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Weapons Review: Zach Cregger Delivers Fear, Depth, and the Most Despicable Villainess in Recent Horror

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

Weapons (trailer) uses a narrative structure inspired by the Rashomon style of storytelling, where events unfold through multiple viewpoints. The technique is familiar, ever since Kurosawa shaped it in his 1950 film Rashomon. But Weapons does not aim for the classic Rashomon effect, where perspectives diverge so sharply that the truth becomes elusive. Instead, it shows the same moments from different angles, offering variations of truth but within a narrower field of vision.

The story unfolds in Pennsylvania, where 17 children from the same third grade class wake in the dead of night, leave their homes at exactly 2:17 am, and vanish. CCTV footage shows them running into the darkness, yet no one knows where they have gone. Only one child returns to class the next morning. As police and parents search desperately for answers, Alex, the lone child who is safe, may hold the key to the mystery.

The narrative moves through six characters. Justine (Julia Garner), the class teacher whose students have disappeared. Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of one of the missing children. Paul Morgan (Alden Ehrenreich), a police officer and Justine’s ex-boyfriend. Andrew (Benedict Wong), the school principal. James (Austin Abrams), a homeless drug addict and burglar. And Alex (Cary Christopher), the only child who returns to class the next day.

It is difficult to call Weapons a classic horror story. It does not try to scare you in the conventional sense for much of its run time. The first half moves at a steady pace, with each chapter revealed through a different character, as if they are passing a baton in a relay or placing pieces of a puzzle together. This portion of the film leans into emotions like paranoia, distrust, helplessness, trauma and psychological strain. There are touches of humour and moments of ambiguity that add to the sense of confusion. A quiet dread runs beneath the surface, but it never pushes into full suspense or horror until Gladys, Alex’s aunt, appears midway through the film. From that point onward, the story shifts entirely.

Weapons is deceptive, even though its storytelling carries a quiet simplicity. Many scenes are layered with allegory and symbolism, and almost everything carries meaning. The film explores themes of addiction, grief and loss, and the failure of communities and institutions to protect the vulnerable. But watching it with the urge to decode every moment can diminish the experience. It is best approached with a clear mind, allowing the film to work at its own pace. At no point does it force its ideas on the audience, and it remains an engaging and entertaining film despite its intellectual weight and nuanced narrative.

In Aunt Gladys, Weapons brings to life one of the most despicable characters in recent memory, rivalled perhaps only by Dale Ferdinand Kobble from Longlegs (2024), played by an unrecognisable Nicolas Cage. Amy Madigan’s performance as Gladys is menacing in a way that can give the faint hearted sleepless nights. Awards buzz already suggests she might be headed toward Oscar and Golden Globe nominations for Best Supporting Actress.

Cary Christopher, who plays young Alex, also delivers a terrific performance. Much of the second half unfolds between Alex and Gladys. Their scenes together are terrifying and oddly entertaining, and they hold the film in a tight grip.

It is believed that Weapons is a deeply personal story for director Zach Cregger, drawing from lived experiences as a child, and this is where the film’s allegories and symbolism originate. Yet while watching the film, these ideas never intrude. It is easy to experience Weapons exactly as it presents itself and be fully drawn into its world. The world building, camerawork that shapes moments of dread, and the performances create an absorbing film experience.

Along with Ari Aster, Robert Eggers and Jordan Peele, Zach Cregger brings a sense of novelty to the horror genre, creating films that are thought provoking as well as entertaining. If you enjoy horror, this is not a film you want to miss.

Verdict:
IMDb rating: 7.5/10
My rating: 4/5

You can rent Weapons on Amazon Prime Video or BookMyShow for Rs 89.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Homebound Review: A Mirror That Is Both Subtle and Stark

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

Homebound deals with a heavy subject: discrimination. Not just in one form, but through caste, class, religion and gender, even though caste-based discrimination remains central. It takes a filmmaker of rare maturity to handle such themes with the skill and nuance it deserves. While Neeraj Ghaywan’s directorial debut, the exceptional Masaan was more purist in its approach and leaned heavily on visual language, his second full-length feature, Homebound is more conversational. It rests on deep, lived-in exchanges between its characters.

Although, the film is India’s official entry to next year’s Oscars in the Best International Feature category, it struggled to secure a theatrical release at home. The CBFC ordered 11 cuts, amounting to just 77 seconds, yet enough to potentially blunt the emotional force of certain scenes. Did it dilute the film’s impact? Perhaps. But a film, beyond its hype, its controversies, its festival run, and the reputation of its creators, must still move its audience. It must linger and become a conversation starter. That, for me, is the mark of a great film. And when such films endure, they become classics.

So does Homebound belong in that realm?

The film draws from true events, inspired by a 2020 New York Times article by Basharat Peer. It follows two childhood friends from a small North Indian village, Chandan (Vishal Jethwa), a Dalit, and Shoaib (Ishaan Khatter), a Muslim, who share a dream: to become police constables. They believe that the uniform will become their escape from the poverty, discrimination and loss of dignity that have shadowed their families for generations.

With no college degrees, the police exam is their only opportunity for a different life. Failure means returning to the same manual labor their forefathers endured. The road ahead is unforgiving. Their friendship strains under the pressure of circumstance, while a system stacked against them keeps pushing them back. Yet they do not break. They adapt, endure, and hold on to hope, until Covid arrives and alters their fate in ways they could never have imagined. What unfolds after forms the emotional core of Homebound.

Though sparked by a newspaper article, the screenplay is deeply personal to Ghaywan. In an interview to the Indian Express before the film’s India release, he spoke of hiding his Dalit identity for 35 years. “When you masquerade, your confidence dies,” he said. While watching Homebound, you sense that what plays out on screen is born from lived experience. There is an honesty in the storytelling that you cannot turn away from.

In conversations following its festival run, Ghaywan has been clear that the politics in his films can never overshadow the filmmaking. If that happens, he believes he risks becoming a propagandist. During a Cannes interaction, with the Hollywood Reporter India, co-producer Karan Johar echoed this sentiment, stating, “There is no activism in the film, there is just filmmaking.” Legendary filmmaker Martin Scorsese, who joined as an executive producer and mentor, also spoke highly of the script and of Ghaywan’s craft.

What truly stands out is the film’s quiet simplicity. The narrative is layered and nuanced, yet expressed with clarity. In a film like this, it is easy for dialogues to become preachy. But Ghaywan, along with Varun Grover and Sreedhar Dubey, keeps a firm grip on realism. The film never overexplains its ideas. The scenes feel textured, unpolished in the best sense, and deeply human. This quiet authenticity is the film’s true strength. It does not sermonise. It simply holds up a mirror to society and leaves it there. As an audience, what you choose to see in that reflection is entirely up to you.

One of the film’s most powerful moments arrives when the exam results are announced. Chandan has passed. Shoaib has not. Chandan’s concern is genuine, but Shoaib, shattered and ashamed, cannot receive it as anything but pity. What begins as an argument soon turns into a fight. Yet it is the reason behind that confrontation that reveals who they really are. It is heartbreaking, but also deeply revealing. Until that moment, they appear to have risen above every identity imposed upon them. In this scene, Ghaywan strips them back to their most human selves, grounding the film in its deepest intention: humanism.

Made on a modest budget of ₹3–4 crore, it reportedly took nearly three years to ready the script for production. The shoot itself was completed in approximately two months. That care in the writing is visible in the way the scenes land, and there are several that are likely to linger. The attention to detail, in both costumes and locations, is equally precise. Much of the story unfolds in a North Indian village, filmed largely in and around a village near Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh.

The cinematography is restrained and grounded, never departing from the characters’ world. Every frame feels rooted in their reality. The color palette and lighting choices subtly enhance the film’s shifting moods without drawing attention to themselves.

In a performance driven film like this, the actors had to deliver, and they do so with conviction. At no point do they feel out of place. The two leads, Ishaan Khatter and Vishal Jethwa, bring the artistry, maturity and nuance their roles demand. Even with limited screen time, Jahnvi Kapoor makes her presence felt. Shalini Vatsa in the role of Chandan’s mother, was exceptional, anchoring the film with a quiet, heartbreaking authenticity.

Conclusion:

Homebound speaks to everyone, cutting across class, caste, religion and social standing. It draws the viewer into a world that unsettles, challenges the conscience, and forces a confrontation with uncomfortable realities. Yet, it does so with rare grace and empathy, making the experience feel deeply cathartic rather than overwhelming.

Homebound easily qualifies as one of the finest Indian films of the year and stands tall as a worthy Oscar contender. It has the depth and craft to endure, much like the director’s debut. Whether it will be remembered as a true classic, only time will tell.

Verdict:

IMDb rating – 8/10

My rating – 4.5/5

You can watch Homebound on Netflix.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

120 Bahadur Review: A Sincere Film that Doesn’t Stir Enough

Written By: Siddhartha Krishnan | 4 Min Read

When you think of the great war films of the past, you remember their sheer technical power: the sweeping cinematography, the visceral action, the stirring background score, the meticulous production design, the prosthetics and of course the performances. Yet beneath all that craft, those films endured because they moved you. A war film cannot afford to falter there.

That is why 120 Bahadur, a film about one of the Indian Army’s greatest battles, feels incomplete. Its heart is in the right place, but it needed a sharper mind to match the intelligence and spirit of its own protagonist.

Critics have largely called out the first half for being slow and occasionally dull. The common verdict is that the film takes too long to warm up before it starts landing its punches. That may be true, but for me the issue ran deeper. Something felt missing throughout, even when the second half gathers momentum. And that missing piece was emotional force. The makers seemed to play it too safe when the story needed a touch of madness, especially in the latter half where the stakes demanded bolder choices.

The story of the Battle of Rezang La is the stuff of legend. It is so astonishing that one could easily mistake it for fiction. Having recently visited the Rezang La War Memorial in Ladakh, standing on the very land where the 120 brave soldiers of the 13 Kumaon Regiment’s Charlie Company (almost all from the Ahir community in Haryana) were cremated after facing a 3000 strong Chinese force with outdated ammunition, the enormity of their sacrifice still feels impossible to grasp. They fought till the last man, taking down nearly 1300 enemy soldiers before falling. None of the bodies were found with a bullet to their back. It sounds unreal, yet it happened.

Though this story is well known within the Army, it is tragically unfamiliar to most citizens. And in that sense, I understand the instinct to sanitise the violence so the film can reach a wider audience. On that front, the film succeeds. It is technically strong, shot on real locations, with a powerful story, a capable ensemble cast and in Major Shaitan Singh Bhati a protagonist who stands taller than a hero, almost mythic.

But this was a story that demanded the brutality of war to be shown. It was an essential part of the narrative, unlike many recent Hindi films where violence is used merely as a stylistic choice. If the film had focused solely on camaraderie, bravery and sacrifice, the restraint would have worked. But with an entire second half devoted to the battle, the raw, unforgiving truth of war was needed for the script to fully come alive.

Another criticism the film faced was its restrained performances. I felt this was not a flaw but a conscious and sensible choice by the makers. Imagine a group of soldiers at sixteen thousand feet, in minus twenty four degree cold, conserving every last ounce of energy during a battle that stretches through the night. Shouting stirring lines in such conditions is not only improbable, it breaks authenticity. In choosing restraint, the makers chose truth, and it was the right call.

Where the film does falter is in its dialogue. While avoiding loud, jingoistic monologues was the correct direction, the lines still needed to carry weight, to leave you with the lingering ache that a war film should. They fall short of that. Even the constant humour does not fully land.

Farhan Akhtar, as Major Shaitan Singh, is another important anchor in the film. His performance is balanced and mature, yet there is a sense of something missing. The issue again lies in the screenplay, which does not create enough intrigue or deliver the emotional shocks the story deserves. This is a true event, one that can be easily looked up online. The power, therefore, had to come from how the story was told. Instead, the makers chose a conventional, familiar template seen in films like Border, Shershaah and LOC Kargil.

This story needed a treatment closer to Saving Private Ryan, where the war itself becomes a visceral and shattering experience. A more immersive and relentless portrayal could have left the audience shaken. But the film takes a simpler and more straightforward route, and the impact is not as deep as it could have been.

To conclude, 120 Bahadur is not a bad film by any measure. It approaches one of the Indian Army’s greatest battles with sincerity. But the creative decisions, especially in the screenplay, keep it from reaching the heights it was capable of. Despite its shortcomings, I would still urge audiences to watch it. It is a story of exceptional courage, sacrifice and the true cost of war, one every Indian should know.

Verdict:
IMDb rating: 7/10
My rating: 3/5

Pic Credits: Excel Entertainment

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Good Boy Movie Review: Emotional, Inventive, and Powered by a Dog You Cannot Look Away From

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 5 Min Read

Good Boy (2025) runs on a slender plot, and on an emotional theme that is deceptively simple. But what it delivers both visually and technically is something the makers can genuinely be proud of.

Written and directed by Ben Leonberg, in his feature debut, and featuring his own dog as the protagonist, Good Boy follows Todd, a young man with a chronic lung disease, who moves from New York to his late grandfather’s isolated house in the woods. His sister Vera believes the place is haunted, and could even have played a part in their grandfather’s death. Todd disagrees. For him, the wilderness is sanctuary. His dog Indy though senses something darker, a presence Todd cannot see. What follows is a battle of instinct versus ignorance. Will Indy keep his master safe, or will both be consumed by something hiding in the shadows?

Leonberg got the spark for this film while rewatching Poltergeist (1982), specifically a scene involving a dog. As a lifelong horror fan, having consumed every conceivable sub-genre, I can say with conviction that there is nothing left in horror that is truly new. Innovation now lies in how familiar tropes are reimagined, in how writing and craft can twist the known into the uncanny.

Good Boy is that kind of horror.

Writers Alex Cannon and Ben Leonberg are smart with their writing. They find ways to keep the audience guessing, even with a deceptively thin storyline. One criticism the film has received is that it is too convoluted. I see that as a strength. The writers play with the viewer’s mind. It is entirely possible to have multiple interpretations of the scenes that unfold, especially the slightly bizarre ending that leaves you with many questions. Despite its narrative limitations, Good Boy challenges you as a viewer. The real genius is in showing everything from the dog’s point of view. It makes the scenes tense, emotionally charged, and keeps you uncertain because you are never fully sure what is happening inside Indy’s mind.

The film’s editing is one of it’s strong points. The interplay of past and present, the use of dream-like sequences before snapping back into present reality, is impactful. It adds to the intrigue. There is also a clever rhythm in the cutting. Quick jump cuts are broken by long pauses and silences. This creates mood, dread, and a constant expectation of something evil about to reveal itself.

Just like the editing, the cinematography does not follow a single pattern. For most of its seventy-three-minute runtime, the camera is focused on Indy’s face. It is the need of the script. The camera follows him wherever he goes. The angles are fluid, constantly shifting to capture his expressions and the subtle changes in his behaviour. The action on screen demands that the camera be quick and kinetic in some moments, and completely still in others.

None of this feels like the work of a first time director. There is a visible sense of craft and confidence in how frames are composed. The static shots are haunting and atmospheric. When the camera moves, it injects energy and adrenaline. There are a few sharp jump scares as well, which add to the film’s thrill.

From a technical standpoint, I believe the editing, the sound design and the camerawork elevate Good Boy beyond its limited story. They give the film its power.

But all said and done, the true star of the film is the dog, Indy. It is through his eyes that the entire story is told. The writing and the technical craft would not have saved this film if the performance had failed at this level. As an audience, you are glued to his face. He has the most expressive eyes and a deeply innocent presence. You start rooting for him. You fear for him. You are fully invested in his journey. Although it looks effortless on screen, there is clearly a lot of preparation behind this. The training, the timing, the precision of camera placement, all of it has been done with care.

IndieWire says this about the canine’s performance: “one of the most emotive actors of his generation, regardless of species.” I agree. I cannot remember another dog performance that has left me this stunned. Dog films usually make you laugh or cry or feel a sense of warmth. They often carry messages of loyalty, companionship or healing. But here, I was engaged because of the dog’s sheer emotional pull. I could not take my eyes off him. That is the magic of this film.

Made on a modest budget of $750000, Good Boy, went onto gross $8M worldwide from its theatrical release. Commendable for a small film with high ambitions.

Verdict:

Despite its limitations, Good Boy challenges you as a viewer and keeps you emotionally invested. It is technically inventive, smart in its writing, and more layered than it first appears. At the heart of it all is a protagonist, a dog, whose emotive ability is mesmerizing. Indy carries the film like a star.

IMDb rating: 6.2 out of 10
My rating: 3.5 out of 5

Good Boy is currently running in select theatres in India.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Kantara: A Legend – Chapter 1 Review | Rishab Shetty Expands the Universe with Power and Poise

Written by Siddhartha Krishnan | 9 Min Read

Kantara (2022) arrived quietly as a small film with a big heart. Made on a modest budget of around ₹16 crore, it went on to storm the box office, grossing nearly ₹450 crore worldwide. It wasn’t just a commercial phenomenon; it was a cultural one. In my review (read here) of the first instalment, I had written that it was “a film that broke the mould.” One that made audiences rethink what ‘rooted in culture’ truly means. What I meant was that unless a filmmaker stays true to the world they are creating, there can be no originality or authenticity.

So when Rishab Shetty returned with the prequel, Kantara: A Legend – Chapter 1, the stakes were monumental. The first film was high on imagination yet grounded in simplicity. With a reported budget of ₹125 crore and nearly three years in the making, the director brings a mythic origin story that, ever since its trailer release, has caught the public imagination. But does it live up to its legacy? Does it take the world of Kantara somewhere new?

The Story:

The story unfolds during the reign of the Kadamba dynasty nearly 1500 years ago. The royal kingdom has set its sights on the rich spices that grow deep within the forests of Kantara, treasures that could open the doors to foreign trade and overflowing coffers. But these sacred spice gardens are protected by the Daivas, and when King Vijayendra of Bangra dares to trespass into them with his men, he is struck down by the gods of the forest.

His son, Rajashekhara, consumed by vengeance, bides his time, waiting for the right moment to annihilate the tribal guardians of Kantara. His heir, Kulashekhara, who ascends the throne next, is far less patient, self-absorbed, impulsive, and blinded by power. His sister, Kanakavathi, serves as a counterpoint, measured, empathetic, and intent on finding a middle ground where the royals and the natives can coexist in mutual benefit.

It is in this volatile landscape that we meet Berme, a native of Kantara whose origins are veiled in mystery. A man of fierce ambition and indomitable spirit, he sees through the injustice of the barter system that keeps his people in servitude. Determined to reclaim their dignity, Berme sets out on a perilous journey into the heart of the royal kingdom to demand their rightful share.

What unfolds is a tale steeped in fantasy, mythology, folklore, and magical realism, a layered narrative of resistance and belief, where the battle between the natives and the settlers becomes as much spiritual as it is territorial.

Production Design:

World-building has been the greatest strength of all the Shetty brothers’ films. They have an uncanny knack for getting their worlds pitch-perfect, regardless of budget or scale.

Such a feat is never the work of one man. It demands an expert team. Leading that effort is Vinesh Banglan, the art director, whose previous works include Home (2021) and Kurup (2022). In an interview with Cinema Express, Banglan said, “In the hands of Rishab Shetty, Kundapura became a living, breathing world in Kantara: Chapter 1. Every frame tells a story, every detail resonates, and the land itself becomes a character.” He went on to explain how Rishab took his time to walk him through the region’s culture, its landscape, and eventually the story itself. The focus, from the very beginning, was clearly on detailing — something no one can fault either instalment for.

Every frame feels carefully composed. Whether it’s the village of Kantara nestled deep within the forests of Tulu Nadu, the grand kingdom of Kulashekhara, or the bustling Bangra port, each space feels alive and tangible.

Banglan credits Arvind Kashyap, the cinematographer of both films, for introducing him to Rishab. Anyone who has seen the film would agree — this was a collaboration that elevated the franchise, perfectly matching its scale and ambition.

Cinematography:

Arvind Kashyap’s cinematography retains the visual brilliance of the first instalment and goes a step further, elevated by the prequel’s intense action scenes. His masterful play of light continues to define the film’s visual language, but what stands out here is his ability to capture high-octane sequences with remarkable control and intelligence. The camera is purposeful, never showy, reflecting a deep understanding of rhythm and movement. It is evident that Rishab and Arvind share a creative synergy, each attuned to the other’s instincts and the demands of the script.

Prosthetics:

The prosthetics and makeup department, led by Suresh Kumar and Ronex Xavier, also make a significant contribution to the film’s immersive realism. Their craftsmanship lends authenticity to each transformation, making the characters both believable and textured. The most striking example is the character of Mayakara, brought to life through a seamless blend of prosthetics and visual effects. The VFX never overwhelms; it remains subtle, serving the story rather than distracting from it.

Costume Design:

Another standout element of Kantara: Chapter 1 is the costume design by Pragathi Shetty, Rishab Shetty’s wife. In a film of such scale and ambition, it would have been easy to drift into excess, but her work remains grounded, meticulous, and true to the world of Kantara. Each garment feels lived-in and purposeful, reflecting a deep respect for period accuracy and cultural authenticity. It is a testament to how thoughtful design can enhance storytelling, deserving of recognition from discerning viewers.

Screenplay:

I watched the film with my family and friends, including my ten-year-old son and his best friend. One lingering concern before the screening was whether the children would be able to follow the story, and if the film might slow down into stretches that would test their patience. Thankfully, it never does. The boys were absorbed from start to finish, which speaks volumes about how effectively Rishab Shetty weaves folklore and fantasy to build the magical world of Kantara. It is easy to forget that he has also written the film, but his deep understanding of this world, its rhythms, beliefs, and conflicts, shines through every frame.

Action Choreography:

Another reason the film holds attention so completely is its thrilling action. Those who have seen it will agree that much of the runtime is devoted to some form of combat or confrontation, with the remaining portions dedicated to character reveals and plot turns. Given this structure, the action had to deliver, and it does. Choreographers Todor Lazarov, Arjun Raj, and the duo Ram-Lakshman have crafted intelligent, visually engaging sequences that keep viewers at the edge of their seats. The precision and scale of these moments elevate the film, making them impossible to overlook.

Performances:

The narrative centers around four key characters, Berme (Rishab Shetty), Rajashekhara (Jayaram), Kulashekhara (Gulshan Devaiah), and Kanakavathi (Rukmini Vasanth). One of the strengths of Rishab’s writing lies in how he ensures that each of them has a clear purpose within the story. Their arcs unfold rapidly but meaningfully, and every performance leaves a mark. Rishab is at the top of his game, while Gulshan Devaiah, as his formidable counterpart, delivers a standout performance that lingers long after the credits roll.

Flaws:

Where the film stumbles slightly is in its use of humor. A few jokes during the action sequences infused to lighten the mood feel misplaced and fail to land. This cannot be attributed to translation issues since I watched the film in Kannada, its original language.

The romantic thread between Berme and Kanakavathi is another weak link. It feels forced, underwritten, and unnecessary, echoing one of the few criticisms directed at the first instalment. Given the otherwise tight storytelling, this subplot could have been handled with greater depth or restraint.

But these are minor hiccups that hardly dull the impact of the final product. The pacing of the film, elevated by Ajaneesh Loknath’s stirring background score, keeps the audience engrossed throughout. There are several mythological references that might not be entirely understood by those unfamiliar with the culture of coastal Karnataka, yet the way these elements are woven into the narrative makes for a thoroughly engaging watch.

In an interview with film critic Baradwaj Rangan, Rishab mentioned that he prefers not to explain his interpretations of the story, especially the parts that leave the audience with questions. He said, “What I feel is that the audience should talk about it based on their perspective. I feel that’s beautiful. They will have many versions, think about it from many angles. I’m enjoying seeing all of that.” He even admits that, at times, it’s through the audience that he gains new insights into his own film, ideas he might carry forward into the next chapter.

This openness reflects Rishab’s evolution as a filmmaker, a sincere student of cinema who values how his stories resonate with audiences while remaining true to his craft.

Conclusion:

I watched Kantara: A Legend Chapter 1 in a packed Bengaluru theatre in its third week, hoping to be surprised and quietly praying that the creators hadn’t been swayed by their own artistry or the avalanche of acclaim that followed the first film. The fear, of course, was that Kantara: A Legend – Chapter 1 might become a noisy spectacle, all show and no soul. Thankfully, I was wrong. I walked out of the theatre happy.

This is a film made for the big screen, immersive, richly detailed, and deeply rooted in its world. It is a painstakingly crafted work that balances spectacle with sincerity, folklore with fantasy. The result is a worthy successor that draws the audience in and holds them captive until the very end.

It is a film that Kannada cinema can take pride in, not without its flaws, but one that never loses its heart. I enjoyed this long, immersive prequel, and not once during its runtime did I find myself bored. Because despite its expanded scope, Kantara: A Legend – Chapter 1 plays to its greatest strength: its rootedness.

With this chapter, Rishab Shetty once again proves his ability to blend myth, folklore, mystery, and emotion into something that feels both personal and universal. The film does not just expand the world of Kantara; it deepens it, leaving us eager for what comes next.

Verdict:
IMDb rating: 8.5/10
My rating: 3.5/5

Kantara: A Legend – Chapter 1 is currently streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

Pic credits: Hombale Films

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Lokah: Chapter 1 – Chandra | Movie Review | A Visionary Cinematic Universe Born from the Love of Cinema

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 2 Min Read

Finally, a film that restores faith in the magic of cinema and the art of storytelling. Lokah proves you don’t need an extravagant budget to create a visionary film—passion is enough to drive creativity, and sheer audacity.

Several moments left me wondering: How did they shoot this? How did they even think of this? Especially, some of the transitions! For the first time in a long while, I walked out of a theatre with a genuine smile.

At its heart, Lokah is powered by strong writing—something Malayalam cinema is consistently excelling at. Though described as a “female superhero film,” it is far more ambitious: an entire universe has been conceived, with its characters, its world, its politics and the arcs of how it may all unfold. Nothing feels improvised; it feels as though every beat was already on paper. That’s the mark of great storytelling and intelligent screenwriting.

The performances add to this conviction. Not once do the actors veer into the over-the-top theatrics that superhero films often invite. Kalyani Priyadarshan, in the titular role, completely owns her part, grounding the story with both power and restraint.

Yes, the film has its flaws. The first half moves at a slightly measured pace as the makers take time to set up the world and its players. Yet sharp, well-written comedic moments keep the audience engaged, nudging them towards an interval that immerses you fully into the universe of Lokah.

Rooted in Kerala’s folklore and myths yet reimagined with modern conviction, Lokah: Chapter 1 – Chandra delivers a fresh, powerful, and deeply satisfying cinematic experience. Kudos to the makers for daring—and succeeding.

Go watch Lokah in a theatre next to you.

IMDb rating: 8.2/10
My rating: 4/5

Pic credit: Wayfarer Films

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

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by whatsonsidsmind

Movie Review | Absurd, Unsettling and Hilarious: Sanctuary Hijacks your Brain in 90 Minutes

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 2 Min Read

It takes Sanctuary (trailer) about 40 minutes, from posturing as absurdist fiction, to transform into a no-holds-barred psychological revenge drama cum rom-com — if that makes any sense. It’s a template I haven’t seen before, a plot so out of whack it’s like discovering a dinosaur fossil on the moon.

The story follows Hal, who is about to inherit his father’s multi-million-dollar hotel chain after his untimely death. Before that, he wants to end his long-term, secret relationship with a dominatrix, Rebecca — something she had no clue was coming. What follows is a psychological game between the two, in a hotel room, where Rebecca seems to have the upper hand.

The screenplay is dominated by long conversations that take a while to make sense. But they’re entertaining, and above all, they are probes into the human mind and the lengths it will go to once the survival instinct kicks in.

For a film that was shot in just 18 days Sanctuary is hilarious, outlandish, unsettling, and jaw-dropping. Christopher Abbott and Margaret Qualley are brilliant in their roles. Most of the acting is shot in tight close-ups, and Qualley kills it whenever she’s on screen. Her range is truly a gift.

Make no mistake Sanctuary is not for everyone, but if you like absurdist fiction, mind benders, films that don’t fit into a specific genre, or ones that subvert genres, give this a go. At just 90 minutes, this is an intelligently written, brilliantly acted laugh riot that churns your stomach, leaves you in splits, and makes you question: What have I just watched?

Verdict:

IMDb rating: 6.2/10
My rating: 3.5/5

Sanctuary is streaming on JioHotstar in India.

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About the author:

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Mountainhead | Movie Review | Whatsonsidsmind

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 2 Min Read

Mountainhead begins with four tech giants meeting at a remote mountain mansion, owned by Souper or ‘Soup’, the poorest among them, in the wake of a global upheaval caused by a new generative AI, launched by Venis, the richest among them, who is also the richest man in the world. The quartet is completed by Jeff, another AI wonderkid, and the older Randall, a sort of mentor to all. Though the gathering is meant to rekindle old bonds between the self-proclaimed ‘Brewsters’, each arrives with his own agenda. As they attempt to make sense of the chaos unfolding outside, they also vie to shape the future of humanity, drawing on each other’s minds, ambitions, and secrets.

One of the most brilliant scenes in the film unfolds when Jeff questions Venis about the sectarian violence and genocidal attacks inadvertently triggered by his new generative AI. Ven responds with a disarming analogy: he recalls how, when people first saw a train on a movie screen, they ran out of the theatre in fear. But filmmakers didn’t stop making movies—they made more. “Show more,” he says, “until everyone realizes that nothing is that f**king serious. Nothing means anything, and everything is funny.”

This moment captures the essence of Mountainhead—its dark, absurdist satire and the way it confronts our current anxieties with a disturbingly casual shrug. It’s both chilling and hilarious.

Directed by Jesse Armstrong, the Emmy and Golden Globe-winning creator of Succession, Mountainhead moves with the pace of a thriller, though what unravels isn’t action, but intention. It delves into the twisted psyches of four tech geniuses, forced into a tense chamber drama where tolerance is the only currency left.

Despite its psychological weight, the film’s tone remains largely satirical throughout its under-two-hour runtime. There’s plenty to read between the lines, but Armstrong, who also wrote the screenplay, deftly keeps the atmosphere light, even as the story descends into its darkest moments. What stays consistent is the film’s keen study of powerful, hyper-successful individuals who have grown dangerously detached from reality—mirrored perfectly by the opulent, isolated retreat where they’ve chosen to gather.

Verdict:

In the midst of ongoing discussions about AI, who controls it, and whether we have a future with or despite it, this film is an essential watch.

You can watch Mountainhead on JioHotstar in India.

My rating: 3.5/5

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About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

Khauf Review: When Real Life Is the Real Horror

Written by: Siddhartha Krishnan | 7 Min Read

(You can watch the YouTube review of this web series here – http://bit.ly/3GDQ0KK)

In my opinion, the scariest pieces of cinema are those that portray reality in imaginary worlds. While the horror genre offers the fluidity to blend the real with the unreal, it is often the stories grounded in real-world settings, characters, and societal decay that manage to terrify the most. These films give the audience the unsettling feeling that something from their familiar world has seeped into the imagined world of horror. This could be a room in an opulent house in Georgetown, Washington D.C., where a little girl is possessed by the devil himself (The Exorcist, 1973), or the remote Overlook Hotel in Colorado, with its bloody past and isolated winters, maintained by a lone caretaker (The Shining, 1980). Closer home, it could be a room in a government women’s hostel on the outskirts of Delhi, haunted by a ghost and steeped in everyday fears (Khauf, 2025).

In The Exorcist, while the central plot revolves around an exorcism within a single room, it is also the story of a mother willing to go to any lengths to save her daughter. In The Shining, though the Overlook Hotel becomes a sinister character in its own right, steeped in a violent past, the heart of the film lies in a man battling his own psychological demons—who ultimately succumbs to the hotel’s dark influence and turns against his family. In Khauf, a young woman from a smaller city in India, carrying the scars of a brutal sexual assault, comes to the capital in search of freedom, only to find that the suffocating male gaze offers none. She becomes easy prey for a ghost that haunts a hostel room, an evil spirit that feeds on her vulnerability.

It is through this lens—where horror emerges not just from the supernatural, but from the all-too-real fears rooted in our society, that I will be reviewing Khauf, perhaps one of the finest horror web series to come out of India in recent years.

The Story

Khauf centers around a young woman named Madhu (Monica Panwar), who escapes from Gwalior to be with her boyfriend in Delhi. Haunted by a traumatic past—she was brutally assaulted by a group of men—Madhu sees Delhi as a chance to leave those memories behind. But she soon realizes it’s not as easy as she hoped. The city’s constant male gaze feels like the ghost of her past, relentlessly following her.

Uncomfortable living in a flat shared by her boyfriend and his male friends, she moves to a hostel on the outskirts of the city. Only one room is available—the one that once belonged to a girl who reportedly died in an accident. The four other women on the floor harbor a dark secret. They are trapped by a sinister presence that won’t let them leave the hostel, and they believe the evil spirit resides in that very room. Fearing the spirit will possess Madhu and unleash terror on them all, they try to stop her from staying there.

But Madhu refuses to give in to their warnings. With no one else to turn to, the room is her only shot at survival.

Screenplay and Technical Aspects

Khauf weaves together multiple subplots that converge in the end. There’s Madhu’s central story, the individual backstories of the four hostel mates on her floor, and the mystery of the dead girl who once lived in her room. Alongside these, there’s the hostel warden’s friend—an alcoholic police officer, a woman who frequently visits the hostel to drink with the warden, while secretly searching for her missing son, whom she believes has fallen into the wrong hands. Adding to the mix is a mysterious hakim living in the dingy alleys of Old Delhi, who preys on the souls of vulnerable women to prolong his own life. All of these threads eventually tie into Madhu’s journey and play a crucial role in the climax.

As hinted earlier in my review, Khauf wouldn’t be half as terrifying without its real-life parallels. The series holds up a mirror to society in ways rarely seen in recent Indian storytelling, whether on OTT platforms or in theatres. It doesn’t rely on monologues or moralizing speeches. Instead, it quietly reveals the everyday reality of being a woman in Delhi—on buses, at workplaces, even in spaces presumed to be safe. Judgment, harassment, and constant surveillance are routine, and they carry consequences. This creates a toxic environment where crime festers.

The real-life monsters in Khauf far outweigh the supernatural ones. It’s this chilling parallel between the horrors of the real world and the supernatural that makes the show deeply unsettling, and at times, hard to watch.

That said, Khauf isn’t an edge-of-the-seat horror flick. It moves deliberately, simmering with tension, and landing its punches at the right moments. Some might call it a slow burn, but I never found it dull. The screenplay kept me anticipating something unexpected, and when those moments arrived, they were rewarding. Although, these aren’t your typical horror beats. But the series still delivers its share of jump scares, gore, and supernatural elements to keep horror fans engaged. Much of the credit goes to writer Smita Singh (Sacred Games, Raat Akeli Hai), cinematographer Pankaj Kumar (Tumbbad, Haider, Ship of Theseus), and production designer Nitin Zihani Choudhary (Tumbbad, Kalki 2898 AD).

The writing, for the most part, is engaging. While some critics have rightly called out the lore elements as unclear, these are rare missteps. Where Khauf truly shines is in the seamless blending of the real and the supernatural brought to life through striking imagery and meticulous execution. The sequencing of events and how they converge in the end is satisfying to watch.

The production design, in particular, sustains an atmosphere of dread even when scenes aren’t overtly grotesque. There’s a constant sense of gloom and impending danger—the hallmark of effective horror storytelling.

The Performances

Khauf wouldn’t be nearly as affecting without its stellar performances. The casting is pitch perfect. Apart from the menacing presence of Rajat Kapoor, a familiar face, the rest of the cast may not be household names, yet they carry the film with remarkable strength. Monica Panwar, as Madhu, delivers a standout performance, balancing vulnerability and quiet resilience with striking authenticity.

The supporting cast is equally compelling: Chum Darang as Svetlana, Geetanjali Kulkarni as Constable Ilu Mishra, Shalini Vatsa as the stern yet layered warden Gracie, Priyanka Setia as Rima, Rashmi Mann as Nikki, and Riya Shukla as Komal. Each of them brings depth and nuance to their roles, making the characters not only believable but deeply human.

Verdict

In an era where horror storytelling, whether on web or in theatres, often leans on tired tropes like jump scares, gore, folklore, and a parade of ghosts, goblins, witches, vampires, yakshas and yakshis, often diluted with humor or drowned in grotesquery, Khauf stands apart. It uses many of these familiar elements, yet tells an original, deeply human story, one that terrifies not because of what’s imagined, but because of how much it borrows from the real world.

It feels as if the true monsters of life have possessed the supernatural ones. And that’s what makes Khauf truly unsettling. It provokes thought, evokes empathy, and scares in equal measure.

For that, it absolutely deserves a watch.

Khauf is streaming on Amazon Prime Video in India.

IMDb rating: 7.6/10

My Rating: 4/5

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About the author –

Siddhartha Krishnan is the author of ‘Two and a Half Rainbows – A Collection of Short Stories’. An enthusiastic blogger he shares his articles, essays, travelogues, book and movie reviews on his blog (www.whatsonsidsmind.com).

by whatsonsidsmind

My Movie Reviews are Now on YouTube! | Announcement | Whatsonsidsmind

Dear All,

Just barging into your feed to make a quick, small announcement. My film reviews are now available on my YouTube channel. I’ve chosen to do so to connect with a larger audience who prefer the visual medium. At the same time, I thought it’s a good way for them to be introduced to my blog. So hoping it works both ways.

So far I’ve uploaded two reviews; that of Adolescence and A Real Pain. Hoping to upload a lot more in the coming days. I am sharing the links to both these reviews below –

Adolescence – https://youtu.be/uIe2FT9t90U?si=tRQxfdgmF0v89DOj

A Real Pain – https://youtu.be/_enAzehioT8?si=dPuADHTKmOduxDqQ

Do check out these videos, and subscribe to my channel if you like what you see.

Thank you for your support as always.

Much love,

Sid