Mandala Murders Review: A Grim, Unsettling Puzzle That’s More Than Just a Crime Story
We’ve all seen murder mysteries before. The cop chases clues, the killer stays a step ahead, and we get that final gotcha moment. But Mandala Murders, now streaming on Netflix, isn’t just trying to solve a crime; it wants to haunt you a little. It doesn’t rush. It doesn’t shout. It creeps in. This isn’t your usual fast-paced thriller; this one is all about dread, silence, and the weight of everything people don’t say out loud.
Created by Gopi Puthran (of Mardaani 2 fame), the show wraps its central mystery in layers of history, myth, and memory. It plays out like a psychological slow dance, unfolding in pieces that don’t quite make sense at first but hit hard when they do. If you’re into shows that rely on atmosphere and character more than jump scares or chase scenes, Mandala Murders might just be your kind of unsettling.
Plot: A City Cloaked in Fog, Secrets, and Symbolic Deaths
Set in an unnamed North Indian town drowning in gloom, the story begins with a gruesome killing. The victim isn’t random, and the murder scene is marked with a mysterious Mandala symbol drawn in blood. The press coins it “the Mandala murder,” and just like that, a series of deaths begins to unravel a much deeper mystery.
Enter Rea Thomas (Vaani Kapoor), a calm but sharp CIB officer recently transferred to the town. She’s joined by Sub-Inspector Riddhi (Vaibhav Raj Gupta), who clearly has his own unresolved baggage. What starts as a single murder quickly snowballs into a pattern, each crime stranger and more ritualistic than the last. As the duo digs deeper, the crimes start pointing to something older than revenge or personal vendetta. The town’s secrets aren’t just dark, they’re embedded in symbols, ideology, and disturbing belief systems.
While the narrative mostly stays gripping, a couple of reveals along the way do feel somewhat telegraphed, especially for viewers familiar with the genre. But that doesn’t dilute the emotional or thematic impact. Because Mandala Murders isn’t just about solving a case. It’s about confronting guilt, institutional rot, and the parts of ourselves we’d rather not remember. There’s no clean resolution here. Just a slow peeling back of truth, and the aching question of what to do once it’s finally exposed.
Direction and Screenplay: Raw and Real, More Story Than Style
Gopi Puthran approaches Mandala Murders with restraint and a near-total rejection of formula. This isn’t a series about cop swagger or villain showdowns. Instead, it’s a mood piece that leans into silence, atmosphere, and emotional pressure. The camera lingers. The dialogue simmers. You often feel like you’re eavesdropping on grief rather than watching a performance.
The screenplay spirals inward, and the pacing mirrors that intention. It’s slow sometimes, achingly so, but purposefully so. This might test the patience of viewers expecting a snappy thriller. But if you’re someone who doesn’t mind sitting with the discomfort, the ambiguity, and the emotional weight, the payoff feels earned.
Even though the violence is handled with a kind of philosophical detachment, it’s there, it’s disturbing, but never gratuitous. There are no big speeches. No punchy lines for Twitter. Just quiet exchanges, long pauses, and characters who barely hold it together. That’s what makes it work. It feels real. Wounded. And deeply unresolved, much like the world it’s reflecting.
Performances: Poised, Painful, and Fully Human
Vaani Kapoor truly surprises in Mandala Murders. As Rea Thomas, she avoids theatrics and leans into quiet intensity. Her performance is built on small, deliberate choices, whether she’s shielding a child in an ambulance standoff or confronting buried trauma on a foggy bridge. This isn’t a role that demands volume; it demands control. And Vaani brings just that.
Vaibhav Raj Gupta delivers a haunting, understated turn as Riddhi, a cop haunted by past guilt and personal tragedy. He doesn’t act out his pain; he contains it, letting it surface in silences, nervous glances, and one or two devastating breakdowns. His dynamic with Vaani is never romanticized, yet deeply resonant, two fractured people navigating systemic decay.
Surveen Chawla steps into the shoes of a cunning local political figure with conviction. She’s commanding, especially in scenes where persuasion is her weapon. While her accent does feel slightly affected in parts, it doesn't overshadow the weight she brings to her character’s machinations.
Shriya Pilgaonkar, mostly seen in flashbacks, adds an emotional layer to the mystery. Jameel Khan is eerie as a Mandala-obsessed intellectual whose worldview sends shivers. Manu Rishi Chadha and Raghubir Yadav offer grounded gravitas, while Aakash Dahiya, Rahul Bhagga, and Siddhanth Kapoor bring quiet intensity to their brief roles. This isn’t a show riding on star power; it thrives on layered, lived-in performances across the board.
Background Score and Sound Design: An Unsettling Sound That Says More with Less
If you're someone who notices background music, Mandala Murders is going to hit a very specific nerve. It doesn’t rely on orchestral swells or dramatic sonic cues; instead, it chooses restraint. The score is almost invisible: ambient drones, low-frequency hums, and ritualistic chants creep in at just the right moments, making every alley feel like a tomb and every interrogation feel like a prayer.
There’s something sacred and unsettling about this sound design. It doesn’t try to lead your emotions; it just lingers in the shadows of a scene. The alignment of sound with the show’s mythological and psychological themes is uncanny. And when the score goes silent? That’s when the series is at its most unnerving. A shuffled footstep, the creak of an old fan, or the clink of handcuffs becomes louder than any background track could be.
It's not just sound design, it’s sonic storytelling. The music here doesn’t just set a tone. It deepens the mystery. It whispers the questions no one wants to ask aloud.
Final Verdict: A Tense, Thoughtful Thriller That Earns Its Stillness
Mandala Murders isn’t for everyone, and that’s okay. It doesn’t try to be a crowd-pleaser. It doesn’t promise non-stop thrills or shocking reveals. What it does offer is something deeper: a space to reflect, to feel, and to confront parts of ourselves that crime dramas rarely touch.
If you're someone who appreciates stories that unfold like emotional puzzles, where the real tension is internal and the payoff is more spiritual than dramatic, give this one your time. It’s not perfect, but it lingers, and that’s more than you can say about most shows.
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