Tag Archives: Film Analysis

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

Pranav as Rohan from Dies Irae

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.

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How Rahul Sadasivan Redefined Malayalam Horror — Explained

If you look at Bhoothakaalam, Bramayugam, and Dies Irae, you will immediately notice something different, this is not the usual horror. Rahul Sadasivan brings a new kind of fear into Malayalam cinema, one built on psychology, silence, and emotional depth. In this article, we decode his subtle filmmaking style by analysing Bhoothakaalam, Bramayugam, and Dies Irae in detail.

Hope you might have already notice what he avoids:

  • No exorcism drama
  • No psychiatrist or priest suddenly entering to “solve” things
  • No loud scare tricks
  • No “hero saviour” — even Madhusoodhanan in Dies Irae is scared like us.

They are stories of ordinary people trying to escape something that quietly follows them — sometimes from outside, sometimes from inside.

That is Rahul’s trick.
He makes you uncomfortable slowly, using psychology, silence, and things we carry in our hearts but never speak about.

The House Matters More Than the Ghost

In most horror movies, the ghost is the hero.
But in Rahul’s films, the house is the main force.

In Bhoothakaalam, that home feels suffocating, like sadness has settled there over years. And in Bramayugam, the old illam becomes a trap, holding secrets and power games.
In Dies Irae, we have a modern luxury villa that still feels empty and cold.

Rahul uses everyday spaces — kitchen, bathroom, staircase, bedroom — and turns them into areas you suddenly notice more when you go home at night.

For visionary filmmakers, space is not just a backdrop — it becomes part of the emotion. Some directors use rooms, corridors, and silence better than dialogue. 

For example, in In the Mood for Love, the narrow corridors and tight apartment hallways make us feel the unspoken tension between the characters. The walls almost hold their secrets. 

In Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, the office floor and the lonely apartment show how crowded life can still feel empty. Even in Kubrick’s The Shining, long hotel hallways are enough to create anxiety before anything supernatural appears. 

These films prove one thing: space can talk. It can show loneliness, fear, temptation, or pain without a single line of dialogue. Rahul Sadasivan uses this same idea in Malayalam horror. 

He does not create a haunted house.
He makes you think about your own house after the film ends. You go home and think, “Why does my house suddenly feel so quiet?”

His horror isn’t about the building; it’s about your relationship with your space.

Bhoothakaalam: The Cramped Apartment

Central Theme: Depression and the fear of mental health

Setting: Middle-class apartment in the midst of a bustling city (not an isolated mansion)

From Rahul Sadasivan’s interview (Times of India):

“I was very particular about the house, once the story and screen was completed. Since it’s a horror movie, and has paranormal elements, the house becomes a character, at one point. Instead of going for a cliché mansion or deserted bungalow, I wanted a house that seemed normal, in a relatable neighbourhood. Our requirement was a single storeyed house with three bedrooms.”

In Bhoothakaalam, the cramped spaces and minimal effects create a terrifying atmosphere. Whatever pain Vinu and Asha already have, the house quietly absorbs it, makes it heavier, and sends it back to them. So instead of getting better, they keep sinking deeper into fear and hopelessness..

Bramayugam: The 17th Century Mana

Central Theme: “Oppression is a cycle, it never stops”

Setting: Dilapidated, labyrinthine 17th-century mansion

The mana in Bramayugam acts as a physical manifestation of a corrupt power structure. It creates entrapment — the night lasts longer than the day, and the characters seem stuck in an endless time loop.

Dies Irae: The Luxury Villa

Central Theme: “when you have everything outside, the battle begins inside.” The film explores how emotional hunger inside us creates its own demons.

Setting: Villa that “screams luxury in every corner”

Function: The luxurious villa becomes a gilded cage, amplifying the protagonist’s profound sense of isolation despite (or because of) its opulence.

Also, you can see that there three different homes in Dies Irae

  1. Rohan’s luxury villa
  2. Kani’s home: A middle class home
  3. Eliamma (Jaya Kurup): A tiny old home made of wood and bricks.

In Dies Irae, each home carries its own ghost, no matter how big or small the space is. Rohan lives in a luxury villa, yet that house is the most haunted — not just by a spirit, but by guilt, ego, and his inability to face his own actions.

Kani’s middle-class home feels cursed to her family, not because of spirits, but because of grief and the emotional wound.

And then there is Eliamma’s tiny old house, where she feeds a demon. Three different homes, but the same truth: a house becomes haunted when the people inside cannot let pain go. Fear is not about walls or wealth — it follows who we are.

Rahul Sadasivan vs James Wan: Two Different Ways to Create Fear

Rahul Sadasivan doesn’t make “loud” horror.
You won’t see sudden jump scares every few minutes or ghosts screaming into the camera. That style works for some films, but Rahul is not interested in shocking you for one second and moving on.

He wants something else — he wants the fear to sit with you.
Not run at you.
Just sit quietly, like a thought you can’t shake off.

This is very different from the James Wan school of horror. Wan builds fear like a roller-coaster — loud, fast, and engineered for instant reaction (Conjuring, Insidious can be examples). It works, no doubt, but sometimes those scares vanish the moment the lights come on. Rahul does the opposite. He doesn’t chase your heartbeat; he quietly gets into your head.

Rahul treats horror like a natural extension of life.
Problems we don’t talk about, guilt we carry, sadness we ignore — he uses these emotions as real ghosts. And that’s why you feel uneasy. Not because something jumped at you, but because somewhere it feels real.

  • When Rohan talks about Kani to Madhu, you may connect with either Kani or Rohan.
  • When Asha and Vinu fight, you may think about your mother or your own past.
  • And when Potti says, “You can’t have a second chance,” we feel the pain of loss and oppression.

What Rahul Sadasivan’s Horror Really Talks About

On the surface, Rahul’s films look like ghost stories. But if you watch closely, there is always something deeper running underneath. The fear is just a tool — the real subject is what people quietly go through inside their minds.

The Ghost of Depression in Bhoothakaalam

In Bhoothakaalam, the haunting blends with mental health, trauma, and the weight of hopelessness.
The central theme of Bhoothakaalam is depression and the fear surrounding mental health — generational trauma and emotional silence.
The most powerful moment is Vinu’s fear — “the fear of our loved ones not understanding us.”

Two-thirds of Bhoothakaalam is drama about a clinically depressed mother and a troubled son’s dysfunctional relationship, and the remaining one-third focuses on haunted-house elements.
You start wondering whether the ghost is real, or if it is grief taking shape.

Power, Isolation, and the Illusion of Equality in Bramayugam

In Bramayugam, the horror isn’t only about black magic or ancient curses. It’s about power — who controls it, who suffers under it, and how fear keeps systems running for generations.

The illusion is not the ghost; it’s the illusion of egalitarianism. Those who wish to keep you beneath them will first make you sit beside them like an equal, creating a false sense of equality. They use that feeling in you to establish themselves as the bigger person, to whom you owe gratitude for being treated “undeservingly” as equals.
No offence to comrades or communists, but this illusion is something we have seen across revolutions in history.

Look at the song Adithyan Illathe — a cry for help, portraying the sorrow of bondage, sung exactly when planning to break free. Everything is connected. The victims are not waiting for an exorcist.

The Ghosts Made by Desire & Wrath, Not Spirits

And in Dies Irae, the supernatural mixes with guilt and emotional hunger in modern life. The film touches upon desire, obsession, and the wrath that follows.

Rahul simply shows people, their fears, and the world they live in. And when the supernatural enters that space, it doesn’t feel separate. It feels like it was always there, hiding behind the curtain of everyday life. That’s why his stories stay in your head — they talk about ghosts outside and the ghosts inside.

Also, in Dies Irae, I love the way Madhusoodhanan realises his abilities. It reminded me of Nolan’s Batman moments — Madhu discovering the strength he had long ignored, and rising in the second half to confront the evil.

A Team That Understands Rahul’s Vision

Rahul’s films look and sound the way they do not just because of him, but because he works with a team that understands his rhythm.

Cinematography: Shehnad Jalal

Rahul’s visual language works because of cinematographer Shehnad Jalal (alumnus of Satyajit Ray Film and Television Institute).

Shehnad and Rahul plan deeply before they shoot.
They storyboard, visit locations together, and decide how silence, darkness, and stillness should look. Rahul’s VFX and animation background helps him visualise shots in advance — nothing is accidental.

That’s why in Bhoothakaalam, close-ups feel like someone breathing down your neck. In Bramayugam, the monochrome world looks like a folklore nightmare — like the pages of an ancient palm-leaf manuscript moving on screen. The mansion doesn’t feel like a set; it feels like a memory.

And small choices — like the low-angle shot of Mammootty’s shadow towering over another man — show how visual ideas come from trust and collaboration, not chance.

Sound & Silence: Christo Xavier and Team

Horror dies if sound is lazy. Rahul knows that. So does composer Christo Xavier, along with sound designers Jayadevan Chakkadath, M.R. Rajakrishnan, and Raja Krishnan.

I love the way they use Silence.
Silence is not empty — it has weight.

Instead of constant scary music, sound arrives slowly. Sometimes all you hear is a hair clip snapping, a ghungroo, footsteps in another room. These sounds feel ordinary — and that’s why they make your stomach tighten.

That’s why scenes like the “passage of time” sequence in Dies Irae or a casual conversation turning chilling work so deeply — the sound pulls the floor from under you without warning.

Editing: Shafique Mohamed Ali

Finally, Rahul’s films hold tension because of editor Shafique Mohamed Ali. He doesn’t cut for speed — he cuts for mood.

Sometimes a scene stays longer than you expect.
Sometimes it ends just before you feel safe again.

A scene from Dies Irae

Editing in horror is timing, and Shafique knows when to let silence stretch and when to snap it. That’s why Rahul’s films never feel rushed or broken — each moment lands.

A Horror Film That Follows You Home

Rahul Sadasivan isn’t trying to entertain you for two hours and send you home relaxed. His films don’t end when the credits roll. They quietly come with you.

You think about the house, the silence, the feeling that something was always there in the corner. Once you switch off your bedroom light, and suddenly the room feels a bit too still. You hear a sound from the kitchen, and for a second, you pause.

Bhoothakaalam

Not because you saw a ghost in the film — but because the film reminded you that fear doesn’t always scream. Sometimes it just waits.

That’s Rahul’s style:
Not horror that tries to scare you.
Horror that reminds you you are already scared — only you don’t talk about it.

Share your thoughts as comments.

Dies Irae Explained: The Ghosts We Create From Guilt

Dies Irae is a story built on guilt, obsession, and the ghosts we create inside our own heads. Here we are decoding the unanswered questions and symbols from Dies Irae..

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For more stories check here.


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.

Read More Thematic Studies and Explained Stories here

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.

Moothon in Lokah: Myth, Aliens, or Something More?

When Lokah: Chapter 1 dropped, we met Neeli, Chathan, and Odiyan. But behind all of them, one name kept surfacing — Who is Moothon (With Mammootty voice over). A mysterious power controlling immortals, never shown, only hinted at. So, who is Moothon?

The Epic of Gilgamesh (an epic from ancient Mesopotamia)
The Epic of Gilgamesh (an epic from ancient Mesopotamia)

To answer that, we need to look beyond Kerala’s Aithihyamala. From the film’s title card itself, there’s a hint pointing towards ancient Mesopotamian myths, where gods, aliens, and immortals often overlap.

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.

So, this mesopotamian connection makes sense.

But let me tell you, I’m doubtful whether the makers used actual Mesopotamian scripts here or not, because it looks more like the Zonai script from the video game The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom.

TL;DR – The Moothon–Enki Theory

The people of ancient Mesopotamia, living between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers, imagined the world as shaped by a vast family of gods and goddesses (much like the Greeks or Hindus). This pantheon was not just a group of divine figures, but a complex society — with rules, rivalries, leaders, and conflicts.

Understanding this divine family is the first step to understanding the Mesopotamian world — and, perhaps, Moothon’s place within it in Lokah.

Our theory connects Moothon to the Mesopotamian deity Enki, as reinterpreted by Zecharia Sitchin’s “ancient astronaut” theory.

In this view, Moothon is a powerful Anunnaki leader who created and protected humanity, standing against destructive gods like Ishtar. This article breaks down the myths and fringe theories that support this connection — and explains how Lokah might be reworking them.

The Beginning of Creation in Mesopotamian Myth

Before the world existed, myths say there was only water in chaos. From that endless ocean came two mighty forces:

  • Apsu – the spirit of fresh water flowing under the earth.
  • Tiamat – the spirit of the wild, salty sea.

When their waters met, life began. The first gods were born — younger, restless, and full of energy. But their noise disturbed their parents. This tension set the stage for a cosmic conflict, one that shaped the heavens, the earth, and the world humans live in today.

Anu, the Sky Father

At the very top stood An (called Anu by the Akkadians). He was the god of the sky, the highest authority, and known as the “Father of the Gods.”

Mesopotamian Diety Anu
  • Human kings claimed their right to rule came from him.
  • His authority was called anûtu (“Anu-power”).

Yet despite his supreme title, Anu was distant. He lived in the highest heaven, he rarely came down to interfere with gods or humans.

The day-to-day world was instead shaped by more active gods like Enlil. This mirrored Mesopotamian politics: a high king ruling over many city-states, while local governors held real influence.

Who is Enlil?

The Anunnaki: The Great Gods Who Gave Orders

The most important gods in mesopotamian myths were the Anunnaki (“those of royal blood”). They were the children and grand children of An (Anu) and Ki (Antu).

Their main role: deciding the fate of humans.

The most famous group was the “seven gods who decide”:

  1. An (Anu) – god of the sky
  2. Enlil – god of air and storms
  3. Enki (Ea) – god of water and wisdom
  4. Ninhursag (Antu) – goddess of earth
  5. Nanna (Sin) – god of the moon
  6. Utu (Shamash) – god of the sun and justice
  7. Inanna (Ishtar) – goddess of love and war

In early stories, the Anunnaki ruled as high gods in heaven. Later, they became judges of the underworld, showing how beliefs about death evolved.

The Ruling Triad: A Model for Lokah’s Power Struggles?

Even though Anu was the high king of the gods, he did not rule alone. He shared his power with two other great deities, forming what myths describe as a ruling triad.

  • Enlil – God of air, wind, and storms. The son of Anu and Ki, he was often the most powerful god in action. While Anu stayed distant, Enlil carried out the decisions of the gods and eventually became the active head of the pantheon.
  • Enki (Ea) – God of water, wisdom, and creation. Known for his cleverness, Enki was seen as a friend to humans. He often warned them about the harsh plans of the other gods, like in the story of the Great Flood.

Together, Anu (sky), Enlil (air), and Enki (water) ruled over the three great domains of the universe.

Family Tree of Mesopotamian dieties Enki & Enlil
Family Tree of Mesopotamian dieties Enki & Enlil

In Lokah, this triad can be seen as a model for hidden cosmic power struggles, where Moothon (like Enki) is the quiet protector, and Ishtar plays the enforcer.

Ningal, the Great Lady, and Nanna, the Moon God

In Mesopotamian myths, one of the most important divine couples was Ningal and Nanna. They ruled over the night sky and the fertile lands, and together their family explained much of how the world worked.

Ningal, the Great Queen

The name Ningal means “Great Lady” or “Great Queen.” She was the daughter of Enki, the god of water and wisdom, and Ningikuga, the goddess of reeds and marshlands. Because of this, Ningal was strongly connected to the wetlands of southern Mesopotamia — the very place where Sumerian civilisation grew. She was the protector goddess of the great city of Ur.

Nanna, the Moon God

Ningal’s husband was Nanna, called Sin by the Akkadians, the god of the moon. He ruled the cycles of the night sky and was linked to the measurement of time, since the months were counted by the phases of the moon.

Like Ningal, Nanna’s main temple was in Ur, and their marriage was celebrated in myth. Stories about their union were told to teach the value of family and marriage in Mesopotamian society.

Their Divine Family

Together, Ningal and Nanna created a family that reflected the natural order:

  • Utu (Shamash), the sun god of justice
  • Inanna (Ishtar), the goddess of love and war, is linked to the planet Venus. Ishtar was also known as the “Queen of Heaven”.
Ningal and Nanna Family Tree
Ningal and Nanna Family Tree

This family gave people a complete picture of the world. Ningal, born of water and reeds, represented the fertile earth. Nanna, as the moon, ruled the rhythm of the night sky.

From Myth to Sci-Fi: The Zecharia Sitchin Theory

In Mesopotamian myth, the sky god Anu ruled as the “Father of the Gods.” From his bloodline came powerful deities, and they are the Anunnaki.

Later, Zecharia Sitchin’s book The 12th Planet (1976) spun a radical theory: the Anunnaki were not gods, but aliens from Planet X (Nibiru).

  • The Anunnaki were aliens from a hidden planet called Nibiru.
  • They came to mine gold to repair their atmosphere.
  • When the work became too much, they created humans (mixing their DNA with Homo erectus).

According to Sitchin, humans were not born to worship, but born to work.

Zecharia Sitchin was not a historian, but a writer with a very bold idea. He believed they were just advanced humans from space with technology that looked like magic to ancient people.

Why This Theory Resonates with Lokah

This idea matches Lokah’s tagline: They Live Among Us.

  • Moothon as Enki → the one who gave knowledge, always protecting humanity.
  • Ishtar as antagonist → bitter and destructive, still hunting.

Lokah reimagines these conflicts through its immortal characters.

Want to know more? It’s too long to read, but worth if you are really interested.

The 12th Planet – Nibiru

According to Sitchin, their home was a hidden planet called Nibiru, which moves around the sun in a very long orbit, taking 3,600 years to come close to Earth. He called it the “12th Planet” if we count the Sun, Moon, and Pluto as planets.

Why They Came to Earth

He claimed the Anunnaki came here 450,000 years ago for a practical reason — to mine gold. They needed it to repair their own atmosphere, by turning the gold into fine dust to protect their planet. This was not about spirituality, but pure survival.

The Creation of Humans

But the work was hard. The Anunnaki workers themselves got tired of digging. To solve this, their leaders created a new species. Sitchin says they mixed their own DNA with that of Homo erectus, an early human. The result was Homo sapiens — us. Not born to worship, but born to work. In his telling, humanity was created as a slave race.

Why It’s Controversial

Sitchin’s story is exciting, but historians do not accept it. His translations of Sumerian texts are disputed, and mainstream archaeology sees the Anunnaki as mythical gods, not aliens. Still, his theory became popular because it mixes myth, science fiction, and conspiracy in one package.

The Gift of Civilization

After creating humans, the Anunnaki did not stop at making miners. They also gave humans knowledge and skills. According to Sitchin, this is why Sumerian civilization appeared so suddenly, with advanced ideas in astronomy, farming, and city life.

The Anunnaki even set up cities and declared themselves as gods. To control people better, they introduced “kingship” — where humans ruled on their behalf, acting as a link between the masses and their alien overlords.

The Great Flood: A Planned Extinction

As humans grew in number, their noise and rebellions irritated Enlil, one of the Anunnaki leaders. Around the same time, a disaster was coming: Sitchin says the orbit of their planet Nibiru would pull on Earth, breaking the Antarctic ice sheet and causing a global flood.

Enlil wanted to use this flood as a chance to wipe out humanity. The council agreed not to warn humans. But Enki, who had helped create mankind, disagreed. He secretly told a loyal human (known as Utnapishtim in Mesopotamian myth, or Noah in the Bible or Matsya Purana from hinduism) to build a huge boat. In it, he saved his family and the seeds of all living things.

As the waters rose, the Anunnaki watched from orbit in their ships.

A New Beginning and the Wars of the Gods

When the waters went down, Earth was empty. The Anunnaki realised they had made a mistake — they still needed humans. So, they helped the survivors rebuild civilisation.

But peace didn’t last. Two factions of the Anunnaki fell into conflict:

  • Enlil’s side – strict rulers, focused on order and punishment.
  • Enki’s side – scientists and creators, closer to humanity.

These clashes were fought not just with words but with wars over resources and cities. Sitchin even reinterprets old stories like the Tower of Babel as battles between alien factions, with humans used as soldiers in their fights.

Nuclear Calamity and Departure

The conflict reached its worst point around 2024 B.C. One faction used nuclear weapons to destroy the Sinai spaceport and nearby cities like Sodom and Gomorrah, so they would not fall to the enemy.

The Fall of the Anunnaki and the Rise of Moothon

In Sitchin’s story, the nuclear blast of 2024 B.C. changed everything for the Anunnaki.

Enlil: The End of a Reign

Enlil, the commander, was the one who pushed for the nuclear strike, along with his son Ninurta and the council of gods. The plan was simple: stop Enki’s son Marduk from taking over the Sinai spaceport and becoming supreme.

But it backfired. The nuclear cloud — remembered in ancient texts as the “evil wind” — drifted east into Sumer, Enlil’s own land. People died, rivers turned toxic, fields went barren. Sumer collapsed almost overnight, and with it, Enlil’s authority.

The great age of Enlil was over. He and his family had no choice but to leave their ruined cities and scatter.

Enki: The Long Game Pays Off

Enki had opposed the use of nuclear weapons, and though he too saw the destruction as a tragedy, it cleared the path for his side.

His firstborn son Marduk (Ra in Egypt) rose out of the chaos as the strongest.

With Enlil’s cities destroyed and the spaceport gone, there was no one left to block Marduk. The council was forced to recognize his supremacy.

For the first time, the “Enlilship” — the status of chief god — passed to Enki’s line. The long rivalry between the brothers was decided.

Ishtar: The Fallen Queen

Ishtar (Inanna) was tied to Enlil’s clan. She had fought bitterly against Marduk, trying to restore her city Uruk as the center of power. But when Sumer fell, so did her temples, her cult, and her influence.

Goddess Ishthar

Her rivalry with Marduk ended in defeat. While Sitchin’s texts don’t give her much detail after the disaster, she was left weakened, just another displaced power in the aftermath.

The Departure of the Gods

Sitchin’s final claim comes in his book The End of Days: after centuries of trying to recover, the Anunnaki eventually left Earth around 556 B.C.

The last temples closed, the myths hardened into religion, and humans were left to run history alone. But the gods promised they would return.

How Lokah Might Use This

Now let’s bring this back to Lokah. The film begins with Ishtar sending assassins to capture Neeli, who is hiding in a burning building, holding something secret. At the same time, we hear Moothon calling Neeli back.

This connects perfectly with Sitchin’s framework:

  • Moothon could be Enki, the one who always protected humanity, the giver of knowledge, the voice that calls Neeli home.
  • Ishtar, bitter after her defeat, still acts as an antagonist, hunting Neeli just as she once hunted Marduk’s followers.

Final Thoughts – What Do You Think?

Is Moothon really Enki, the protector of humanity? Or is he another hidden figure from Mesopotamian lore?

Share your own Lokah theories in the comments below!

Lokah Detailed Explanation

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.

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.

Kingdom Review – Great Visuals, But Emotionally Thin

Gowtam Tinnanuri’s Kingdom, starring Vijay Deverakonda, Bhagyashri Borse and Satyadev, arrives with the promise of a high-adrenaline action drama wrapped in stylish visuals. But overall, I felt it misses the one thing that holds it all together: emotional impact. Here’s my review of Kingdom (2025). Let’s break it down.

Kingdom 2025 Poster
Kingdom 2025 Poster

Plot Summary: A Spy Story Tied to Brotherhood

Soori (Vijay Deverakonda) is a rural police constable from Andhra, who finds himself caught in the middle of a high-stakes spy mission. As the mission unfolds, he learns it connects to his long-lost brother Siva (Satyadev). What starts as a spy mission is later becomes personal. And this brotherly bond — forms the core.

Sounds like it could be intense, right? It should’ve been.

A shot from Kingdom 2025

First Half: Stylish, But Emotionally Hollow

The film opens with a visually striking British-era setup. Within minutes, you know this is going to be a well-shot movie. Cinematographers Jomon T. John and Girish Gangadharan make every frame look polished and premium.

Once the plot gets going—especially in the first hour—the narration starts to feel flat. The issue, I felt, is in how the emotional beats are handled. There are scenes meant to establish Deverakonda’s Soori as a determined character, and later the director introduces his emotional trigger—his pain and desperation to find Siva. But the way it unfolds feels either too predictable or underwhelming. It’s the kind of moment where you go, “Oh… that’s it?”

Take, for instance, the scene where the brothers smuggle gold from the Navy. The setup feels too convenient. You’re left wondering, “Wait, was it really that easy?” Instead of clever plotting or tension, it comes across like the writer just went with the first idea that popped up.

I felt the film missed a major opportunity. If they had brought in a more impactful star or given Satyadev’s character (Siva) a stronger arc—maybe even played it like a subtle Godfather-style rise—the story could’ve had more gravity. It had the core ingredients, but it needed a little more time to simmer.

Even the villain angle, with a gang operating out of Sri Lanka, feels like a recycled subplot from a dozen action films. Some tension is there. But no freshness. You stay watching because the visuals are neat and the actors are giving it their all — but the writing doesn’t support them with the best.

A Scene from Kingdom 2025
A Scene from Kingdom 2025

Second Half: Better, But Still Familiar

The second half picks up a little, especially once Satyadev’s character gets more screen time. There’s one Gory scene that works better than expected. And the moment Satyadev got elevation in that scene. Pure Goosebumps guaranteed from then on. For a moment, it feels like the film’s about to enter beast mode.

And if you haven’t seen international cult films like City of God (The idea of “escaping the system” but still being trapped by it), Incendies, or Nolan’s Batman series — Kingdom might surprise you more. Some sequences, especially the prison fight and emotional twists, carry strong inspiration. For casual viewers, these moments land hard. For filmiholics, though, they’ll feel familiar — maybe too familiar.

The climax, though, sticks the landing. Neatly designed and emotionally tighter than the rest of the film. You finally feel that rush the genre promised.

Final Thoughts

Kingdom is a massy action flick, but not with the emotional depth or innovative thoughts that the story demands. It’s held together by two strong performances, first-rate visuals, Anirudh music and occasional goosebump moments.

Gowtam Tinnanuri keeps the core story focused, but the emotional payoffs don’t really hit like his previous film Jersey did.

Still, the sincerity shows. There’s no overstuffing; I can see that they trimmed down Bhagyashri’s scenes, love track, etc. Just a stylish attempt at telling a cliched story sprinkled with Myth, Crime & Guilt. You won’t feel bored, I believe.

Kingdom (2025) Review Rating: 3/5
Watch if you enjoy stylish dramas with moments that echo bigger films — even if they don’t go as deep.

Hari Hara Veera Mallu Review

Mandala Murders Review

Mandala Murders 2025 Explained

If your brain feels fried after finishing Mandala Murders, you’re not alone. But what makes us interested in this series is the Myth and Crime. The core concept is brilliant, unfortunately not the execution. So here I will explain what happened in Mandala Murders (2025).

We remember unfinished tasks more than completed ones. When shows leave questions dangling — “Who is Yasth?”, “What’s the real motive?” — our brain loops it until we find closure.

So here’s the explanation, what happened in Charandaspur? Who are Ayasthis? Are they real or fiction?

Read No Spoiler Review: Mandala Murders (Click here)

The World of Mandala Murders – Ayasthis, Energy, and the Cult of Yasth

Let’s start from the very beginning.

There’s a small, eerie town called Charandaspur — the kind of place where people still whisper about curses and disappearances. Somewhere deep in the Varuna forest nearby, a secretive group of women called the Ayasthis live in hiding. Locals see them as witches. But they see themselves as something else — the chosen ones of a mysterious energy god named Yasth.

Now here’s where it gets mad interesting.

The Ayasthis believe that energy can’t be created or destroyed, only redirected. So if someone dies… maybe their life energy can be pulled back. Revived. Rechanneled. They’ve built a strange machine that can supposedly do that — bring the dead back to life. Why they built it? Who Built that? We need to wait till Episode 7.

The Thumb Theory

Throughout the show, we see people placing their thumb on this mystical machine to ask for miracles. But here’s the catch:

Giving your thumb = asking Yasth for help.
But Yasth doesn’t just help out of kindness. He takes something in return.
Not from you directly — but someone close to you. A life. A body part. A price.

So if you asked for your son to return… maybe he ends up dead later.
You asked for political power… someone loses their legs.
You can’t track it logically — but someone, somewhere, pays.

Now imagine this happening for years. Quietly. One person at a time.
Until suddenly — a pattern emerges.

That’s where the show begins.

In the Past: Ayasthis & Their End

75 years before the murders began, a woman named Nandini (a scientist) arrived in Charandaspur with her husband, Anant, a corporate man trying to set up a nuclear plant in the forest area. Locals were uneasy — the forest wasn’t just green land, it was sacred to the hidden group known as the Ayasthis. The place is Ayasthal, which Rukmini and her cult believe Yasth made it himself years ago.

Ayasthis believe, if something happen to Ayasthal, they should revive Yasth.

One night, Rukmini went to Nandini’s home and warned her about the consequences of destroying their place.

Why Nandini Built The Device

Rukmini wasn’t an ordinary cult head. She was calm, sharp, and spoke in riddles that made dangerous sense. 

Rukmini told Nandini about Yasth, a powerful evil power. She showed her the Book of Prediction, and it was written by yasth during his first incarnation in the earth.

Then she dropped a chilling line:

“Book mentioned about Nandini”

If charandaspur seeks to destroy Ayast shrine, Yasth will be reincarnated, and Yast will be created by the very same woman who took part in destruction” of Ayast

Then came the real shocker.

Rukmini said Yasth also written, that woman has three traits, the traits are:

  1. She will be an Engineer or a Scientist.
  2. She will be pregnant.
  3. She will be a widow.

Nandini laughed. “I’m not a widow.”

Moments later, someone rushed in — Anant had died in an accident.

Now rattled, Nandini turned to the Ayasthi ideology for answers. She agreed to build the device Rukmini described. She thought she was creating something for humanity — a scientific invention to bring people back from death.

But she didn’t know Rukmini had a hidden agenda.

Rukmini never wanted the device for people. She wanted to use it to bring back Yasth — and unleash destruction across the world.

By the time Nandini realised the truth, it was too late. The body — stitched from various parts — was almost complete. The device was working.

Nandini made one last move.
She destroyed the body they had built. Burned it. Damaged the ritual. Then the villagers arrived, already stirred by fear and whispers of black magic. They torched the place, hoping to end it all.

But Rukmini escaped — and took the device with her.

The ritual failed. Yasth didn’t rise. But the blueprint survived.

Back to the Present – The Murders Begin

Now in the present day, ritualistic murders begin again in Charandaspur.

Bodies are turning up stitched, deformed, missing parts. First it’s Abhishek, a journalist. Then others — teachers, politicians, cult members. Each body seems to be missing something:

  • Torso
  • Hands
  • Legs
  • Head

CBI officer Rea Thomas is assigned to investigate. She’s sharp, emotionless on the outside, haunted by past trauma. But she has no idea she’s directly linked to everything.

Meanwhile, ex-cop Vikram Singh finds that his mother (Vasudha) and aunt (Urmila) disappeared years ago on the same night his brother Pawan died. All clues point back to Varuna Forest.

The Thumb Was Not The Price

As Rea and Vikram investigate, they uncover the miracle logic:

  • People used to visit Ayasthis and place their thumb on the machine, asking for miracles.
  • In return, someone close to them or themselves would suffer — die, disappear, lose something.
  • The thumb wasn’t the price. Life was.

For example:

  • Abhishek used the device to kill his mistress’s husband.
  • Birju asked for his lost son Awadesh to return.
  • Leela asked to save his sons — in return, a death followed.

Over time, a pattern forms. All current victims are linked to someone who made a wish in the past.

Sujay, Vijay, and Ananya’s Politics

Two gangsters, Sujay and Vijay, were suspected of killing Abhishek. But they’re being framed by their political rival Ananya Bhardwaj — Vikram’s sister-in-law, wife of the bedridden leader Jayaraj.

Turns out, Ananya is slowly clearing her path to power:

  • She frames Sujay and Vijay.
  • Hires a nurse to act as his mistress and gets Jayaraj paralysed with poison.
  • Removes all political threats in her way.

But behind her ambition is something much older and darker.

Kalindi, Jimmy Khan, and the Ritual Puzzle

Rea and Vikram uncover the truth about Kalindi, the murdered teacher — she was once close to the Ayasthi cult.

Kalindi wasn’t just the wife of a teacher — she had deep ties with the Ayasthi cult. Long ago, she was connected to Rukmini and the original belief system. She wasn’t a believer exactly, but she knew how the system worked. She knew the rituals, the symbols, the sacrifices.

Kalinidi and her assistant, Maithili, trapped all these people in Aysthi’s sacrifice. Ananya’s PA Vyankat, is Maithili’s adopted son, and Maithili helped him to survive.

Vyankat escaped from Killer by sacrificing Awadesh, Birju’s son.

In the end, Kalindi herself sacrificed her head for Yasth.

And before she died, Kalindi left behind clues.

A set of eight metal circles — each representing a different part of the Mandala.

These weren’t just decoration. They were keys.

Hidden inside her wardrobe, each piece would later be used to unlock the Yasthal, the sanctum where Yasth could be resurrected.

Along with Jimmy Khan, a folklore researcher, they begin decoding the Mandala symbols found at every murder site.

Each murder Ayasthi cult is doing for a body part:

  • Head of a teacher (Kalindi)
  • Hands of sinners (Vijay – Sujay)
  • Legs of Servant’s Child (Awadesh – Son of Birju)
  • Face of a princess (Kavitha , wife of Vikram)
  • Torso of a voyeur (Abhishek, Cosuin of Vikram)
  • Blood of someone who escaped death (Vikram)

One by one, these pieces are being collected to recreate Yasth, just like before.

Jimmy’s grandfather, decades ago, had figured this out and led the mob attack on Ayasthis. That’s what we saw in Episode 1.

The Jimmy Khan Connection

Enter Jimmy Khan — a history researcher, symbol decoder, and grandson of the man who led the mob attack on Ayasthis 75 years ago.

Jimmy steps in to help Rea and Vikram understand what these symbols actually mean. He figures out:

  • The symbols aren’t random — they form a Mandala of Sacrifice.
  • Each murder is connected to a specific body part — and a specific sin or sacrifice tied to the Ayasthi machine.
  • His grandfather tried to stop this ritual decades ago, but it was never fully destroyed.

Rea’s True Identity

Rea begins having dreams — a mysterious woman, always repeating, “Save my son’s life.”

She later learns:
That woman isn’t her imagination.
It’s her grandmother.
Nandini.

Yes — Rea is Nandini’s granddaughter, she born after Nandini decided to help Rukmini.

Suddenly, everything makes sense.

The murders, the device, her connection to Charandaspur — this isn’t just a case. This is her family’s unfinished business.

Nandini was killed by Rukmini

Who is the Killer? Who is the New Rukmini?

In the final twist, it’s revealed that the new mastermind behind everything…
is Ananya Bhardwaj.

Yes — the politician.
She’s Rukmini’s granddaughter.

Ananya is not chasing power for elections.
She’s finishing what Rukmini started:
Resurrecting Yasth.

The killer — the one collecting the body parts — is Aaditi Pohankar, selected as the “ultimate warrior” of the Ayasthi legacy. 

She passed Kalindi’s test and is now fulfilling the prophecy.

Final Showdown: Rea vs Killer

Ananya brings Vikram to Yasthal — the ancient sanctum — to complete the ritual. Vikram’s blood is the final ingredient: someone who escaped death.

But Rea arrives, guided by Nandini’s visions.

She fights the ultimate warrior. Destroys the ritual.

The Real Miracle: Vikram’s Mother and Her Missing Case

In the middle of all the murder boards, occult symbols, political plotting, and scientific devices, there’s one quiet voice that never left the forest:

“Save my son’s life…”

That voice was Vasudha — Vikram’s mother.
A woman who once carried her dead son Pawan’s body into Varuna Forest, hoping for a miracle.

Let’s rewind.

The Night That Broke Her

20 years ago, Vikram’s younger brother Pawan died in a tragic accident. That same night, Vasudha, heartbroken and desperate, disappeared from home. She was last seen going into the forest with Pawan’s body.

And that was it.
She was gone, along with Urmila (Vikram’s aunt)— no one knew where, or why.

But now, through Birju and Urmila’s memories, we learn the truth.

Vasudha reached the Ayasthi machine. She placed her thumb, asked to Yasth “Save my son” And the Ayasthi logic kicked in — a desire was registered.

But Yasth couldn’t bring back Pawan — because, according to Rukmini, once a soul leaves the body fully, it cannot return. The request was technically impossible.

But they couldn’t reject the wish either.

So instead… they kept Vasudha alive under custody.

She became a “frozen prayer” — a living vessel of an unfulfilled desire.

Her constant chant — “save my son’s life” — echoed inside the forest for two decades, like a glitch in the Ayasthi system.

Why the Ritual Couldn’t Be Completed in the End: Climax Explained

Now here’s the most important bit.

Rukmini’s ritual to bring back Yasth needed:

  • The correct body parts.
  • The correct blood.
  • And clean karmic pathways — meaning all past sacrifices and desires had to be fully processed.

But Vasudha’s wish was still hanging.

She asked for Pawan’s life, and Yasth didn’t deliver.
So the cycle was incomplete.
That one loose end — that unfulfilled request — became the error in the code.

And when Rea arrived, she unintentionally fulfilled Vasudha’s wish — not by reviving Pawan, but by saving Vikram’s life in the final battle.

Suddenly, the wish was no longer unfulfilled.
The loop closed. The chant stopped.
Yasth no longer had the justification to rise.

Nandini was killed by Rukmini. Now, Nandini’s granddaughter, Rea, killed Ananya (Rukmini’s granddaughter) and took revenge.

No more miracles. No more deaths.
Just closure would have been better, they made a tailend showing Aditi Pohankar, that this might continue with a season 2.

So who is the killer in Mandala Murders?

It is Moksha (Ultimate Warrior from Ayasthi Community) played by Aditi Pohankar.

Who is that surprise Villain ?

That is Ananya Bharadwaj played Surveen Chawla

Is Varuna forest real? or Ayasthis real?

No, everything is fiction, and unfortunately couldn’t even build a great on screen world as well.

5 Must Watch Series If You Like the Mandala Murders Theme

The story of Mandala Murders — with its secret societies, mystical devices, body-part rituals, and hidden ancestry — may sound uniquely Indian. But this kind of genre-bending, brain-twisting, cult-infused mystery has global roots.

SeriesCountryCore Themes
DarkGermanyTime loops, generational trauma, secret cult
The OAUSAAlternate dimensions, experiments, prophecy
1899USA/GermanySymbolism, death, simulation, trauma
Sacred GamesIndiaMyth meets crime, religious cults, politics
AsurIndiaMythological symbolism, serial killings
Webseries List

Mandala Murders follows the same global formula — but gives it an Indian spine, layered with energy theory, cult worship, thumb sacrifices, and generational guilt.

Read more about Asur here.