Baramulla, directed by Aditya Suhas Jamble, arrives with the promise of a sombre, atmospheric thriller set against the troubled landscape of Kashmir. The film is anchored by a controlled and compelling performance from Manav Kaul, who brings emotional steadiness to a narrative that blends psychological unease with socio-political tension. While the film occasionally leans on familiar tropes, its mood, pacing and visual language keep it engaging throughout.

An apprehensive beginning that quickly finds its footing

The film starts with the air of a classic haunting thriller—quiet rooms, unsettling silences and a slow-burning sense of dread. But as it introduces the militant insurgency backdrop, one begins to question how these narrative strands will eventually converge. The shift in tone raises initial doubts about the film’s ultimate direction, yet the story steadily weaves its threads together into a cohesive whole.

What elevates Baramulla is not the novelty of its premise but the assurance with which it builds atmosphere. Cinematographer Arnold Fernandes creates visuals drenched in tension, allowing the landscape itself to become a character. The muted palette, fog-laden frames and shadowed interiors lend the film a sense of unease that persists long after specific scenes conclude.

The story: a cop, a valley in fear and a house harbouring secrets

The narrative follows DSP Ridwaan Sayyed (Manav Kaul), who moves to a new home in Baramulla with his wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli) and their two children. The idyllic setting is deceptive. Children in the Valley have been disappearing without a trace, sending waves of fear through the region. Ridwaan begins investigating the disappearances, but his sense of control soon slips as strange events unfold inside his own house—whispers, shadows, and unexplained disturbances that suggest a presence he can neither understand nor ignore.

Parallel to the supernatural undertones is the stark reality of children being radicalised and drawn into militancy. Anti-police sentiment is rising, and the forces find themselves fighting both external threats and internal distrust. The film aligns these two narrative lines—haunting occurrences and the grooming of children—into a commentary on vulnerability, loss and the exploitation of innocence.

Direction and tone: atmosphere over gimmicks

Aditya Suhas Jamble, best known for Article 370 (2024), displays a firm grip over tone. The film relies less on jump scares and more on slow, simmering suspense. This deliberate pacing allows the tension to thicken scene by scene. The first half is especially effective in setting the mood. The house feels alive, Kashmir’s silence feels loaded and the ambient dread feels earned rather than imposed.

The film’s restraint is notable. Instead of over-explaining or forcing explanations, Baramulla lets its setting, characters and environment shape the narrative’s emotional arc. The valley’s shifting moods, its quiet stretches, and its unpredictable storms contribute to the impending sense of unease more effectively than heavy exposition could.

Familiarity in character tropes

Despite its strengths, Baramulla occasionally falls into recognisable Bollywood patterns—most notably the trope of the emotionally scarred policeman. Bollywood thrillers have long been drawn to the image of a police officer burdened by past trauma, and Baramulla continues that tradition. While Manav Kaul brings sincerity to the role, the trope itself feels increasingly overused, reducing some of the emotional impact.

This sense of familiarity, however, never overwhelms the film. The pacing and atmospheric tension compensate for the predictability, keeping the audience invested even when certain character beats feel conventional.

The second half and the buildup to a haunting finale

As the narrative advances into the second half, the film’s confidence becomes more evident. It avoids rushing toward answers, instead allowing the Valley’s natural cadence to inform how the story unfolds. The interplay between the supernatural and the socio-political gains clarity, and the film’s thematic intention sharpens.

The climax delivers the most memorable stretch of the film. It ties the unfolding mystery to the exodus of Kashmiri Pandits—a chapter of history that remains emotionally charged. The final act is unsettling not because of horror tropes but because of the real, painful history it evokes. This intersection of remembrance and dread lingers long after the credits roll.

Performances that carry the film

Manav Kaul’s performance is the backbone of Baramulla. He brings a quiet intensity to DSP Ridwaan, balancing the character’s investigative logic with his growing emotional turmoil. His stillness, expressions and pauses convey more fear and doubt than any dramatic outburst could.

Bhasha Sumbli, as Gulnaar, complements Kaul well. Her performance brings dignity and groundedness to the story, especially during the family’s moments of tension and fear. The chemistry between the characters adds depth to the narrative, making the supernatural occurrences feel personal rather than merely atmospheric.

The supporting cast contributes effectively, allowing the film to maintain a consistent emotional rhythm throughout.

Visuals and sound: essential to the experience

Arnold Fernandes’ cinematography is one of the strongest elements of the film. The camera lingers on empty hallways, solitary roads and distant mountains, amplifying the film’s sense of isolation. The sound design, subtle yet persistent, enhances the haunted mood. The combination creates a world where silence speaks loudly and small sounds punctuate the unease.

A film about fear—both supernatural and real

Baramulla is not just a thriller about inexplicable events; it is also a story about a region shaped by trauma and conflict. The film navigates the overlap between personal fear and collective fear, between what haunts a home and what haunts a land. The real horror in the film emerges not from ghosts but from the realities of children being lost—physically, socially and ideologically.

Verdict

Despite its uneven moments and occasional reliance on familiar tropes, Baramulla remains a gripping experience. It succeeds largely because it trusts atmosphere over spectacle and performance over melodrama. Manav Kaul’s composed portrayal, combined with the director’s assured handling of tone, makes it a film worth watching.

Baramulla may not reinvent the thriller genre, but it delivers a haunting, meditative and well-crafted piece of cinema that acknowledges that real horror often comes not from the supernatural but from the world we inhabit.