy moments.

But show us something beyond high-beat music, blood, and slo-mo swag. Make the audience feel something they didn’t expect walking in. Subvert a little. Surprise a lot.

If you’ve taken two years (and Lokesh reiterates how much of his life he’s given to this film) and asked us to expect less, then you’d better be sitting on something worth way more.

Will Coolie Hit ₹1000 Crore?

I don’t think so. The one-line idea of Coolie is excellent — a decent thriller scope was there:

An old friend investigating the murder of his friend, revealing secrets piece by piece, with the audience gradually understanding who Deva really is.

A John Wick–style narration, where the fear and elevation come from how others react to the hero rather than the hero elevating himself, that was possible. Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen here. Instead, we get appa sentiment, paasam, a dance number, an unwanted love track or son track, and a cliched climax entry and twist.

Final Verdict

Is this the worst Lokesh Kanagraj film? No, but he didn’t learnt from his mistakes. Why Anurag Kashyap, why Sanjay Dutt, why Madonna and those rushed flashback sequences? This is what I was thinking while watching Leo, and similar thoughts here as well.

Overall, Coolie is a spoiled opportunity. Its core theme is overweighed by the burden of its high budget, superstar castings, and ends up as a mediocre high-budget film.

However, Thalaivar’s signature swag with Anirudh’s BGM — especially in the de-aged flashback scenes — and the last 15 minutes with Upendra’s entry will impress. It might make you feel it was partially worth it, but not a total win.

Go for it to celebrate Rajinikanth’s 171st film and 50 years in the film industry. But don’t expect a Kaithi or Vikram kind of experience — just Thalaivar swag and the celebration of Thalaivar’s 50 years.

Read more Reviews and Film Stories Here

Salakaar HotStar Web Series Explained

Some spy thrillers dig deep into intelligence networks, geopolitics, and human psychology. I expected Salakaar, as an Indian version of Spy Game where a veteran spy saving a prodigy. But Salakaar looks like a ultra-pro max “tribute to NSA Ajit Doval.” and tastes more like a rushed, below-average drama trying to look serious. Here is my review and story explanation for Salakaar.

The only thing that saves this from being a complete disaster? Its runtime. 5 episodes of ~30 minutes. Let’s break it down episode by episode. Heavy spoilers ahead, and let me tell you, reading this will help you save almost 3 hours.

Episode 1: Cemeteries, Tuition Teachers, and Top Secrets

Series start in Abbottabad, Pakistan, 2025. Colonel Ashfaq, who seems to have walked straight out of a shampoo ad, meets a foreigner in a graveyard. “Death can be a beautiful reminder of how precious life is,” he says. The foreigner hands over “Project Kahuta” files and gets killed immediately. Welcome to the world of Salakaar.

Next scene: Physics tuition teacher Mariam (Mouni Roy) is teaching Ashfaq’s son. But guess what? She’s actually Shrishti Chaturvedi, an Indian agent, romancing her way into classified documents. She scans the Kahuta project files after a cosy moment with the Colonel.

Mouni Roy

R&AW chief Paresh Parulkar gets this data and wants to dig deeper—but he doesn’t have access to the 1978 case file linked to this. Why? Because only two people outrank the R&AW chief: the PM and the National Security Advisor (NSA). And guess what? NSA wrote the file. Ufff..romanchification goosebump moment!!!

Now we have Naveen Kasturia as Adhir Dayal — the man, the myth, the Salakaar.

Episode 2: Flashback to 1978 – Pakistan, Kids, and a Dinner with Zia

Adhir Dayal (NSA Chief) takes us back to 1978. R&AW had sent him to Pakistan to stop their nuclear ambitions. To build trust, he orchestrates a kidnapping attempt on Zia-ul-Haq’s grandson and then saves him heroically — classic self-created crisis marketing. His son Bharat and Zia’s grandson are classmates.

Zia is impressed and invites Adhir to dinner. Slowly, Adhir wins his way in. Meanwhile, we learn that:

  • Ashfaq (the 2025 Colonel) is Zia’s grandson.
  • Mariam is the granddaughter of Jyoti Chaturvedi, Adhir’s old colleague at the Indian Embassy.

Adhir steals data from nuclear scientist Rahmat Agha and learns about Pakistan’s enrichment efforts at Kahuta. The episode ends with Colonel Ashfaq taking Mariam to Kahuta, hinting at a “surprise.”

Surprise indeed.

Episode 3: Déjà Vu Drives the Plot

Adhir, now the NSA, is tracking Mariam’s journey through the same route he once took 40 years ago. Past and present timelines run in parallel.

Ashfaq tells Mariam: “An Indian spy ruined my grandfather’s Kahuta dream. I will revive it.”
Yes, the revenge plot is now personal.

Adhir Dayal Introdution at Embassy
Adhir Dayal Introdution at Embassy

Meanwhile, in 1978, Adhir infiltrates Kahuta disguised as a Pakistani officer and takes photos.

In the present, Mariam is unknowingly following the same path. This setup could have been exciting—but it’s ruined by predictable writing and cartoonish execution.

At this point, the show is trying to be serious but slips into Power Rangers territory with the emotional depth of a soap ad.

Episode 4: China Scared, Zia Triggered, NSA Unstoppable

Now it gets hilarious.

NSA Adhir threatens Chinese officials. Yes, the National Security Advisor of India walks into a room and scares off Chinese bureaucrats like a school principal scolding kids. They silently walk out.

Then he says, “Activate three best agents. I’m going to Pakistan myself.”

Jyoti on deathbed
Jyoti on deathbed

The drama returns to 1978. We see Jyoti Chaturvedi (Mariam’s grandmother) being tortured by Zia’s team. Why? Because Zia’s men honey-trapped the Indian embassy head and found leaks. Jyoti refuses to give in.

Adhir had promised to protect her family. But Jyoti dies in a very filmy, slow-motion shot. I miss that bgm like kanave kanave (composed by Anirudh)

NSA Adhir remembers it all. Grief? Not really. Instead, our action-hero NSA breaks into the house of Zia’s right-hand man Mohsin and kills him in cold blood. Alone. No backup. Just pure Bollywood vengeance. An Indian spy entering a military personnel home and killing everyone and escaping without leaving any trace.

Episode 5: Acid Water, Master Plans, and the Flight Captain Reveal

We now meet a Dr Kalam-like character who guides Adhir in sabotaging the Kahuta nuclear plant. Plan? Pump acidic green water into the cooling system.

Adhir puts on a Pakistani officer’s uniform, walks in casually, and pulls off the sabotage. He escapes, obviously.

Back in the present, Mariam is in trouble. Colonel Ashfaq finds out she’s a spy. She runs to the airport. Colonel blocks the runway at gunpoint. “Abort take-off!” he screams.

But plot twist — the flight captain is none other than NSA Adhir himself.
He says: “We’re ready to depart. We won’t abort.” ufffff romanchification again.

Mic drop. Plane takes off. Mission accomplished.
Salakaar keeps his promise to protect Jyoti’s bloodline.

Final Thoughts: Salute or Spoof?

Salakaar wanted to be a tribute to  NSA Ajit Doval, I believe. It ended up as a fan-fiction fantasy. It sacrifices realism for pace, throws subtlety out the window, and treats complex geopolitics like a college drama script.

Watch it for:

  • Naveen Kasturia brings conviction to a ridiculous role.
  • Cinematography is brilliant — Hotstar never cuts corners on visual quality.
  • Short runtime — 2.5 hours across 5 episodes is digestible.

Skip it for:

  • Webseries is not grounded, not even on sky, it’s on another planet, made by an Ajit Doval fanboy.
  • Mukesh Rishi as General Zia is cartoonishly menacing but fun to watch.
  • Writing is lazy, predictable, and full of gaping holes.

This could’ve been India’s Argo. Instead, it’s a PowerPoint tribute to a living legend, turned into a spy parody.

Watch it if you like spy stories with no logic but lots of style and ultra pro max heroism.
Skip it if you want realism, depth, or originality.

Read Maayasabha (SonyLiv from July 7, 2025) Review Here.

Mayasabha Web Series Review: Great Performances, Weak Writing

Created by Deva Katta, known for Prasthanam and Vennela, Mayasabha from SonyLiv follows the rise of two fictional leaders — Krishnama Naidu (played by Aadhi Pinisetty) and Rami Reddy (played by Chaitanya Rao Madadi) — and how they grow from students to state leaders. The show also stars Sai Kumar as RCR, Divya Dutta as Prime Minister Iravathi Basu, Ravindra Vijay as Pothineni Ramesh, and Tanya Ravichandran as actress Anu Harika. Here is my detailed Mayasabha Review.

Mayasabha Trailer Poster
Mayasabha Trailer Poster

But let’s not kid ourselves. This isn’t fiction.

Based on True Political Events in Andhra Pradesh

Who are the real characters in Mayasabha?  If you know Andhra Pradesh politics, you’ll spot the references instantly:

  • RCR (Sai Kumar) is clearly inspired by NTR.
  • Krishnama Naidu mirrors Chandrababu Naidu.
  • Rami Reddy is the show’s take on YS Rajasekhar Reddy.
  • Iravathi Basu and her son Sandeep Basu resemble Indira Gandhi and Sanjay Gandhi.
  • Anu Harika’s arc feels like a nod to actress Jayaprada, including her early dance career and political ties. When she was a teenager, she performed a dance at her school’s annual function. A film director in the audience offered her a three-minute dance number in the Telugu film Bhoomi Kosam (1974).
A shot from Mayasabha

The series ends with an event which exactly resembles the Viceroy Hotel episode , where slippers were thrown at Lakshmi Parvathi and NTR was ousted from his own party, are recreated almost frame by frame — though names are changed.

Mayasabha Plot: The Rise of Naidu and Rami Reddy

The story begins with Krishnama Naidu, a PhD student from Narsipalli, helping farmers in his hometown by threatening middlemen — in a diplomatic way, of course. Meanwhile, Rami Reddy, the son of faction leader Shiva Reddy, is disgusted by his father’s violent politics and leaves Pulicherla to study in Bellary.

From there, we follow:

  • Student politics, where Krishnama plans to contest elections using strategic caste alliances — and a cabaret dance show (yes, really).
  • Rami Reddy’s fan wars in college, defending Telugu film stars, leading to cow dung being thrown on posters and eventual expulsion.
  • Emergency declared in India, vasectomy drives led by Sandeep Basu, and public resistance led by Rami Reddy.
  • The alliance between Krishnama and Rami Reddy, their entry into politics under Sandeep Basu’s mentorship.
  • Friendship turning into rivalry, when Rami Reddy feels sidelined for being a goon’s son.

The series ends with the rise of RCR as a mass leader, his friction with Iravathi Basu, the betrayal by Krishnama Naidu, and the political fallout. The final few episodes closely resemble TDP’s internal war, NTR’s downfall, and the power shift to Chandrababu Naidu.

Performances & Technical Aspects

  • Aadhi Pinisetty as Krishnama Naidu brings seriousness and political sharpness.
  • Chaitanya Rao delivers an emotional and intense Rami Reddy.
  • Divya Dutta shines as Iravathi Basu — probably the most believable character in the whole show. Her screen presence is 5/5
  • Sai Kumar as RCR fits the larger-than-life image but gets limited screen time.
  • The music by Shakthikanth Karthick is decent — helps set the mood without being intrusive.
  • The cinematography and period detailing (1975–1995) look polished.
  • Tanya Ravichandran did her part well with a song and some scenes here and there.

But Here’s the Problem: Everyone’s a Saint

The writing is where Mayasabha falls flat. For example, at one point, the hero tries to win a college election with a cabaret dance by heroine—because in Mayasabha, that’s peak political strategy. Democracy in Mayasabha runs on item numbers and glorifying scenes.

There’s a scene where the heroine says, “People value entertainment more than content. To sell content, the cover page is important.” I’m convinced Deva Katta believes in this too.

For a political series, it lacks grey characters. Krishnama Naidu is always clever and selfless. Rami Reddy is kind-hearted and community-driven. Every major character on the “hero” side acts like a noble soul who’s doing politics only for the people.

This kind of whitewashing feels awkward — especially in a show that clearly draws from real-life political betrayals, caste alignments, and power games.

Let’s be real: In politics, no one climbs the ladder without ambition. But Mayasabha shows its main men as idealists, while anyone who opposes them is either corrupt, emotional, or forgotten.


Divya Dutta as Ira Basu in Mayasabha
Divya Dutta as Ira Basu in Mayasabha

Final Verdict: Mayasabha(2025) Review

If you’re watching Mayasabha as a fictional drama, it may keep you engaged for a while. But if you know Telugu politics, you’ll likely find it one-sided, preachy, and borderline fan service. It looks like a fictional retelling, but walks and talks like a strategically polished biopic series.

Mayasabha Review Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

Watch it for the performances — but skip it if you’re expecting sharp, realistic political writing. At the end of the day, even great acting can’t save a story that refuses to show humans as humans — especially in politics, where no one’s a saint.

Read More Reviews Here

Su From So (2025) review: A 5-Star Film From Kannada

Su From So, directed by debutant J. P. Thuminad, is my favourite film of 2025 so far. Entertainment, art, aesthetics, writing, music, performances — I don’t even know which topic to start with. Every part of the film is top-notch.

I went to Sumathi Valavu expecting a clean horror-comedy but was disappointed by its cringe-fest. For Su From So, I walked in without even watching a trailer — and what a refreshing, fun ride it turned out to be!

A shot from Su From So - marriage scene
A shot from Su From So

The story takes place in a rural Karnataka village. Ravi Anna, a bachelor in his 40s, is the go-to person in the village, like our Lalettan in Balettan— even 50-year-olds respectfully call him Ravi Anna. Everyone looks up to him. Then there’s Ashoka, a painter who spends more time flirting and indulging in voyeurism. The film introduces a colourful range of characters surrounding these two.

The village believes that Ashoka is possessed by a ghost named Sulochana from Someshwara. What follows is a series of chaotic events, and the movie explores how the village reacts and tries to deal with it.

What stood out for me: The Writing

The most brilliant part of the film is its writing. It follows a cascading structure — chaos leading to more chaos — but everything is beautifully interconnected.

The director introduces all the characters through two village functions. The first function helps establish the cultural and spiritual beliefs of the village. A death is announced, the entire village community gathers for the rituals. That’s where the first spark flies — a subtle friction between Ravi Anna and Ashoka.

 Shaneel Gautham as Ravi Anna
Shaneel Gautham as Ravi Anna

In the second function, more characters are introduced. Then comes the big moment — Ashoka gets possessed. Once again, the director cleverly plants another trigger between Ravi and Ashoka, further deepening the chaos around the ghost and the possession.

Each event naturally flows into the next. Nothing feels forced. Every scene, every character matters. For example, there’s a dream sequence involving Ashoka’s sister. At first, it seemed like a typical horror filler, but later, it became crucial to another chain of events. That kind of thoughtful storytelling is rare. That’s what I like the most: everything & everyone is there for a reason.

Character Consistency & Detailing

One thing every screenwriter should learn from this film is how to write side characters with depth. Most films use them as fillers, but in Su From So, each character has a clear signature, a pattern of behaviour.

Take Prakash Thuminad’s character, Chandra, for example. He’s someone who enjoys the little things in life. He’s excited by experiences. In one scene, he carefully unties a chip packet because he doesn’t want to break it, he wants to enjoy it as it is. In another, he insists on having his glass filled to the brim, so he can sip it properly. He chooses orange soda over regular ones. These moments are funny, but they also make you feel like you’re watching a real person, not a character in the film. This is how films make you believe that you are seeing Auto Driver Chandra from a rural village in Karnataka, not an actor Prakash Thuminad.

Whether it’s Deepak Rai Panaje as Sathisha, Pushparaj Bolar as Bhaava, or especially Shaneel Gautham as Ravi Anna, each actor fully owns their character. Writing of Su From So helped them to leave a signature with his crafting.

Emotional Core without Melodrama

With a horror-comedy like this, it’s easy to turn the film into a series of laughs or scares. But what makes Su From So special is the emotional thread running through it. Without this layer, it would’ve felt like just another horror-comedy skit. But J. P. Thuminad ties the chaos to a meaningful message at the end — and that’s what makes the story stay with you.

The film makes you laugh, it startles you, it makes you whistle — and yes, maybe even shed a tear.

Sandhya Arakere and Raj B Shetty
Sandhya Arakere and Raj B Shetty

Initially, I felt the women in the film were just filling space. But halfway through, Sandhya Arakere enters with a powerful character, and from that point, the film shifts its lens. Just like K. G. George explored the dark realities of village life in Kolangal (1981), Thuminad breaks the myth of “village innocence” and sheds light on domestic violence, abuses and privacy violations. That layer of social commentary is handled with subtlety and class.

Music & Sound: Elevations at its Peak

The music and sound mixing are another highlight. Whether it’s a celebration, a scare, or a fight — the score enhances every mood. Sumedh K and Sandeep Thulasidas (who composed the background score) deserve a standing ovation. Right from the opening frame, the audio experience pulls you into the world of Su From So.

Poster Su From So
Poster Su From So

Final Thoughts

I don’t even know how to describe the performances. Every actor, including Raj B. Shetty (who also co-produced the film), delivers with soul. Whatever J. P. Thuminad wrote, the actors brought to life with depth and honesty. The whole film feels fresh — a new kind of cinema that’s both intelligent and entertaining.

Even the poster design is beautiful and innovative. That sense of originality and detail continues till the final frame.

Su From So — 5/5.
Must-watch.