Mahdi Ahmed

There’s something quietly powerful about a film that doesn’t beg for your attention. Thudarum, directed by Tharun Moorthy, isn’t trying to be loud. It doesn’t explode with plot twists or shout with background scores. Instead, it breathes. It lingers. It invites you in.

At the center of this stillness is Mohanlal, playing Shanmughan—a humble taxi driver from Ranni, known lovingly as “Benz.” Not because he owns a luxury car, but because he drives a lovingly preserved vintage Ambassador. Like the car, Shanmughan is solid, graceful, and full of unspoken stories. That small detail says everything without ever spelling it out.

And then there’s George.

If Shanmughan is a smoulder waiting to flare, George is ice in human form. Played with unnerving calm by newcomer Prakash Varma, George is the kind of villain who never yells. He doesn’t need to. His stillness is menacing. His smile? It chills the spine. Every time he appears on screen, the temperature drops just a bit.

The plot—on paper—is familiar: guilt, justice, a slow-burning sense of revenge. But in Tharun Moorthy’s hands, it becomes something far more personal. This isn’t just a story being told; it’s one being remembered.

What truly stands out is how the film weaves in nostalgia. Old Malayalam songs aren’t just there for aesthetic—they carry memory. They haunt. They heal. They act as bookmarks in Shanmughan’s emotional journey. For older audiences, these tunes will hit like waves of memory; for younger ones, they may spark curiosity.

Visually, Thudarum is pure mood. The sleepy lanes of Ranni, the warm glow of late afternoons, the shadowy corners of quiet homes—everything is framed with purpose by cinematographer Shaji Kumar. And Jakes Bejoy’s background score? It whispers, it doesn’t scream. It holds the film’s emotional weight without ever tipping the balance.

This isn’t a film for those looking for speed. Thudarum walks. Slowly. But that’s exactly the point.

You’re meant to feel the silence. To sit with the characters. To live in their moments.

Watch it for Mohanlal’s haunting restraint.
Watch it for George’s bone-deep chill.
Watch it because every old song carries a ghost.
And because Malayalam cinema, at its best, doesn’t shout. It whispers—and that whisper can be thunderous.

P.S. If this really is Prakash Varma’s debut, we’ve just met one of the most chilling new faces in Malayalam cinema. What a start.