Dies Irae Movie Review: Pranav Mohanlal in a Never-Seen-Before Horror Avatar

Image Source- BookMyShow

From the very first trailer, Dies Irae felt like more than just another horror film; it felt like a promise. As soon as I heard the title (Latin for “Day of Wrath”) and saw Pranav Mohanlal taking the lead under director Rahul Sadasivan, I knew we were in for something chilling. Sadasivan’s previous works, like Bhoothakalam and Bramayugam, hinted at a filmmaker unafraid of darkness and discomfort, and with this film releasing right in Halloween week, the stakes couldn’t be higher. I walked into the screening expecting to be disturbed, and Dies Irae didn’t disappoint. This isn’t the kind of horror that jumps at you; it breathes down your neck slowly, tightening its grip one frame at a time. Dies Irae is haunting, meditative, and deeply psychological, a film that proves Malayalam horror can be both intelligent and terrifying.

The Story That Haunts You After the Lights Go Out

Rohan (Pranav Mohanlal) is the kind of guy you’d call a spoiled brat, wealthy, arrogant, and emotionally detached from the world around him. While his parents live in Dubai, he spends his days alone in their sprawling Kochi mansion, hosting parties, wasting nights, and brushing off people like they’re replaceable. Everything about his life screams privilege and emptiness until one night, that illusion starts to crack.

News breaks that his classmate, Kani (Sushmita Bhatt), has died by suicide. To most, it’s a tragedy; to Rohan, it’s just another passing headline, or at least that’s how he wants it to seem. But what the film does brilliantly is show that Kani wasn’t just another classmate. She was his brief fling, one he’d treated with the same careless apathy that defines his life. As he visits her house with a friend, he meets her grieving parents, her unsure brother Kiran (Arun Ajikumar), and their uneasy neighbor Madhu (Jibin Gopinath), whose intuition tells him that something about this death isn’t natural.

In a subtle yet haunting moment, Rohan picks up a small tic tac (hairpin) from Kani’s room, almost like a token, or maybe a guilty reminder. That night, as he tries to sleep, a strange wind brushes across his face. Moments later, he hears the faint jingle of chilanga, the anklet used in classical dance. The air feels heavier, whispers echo through the silence, and the walls of his empty house start to breathe with secrets he’s not ready to face. This eerie experience continues for another night, leaving him sleepless and slowly unraveling between fear and denial.

Desperate and terrified, Rohan reaches out to Madhu, describing the bizarre occurrences that refuse to leave him alone. What begins as skepticism slowly turns into shared fear as the two try to make sense of what’s haunting him or perhaps, who. Each passing scene tightens the tension like a noose, with moments so unnervingly quiet that even a heartbeat feels loud. And by the time the chilling final frame rolls in, Dies Irae doesn’t just end, it lingers, leaving you questioning whether Rohan was truly haunted by a spirit or by the ghost of his own guilt.

Faces Behind the Fear

Pranav Mohanlal as Rohan delivers one of his most compelling performances yet. He nails the arrogance of a spoiled, emotionally detached rich kid who thinks nothing can touch him until something does. Pranav brings an eerie restraint to Rohan’s unraveling, making every flicker of fear, guilt, and disbelief feel real. It’s a role that needed subtlety, and he delivers that with quiet precision.

Jibin Gopinath as Madhu stands out as the film’s emotional anchor, the one person who feels grounded amidst the chaos. His calm, almost clinical approach to the supernatural adds credibility to Rohan’s descent. Jibin gives Madhu a gravitas that keeps the story from tipping into melodrama.

Arun Ajikumar as Kiran, Kani’s conflicted brother, carries the pain of loss in silence. His scenes have a raw, almost haunting stillness that mirrors the film’s core theme of grief that never really dies. Arun’s performance is understated yet deeply affecting, especially in the moments where he’s caught between logic and fear.

Sushmita Bhatt as Kani may not have much screen time, but her presence is felt throughout the film. She haunts not just Rohan’s conscience, but also the atmosphere itself. Even in flashbacks or eerie glimpses, Sushmita leaves a mark that stays with you long after.

And then there’s Jaya Kurup as Elsamma, the film’s biggest surprise package. What initially seems like a simple, almost invisible house help slowly turns into one of the most crucial characters in Dies Irae. She brings a quiet sharpness to the screen, observing, calculating, and always one step ahead of what’s unfolding. By the time the truth behind her presence comes to light, Jaya Kurup proves why she’s one of the film’s strongest performers. Her portrayal is subtle, layered, and unforgettable, a performance that lingers long after the credits roll.

The Craft of Fear: Direction, Visuals & Sound

Sadasivan’s direction is a masterclass in slow-burning horror. He doesn’t rush to scare you; he lets dread seep into every frame, building tension one breath at a time. What stands out is his ability to balance supernatural chills with human emptiness. Much like his previous works, Bramayugam and Bhoothakalam, this film thrives on atmosphere more than jump scares. Every creak of a door, every silence stretched too long, feels intentional like a warning you can’t quite decipher. His storytelling has matured; it’s not about ghosts hiding in shadows anymore, it’s about the ghosts we carry within.

Cinematographer Shehnad Jalal deserves credit for turning everyday spaces into nightmares. The film’s visual language is haunting, with muted palettes, dim corridors, and long, unbroken takes that keep your nerves on edge. Kochi has never looked this unsettling. The play of light and darkness becomes its own character, whispering secrets before the script does. You can sense the careful thought behind each frame, where even the stillness feels alive.

And then there’s the music by Christo Xavier, eerie, minimal, and completely in sync with the tone of the film. The use of silence is particularly brilliant; it’s as if the soundtrack itself is holding its breath, waiting for the next moment of terror. The faint hums, distorted echoes, and that recurring sound of chilanga (the anklet) are what make Dies Irae truly spine-chilling. It’s a sound that crawls under your skin, the kind you still hear when everything else goes quiet.

Final Verdict: The Haunting Afterthought

Dies Irae isn’t a film that screams horror; it whispers it and somehow, that’s far more terrifying. It’s a slow, immersive descent into guilt, grief, and the supernatural one that makes you question where the real haunting begins. Pranav Mohanlal gives one of his most restrained and layered performances, and Sadasivan once again proves that horror doesn’t need to shout to shake you. The pacing may not be for everyone, but if you’re patient, the payoff is deeply unsettling. The film is a visual and emotional intricacy; every corner you turn hides something you’re not ready to see. And that climax? It surely hints at more spooky, spine-chilling moments in the next part, and honestly, I can’t wait to see what happens next with Rohan.

By the way, if you’re into grounded film thoughts, underrated thriller picks, or just plain honest recommendations, I’m over on Instagram:@bingewatch_perspective.  That’s where I post quick recaps, hot takes, and those offbeat gems you might’ve missed.

P.S. If you missed my Halloween Spine-Chillers List, go check it out here; it’s packed with the creepiest new horror releases you shouldn’t have skipped this October.

💌 Enjoyed the post?
👉 Don’t miss out—hit Follow or Subscribe to stay updated with weekly movie reviews and watchlists!