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Dies Irae Explained: The Ghosts We Create From Guilt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Haunting: Who is the Real Ghost?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Investigation: Uncovering a Story of Obsession and Black Magic

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

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

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

The Horrifying Truth: A Mother’s Love Turned Monstrous

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

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

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

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

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

The Climax: Fire, Wrath, and a Severed Leg

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

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

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

The Ending Explained: You Can’t Escape Your Ghosts

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

Why Rohan Helped Elsamma?

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

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

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

Is Kani’s Ghost Still haunting Rohan?

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

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

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

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

The Unanswered Question: Why Was Kiran Attacked?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Dies Irae Gets Right About Modern Horror

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

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

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

How Rahul Sadasivan Redefined Malayalam Horror — Explained

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

Avihitham vs Ore Kadal: How Malayalam Cinema Portrays Infidelity

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

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

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.

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.

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

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

Avihitham vs Ore Kadal: A Question of Depth

1. Context vs depth

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

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

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

2. Character motivation

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

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

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

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

3. Filmmaking choices

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

This subtlety gives viewers the space to think and feel.

4. Lust vs longing

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

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

5. Why is my reaction different

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

That’s the power of layered writing.

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

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

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

Final Thoughts: Avihitham vs Orey Kadal

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

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

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

The Spirit World of Kantara Chapter 1: A Thematic Study

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

The Apocalypto Parallel

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

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

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

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

Tracing the Beginning

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

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

Kantara Chapter 1: Rishab Shetty’s Masterclass

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

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

The World of Kantara and Bhoothaloka

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

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

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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

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

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

Rajinikanth and the Risk of Repeating Himself

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

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

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

Plot Summary: Coolie

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

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

A Big Test for Lokesh Kanagaraj, Not Rajinikanth

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

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

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

Missteps in Execution

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

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

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

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

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

Casting Choices

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

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

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

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

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

Technical Strengths, Highs and Lows

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

Yes, Coolie has the “mass” elements.

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

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

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

**Will Coolie Hit ₹1000 Crore?**

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

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

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

Final Verdict

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Thoughts: Salute or Spoof?

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

Watch it for:

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

Skip it for:

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

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

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

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

Mayasabha Web Series Review: Great Performances, Weak Writing

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

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

Based on True Political Events in Andhra Pradesh

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

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

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

Mayasabha Plot: The Rise of Naidu and Rami Reddy

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

From there, we follow:

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

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

Performances & Technical Aspects

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Final Verdict: Mayasabha(2025) Review

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

Mayasabha Review Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What stood out for me: The Writing

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

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

Shaneel Gautham as Ravi Anna — **Shaneel Gautham** as *Ravi Anna*

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

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

Character Consistency & Detailing

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

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

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

Emotional Core without Melodrama

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

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

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

Music & Sound: Elevations at its Peak

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

Final Thoughts

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

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

Su From So — 5/5.
Must-watch.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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Mandala Murders Review

Mandala Murders Review: Myth, Madness, and Murder

After Asur, Paatal Lok, and a dozen dark-toned “let’s-explain-symbolism-in-flashbacks” series, Mandala Murders created by Gopi Puthran is the new entry. Set in the fictional town of Charandaspur, we follow detectives Rea Thomas (Vaani Kapoor) and Vikram Singh (Vaibhav Raj Gupta) as they peel back layers of ritualistic killings, ancient secret societies, and Vikram’s mother’s 20 years old missing case.

Mandala Murders Review Poster — Mandala Murders Poster

On paper, it sounds spicy: a mix of mythology, crime, and occult. But the real question is — does it land, or does it just pretend to be deep?

Direction, Tone, and Storytelling

Gopi Puthran (Mardaani 2) co-directs with Manan Rawat, and The concept is BRILLIANT.
Ayasthis, Mandala sacrifices, energy-as-currency, and ancient tech to revive a god? That’s like Dan Brown meets Asur meets Sacred Games — with a female-led cult.

At first glance, Mandala Murders promises a unique blend: a serial killer thriller wrapped inside a mythological conspiracy. The idea is bold, no doubt. But when it comes to execution—direction, scripting, and pacing—it often struggles to hold the weight of its own ambition.

You’ll keep waiting for that one twist that justifies the build-up — whether it arrives, we’ll see. In my opinion, there are many twists, but everything is predictable for someone who watches thrillers.

The tone sometimes gel with Asur’s vibe, but doesn’t fully commit. — technically correct, emotionally meh. What should feel like high-stakes investigation often ends up looking like disconnected scenes stitched together.

Performances Review: Mandala Murders

The cast does its job partially. Vaani Kapoor as Rea brings sincerity to a layered character, but the writing doesn’t offer enough depth. Eventually, her screen presence falls flat. At no point did I feel convinced she was a brilliant investigative officer.

Vaibhav Raj Gupta (Vikram)’s arc starts strong but ends up confused and falls flat.

Surveen Chawla as a cunning Lady Macbeth looks good on screen, but she couldn’t make an impact in the end.

Too many characters are introduced without space to breathe.

Shriya Pilgaonkar, dressed in a red sari and walking through flames, gets more emotion across in one still frame than some leads do in the whole episode.

Mandala Murders Performances Review — Scene from Mandala Murders

The myth angle — Mandala, rituals, prophecies — is interesting if you like symbolic stories. But if you’re expecting a fast-paced crime thriller with sharp writing and clever twists, you might be disappointed. This isn’t that kind of show. It leans more on mystery and mood than tight investigation or smart reveals.

✅ What Works in Mandala Murders

The core idea of Ayasthis, rituals, and body-part-based resurrection is genuinely original.
There are occasional moments of brilliance—especially when the show reflects on grief, belief, and sacrifice.
The female-driven power structure in the cult is a refreshing take, rarely seen in Indian thrillers.

❌ What Doesn’t

World-building falls flat.
The Ayasthi lore is interesting, but it’s not built with enough clarity. We’re told a lot, but shown very little.
For example, how Jimmy decodes the Mandala symbols is never explained properly—it feels like magic, not intelligence.
No real investigative hook.
This is supposed to be a murder mystery, but there’s no standout moment of detective brilliance. The CBI investigation moves more like a background commentary than the central driver.
Pacing is thin and stretched.
Instead of unfolding gradually with suspense, the plot throws twist after twist—making it hard to stay emotionally connected. It often feels like a series of “what’s next” moments, not “why did this happen?”

Manndala Murders: Full Story Explained

Final Verdict

Mandala Murders had the potential to be a genre-defining series—blending Indian myth with modern crime. But in trying to do too much, it ends up delivering less than it could. It’s not a bad show—it just needed sharper writing, better world-building, and a stronger spine to hold its wild ideas together.

Mandala Murders is streaming now on Netflix.

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