Vadakkan is a horror debut of Sajeed A, scripted by Unni R, that weaves folklore with a modern-day horror story unfolding around the themes of love, loss, and revenge. In production since 2008, the film draws from a large mythological tapestry and pairs it with complex psychological themes, as well as an interplay of gender and caste that is deep-rooted in the Indian fabric. We are seeing a rise of societal issues being reflected through tales of myths and horror in Indian films like Brahmayugam. Vadakkan is a worthy mention in this newly emerging genre that deals with societal horror in its dramatic depiction of a tale of the soil. Vadakkan masterfully intertwines ancient North Malabar folklore with contemporary horror, delivering a chilling narrative that delves into the depths of Dravidian mythology. The film revolves around the story of Raman Perumalayan, a paranormal investigator based in Helsinki who believes that ghosts are born in the gray area where human beings fail to deal with love and loss. Raman is also a paranormal researcher and has a quasi-romantic relationship with his research assistant, Anna. Raman receives a call one day to aid in a murder investigation in Kerala, and among the other victims, there is Ravi Verma—the husband of Raman’s former lover, Megha Nambiar. The deaths took place during the filming of a reality TV show set on an isolated island called Brahmagiri. Although the deaths look like a series of mishaps caused by carbon monoxide poisoning, Megha has reasons to believe that paranormal forces were at play behind her husband’s death.
Raman arrives in Kerala with Anna and initiates an investigation at Brahmagiri, unearthing a mythical entity trapped on the island since the Dravidian Era. Their journey brings them face to face with rituals predating modern history, vengeful spirits with murky motives, and leads them into a world where ancient myths spill out, tearing at the fabric of the modern time-space. The film explores the conflict between ancient rituals and modernity but also finds a thread that binds them together.
Spoilers Ahead
How Does the Reality TV Show Turn Out?
Raman travels from Helsinki with his research assistant Anna to arrive at Megha’s door, to be greeted with an embrace from Megha that bears the unmistakable intimacy of two former lovers with residues in their hearts. Megha introduces Raman to the found footage from the reality TV show that her husband, Ravi Varma, was directing. Ravi’s show is reminiscent of MTV’s Girls’ Night Out—where a group of young girls were dropped at a haunted site for a night, and their experience was televised. Reality shows as such are a modern-day horror format that approaches horror from a real-time perspective, but the film uses it as a trope to reinstate a warning not to trespass into supernatural territory. Ravi Varma brings a group of six young people to a haunted house on Brahmagiri island, an ancient site that was later taken over by the British. Among the six participants, we have P. Narayanan, a cynic who everyone thinks will best the horrors; Meera, an empathetic, spiritual woman; Alina, who is a little skeptical; and Bejoy, with his comical edge. They are to stay in the house for a set period, with cameras documenting their every move. The crew is confident, dismissing local warnings as folklore and superstition. But the show quickly devolves into chaos.
The first task takes place in a room where a British officer killed his wife and two children, but in the larger scheme of things, it remains just a staged horror compared to the sinister threat lying dormant on the island. The reality show capitalizing on its participants’ vulnerabilities is a commodification of trauma and fears. At the same time, the show exploits the local history for thrill, only to be confronted by what they meant to sell. The group discovers a tree with a wooden chamber at its roots, where the ancient Dravidian entity Kunjum’s spirit is trapped. While sacred traditions are turned into entertainment without reverence, Kunjum awakens to eliminate the trespassers.
Soon, things start to go wrong as the contestants and crew members begin experiencing intense psychological breakdowns and even hallucinations. The house seems to respond to their emotional states and turn one against the other. There are eerie visuals of the contestants dying by putting their heads in a microwave, tormented by the spirit, Narayan sitting nonchalantly under the influence of the spirit as a death takes place, and other deaths that go beyond any rational logic. The footage shows anomalies that were not scripted in the show as the horror bleeds into the reality, killing off all crew members, including Ravi Varma. The police ascribe it to carbon monoxide poisoning, as we see embers falling on the crew and participants, and it ends up burning the house down. As Raman and Anna finish watching the footage, the next phase of the film shifts into a different realm of horror that explores the ancient folklore of the soil and the return of a vengeful spiritual entity.
The Myth of Kunjum
Before Raman, Anna, and Megha embark on a journey to the Brahmagiri island, they meet a mythology expert called Ayesha who describes the lore of the Brahmagiri islands. King Kulashekeren, an infamous womanizer, married a beautiful woman called Mukill. However, despite Mukil’s beauty, Kulashekeren was not able to stand with his ‘manhood’ in front of her. On the day of the Theyyam, a ritual act where the lower-caste men dress as conduits for deities, Mukill became intimate with Kunjum, a lower-caste man who was acting as a conduit in the ritual dance. When the two engaged in an act of intimacy, Kunjum was still possessed by the spirit of the goddess—and according to the mythologist, it was the goddess that Mukill was lusting after. The film shows a beautiful montage of ritual dance rich with the cultural palette of Theyyam, after which Kunjum is killed by the King. The mythologist explains that Kunjum’s death was not ordinary—he died, while still possessed by the goddess—in a liminal state that forever bound him to haunt the lands of Brahmagiri in search of revenge. His remains were buried under the tree, in the wooden shrine that the British left intact. It is the same shrine where the boys get attacked while on a task.
Vadakkan makes it clear that it is Kunjum’s ghost who is trying to be reincarnated and take revenge for trespassing into its territory—however, the horror hides a metaphor: Kunjum was a lower-caste man, and untouchability and cruel acts towards the oppressed are a living tradition even as of today. We see Raman asking Megha ‘Nambiar’—a high caste surname—when exactly did she start touching lower-caste men? It is also evident from Megha and Anna’s conversations that Megha could not get married to Raman due to caste issues and their families, after which Raman left the country. When Megha says that Raman did not fight for her, Anna asks her, “You did not fight for him?” As they lead into the island, we are yet to see whether Megha can fight for Raman this time defeating the ghosts of the past.
What Happens in Brahmagiri?
While journeying to Brahmagiri island, the triangular tension can be sensed between Raman, Megha, and Anna. While Raman lies asleep in the backseat, Megha and Anna talk about Megha’s past with Raman. Anna says that Raman is still chasing the ghosts—and by this she not only means supernatural entities but also the ghosts of Raman’s past. While on the island, we see the ancient oral history seep into the skin of our protagonists. It is as if the spirits return to settle their unfinished business of lust, desire, and revenge, but it also reflects the dynamic between the conduits. As seen previously, Raman is still not over Megha—he keeps stalking her profile and gets lost in their shared memories.
In Vadakkan’s ending, the Brahmagiri island becomes the site for a harrowing climax that blends the psychological horror with a sinister revival of ancient deities. The three reach the site and start experiencing strange trances. Megha is possessed by the spirit of Mukill, the ancient goddess spirit that possessed Kunjum, and tries to seduce Raman. Anna is enraged by this and tries to confront Raman, but while outside, she is strangled to death in front of the tree. When Raman checks the camera footage later, he finds out that it was none other than he who had killed Anna. Meanwhile, Megha is tied up since she is thought to be possessed by the spirit of Mukill. Eventually, Kunjum’s spirit possesses Raman, and he starts performing the ancient ritual dance, donning anklets, the body ornament, and a red cloth, just as Kunjum did. His caste identity connects with a lore centuries old, but aching from the same alienation and fate. However, unlike Mukill, and unlike Megha’s past mistakes, Megha steps in this time to take Raman home. She starts the car and takes Raman in while she speaks to Ayesha, the mythology expert, who tells them to leave the island and not worship Kunjum. She adds, if you light a lamp, Kunjum’s spirit will be reincarnated. However, as Megha drives on, we see Raman still possessed by Kunjum’s spirit. As Megha desperately tries to drive off the island, Raman takes control of the steering and drives the car into the water. Megha and Raman drown as the film transcends time and space with surreal visuals. When a person dies, time runs backwards for them, narrates a voice—and we see Raman, almost in a fetal position, lying in the water, as a little boy, dressed alike Raman, picks up his watch. The watch is running in all directions—the boy steals the watch and runs away as Raman lies in the water. The last metaphor, of returning to childhood and perhaps repeating the same life that Raman lived, tells us about the cyclical nature of folklore, oral history, and the return of the oppressed to the surface no matter how much their voices are strangled by society and its cultural hierarchies. As the past returns, ripping apart the bodies of the living, the film refuses a closure—ending instead in a haunting cycle of memory, myth, and rebirth. It joins the emerging canon of Indian societal horror not as an imitation but as a bold reclamation of the soil’s own story—one that bleeds, sings, and refuses to be silenced.
