My brain is scrambled. Like, actually scrambled. I feel like someone took all my thoughts, put them in a blender with some static and a few old horror movie soundtracks, and hit "liquefy." It’s 2:19 AM and the credits just rolled on *Andhaghaaram* on Netflix and I’m just sitting here in the dark, my laptop screen the only light, and I feel… hollowed out. And confused. So, so confused.
I started it because the title looked cool. "The Darkness." Simple. Intriguing. And Netflix just served it up, easy as you please. I was curled up on my couch, a blanket pulled up to my chin, ready for something to occupy my brain for a couple of hours. I was not prepared for this. This wasn't a movie; this was a three-hour-long anxiety attack that I voluntarily signed up for. I must have paused it a dozen times, just to stare at my wall and ask myself what the hell was even happening.
It starts with these separate stories, right? A blind man who’s afraid of the dark. A librarian with crippling social anxiety. A disgraced cricketer. A kid who sees dead people? I don’t know, I lost track. They’re all floating in their own little bubbles of misery and I’m just watching, thinking, okay, okay, these threads are going to connect. Any minute now. And they do. Eventually. Sort of. I think.
There’s this one image that’s just seared into my mind. The telephone line. Just this simple, black wire stretching from one apartment to another. It looks so mundane, so analog in our digital world. But in this movie, that wire is everything. It’s a lifeline. It’s a curse. It’s a vein pumping pure, unfiltered dread from one person to another. When they first establish it, I was like, "Oh, okay, a plot device." But by the end, that wire felt more real and more menacing than any monster or ghost. It was this physical manifestation of an invisible, malevolent connection. I was literally leaning forward, squinting at my screen, trying to see if there was something *on* the wire. Some kind of weirdness. Of course there wasn't. But my brain was trying to make it make sense.
It reminds me of when I was a kid, maybe ten, and the power went out during a storm. It was pitch black in my house. I mean, *can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face* dark. And I was terrified. I was in my bed, and I could hear things. The house creaking. The wind howling. And my bedroom door was slightly ajar, and I swear, I could hear breathing from the hallway. I knew it was just the wind, or the dog, or my own panicked breathing echoing back at me. But in that moment, it was a monster. It was a presence. My dad finally came in with a flashlight and I felt so stupid, but also so relieved. *Andhaghaaram* feels like being stuck in that dark room for three hours, but the flashlight never comes. The breathing just gets closer. Anyway.
The way the sound design works on Netflix with headphones is just… brutal. The silence is so loud. In the library, with Selvam, you can hear every footstep, every rustle of a page, every stuttered breath. It’s so intimate and so claustrophobic. I kept taking my headphones off, just to make sure there wasn't actually someone in my apartment. The viewing experience is key here. I don't think this would work in a cinema with a crowd. You need to be alone. You need the isolation of your own home to truly feel the isolation of the characters. My couch became a prison of soft cushions and mounting dread.
I thought I loved how complex it was. I really did. I was patting myself on the back for keeping up with all the plot threads, for piecing together the timeline. But now that I'm trying to write it all down… was it actually just… convoluted? Was it clever, or was it just a mess that *pretends* to be clever? I thought the final reveal was a mind-bender, but now I'm questioning if it even makes sense. Did I love it, or did I just love the *feeling* of understanding something so complicated? I don't know. My brain is too tired to do the math.
And the blind guy, Vinod. His whole arc is just… wow. The way his relationship with darkness evolves. At first, he's terrified of it. Then he embraces it. Then he *becomes* it. There’s this scene where he’s just sitting in his perfectly dark room, a smile on his face, completely at peace. And it’s the most terrifying thing in the entire movie. I physically shuddered. It was a complete inversion of everything you’d expect. It was brilliant. I think. Maybe.
Honestly, I feel like I need to watch it again. But I also feel like I never want to think about it again. It’s the kind of movie that gets under your skin and just… lives there. It’s not a jump-scare horror movie. It’s a slow-burn psychological infection. The title isn't just a word; it's the subject of the entire film. The darkness isn't the absence of light; it's a character. It's a force. And it just won.
So yeah. I watched it at home. In the dark. On Netflix. And now I feel like my own apartment is full of shadows I didn't notice before. I keep looking over my shoulder. My heart is still beating a little too fast. The "Are you still watching?" popup felt like a genuine threat. I need to watch something dumb now. Like a video of a cat playing a tiny piano. I need to cleanse my palate with pure, unadulterated nonsense.
Okay. I'm done. My brain hurts.
8/10. - solid
-Ishaan