Bandook Movie Review:
Director Mahesh Ravikumar’s Bandook is a haunting rural crime drama that tries to go beyond standard genre conventions. It explores the deep emotional damage left by violence, especially the kind that affects the young. Set in a remote village, the film contrasts beautiful visuals with deep emotional emptiness. While the aim is admirable, the execution often struggles under its own ambition.
Mitra (Partha K) appears as a confident, street-smart young man involved in illegal arms deals. He trades with criminals over old guns and promises quick delivery, suggesting connections from Mangaluru to Bombay. However, Mitra’s true journey is much deeper — it’s one of personal reckoning. As the story unfolds, we realise he isn’t just part of the crime world; he’s Vishwamitra, an orphaned survivor of abuse who is now seeking vengeance for his childhood trauma.
Director: Mahesh Ravikumar
Cast: Gopalkrishna Deshpande, Balaji Manohar, Partha K, Shwetha Prasad
The twist that Mitra is Vishwamitra adds a heavy layer to the story. The murders that scatter the plot—masked, dramatic, and brutal—are not random. Each killing is a confrontation, a hidden message intended to reveal the corruption within the very systems that let him down. The Joker-like mask, the clues, and the deliberate violence are his means of regaining power from those who once took it away. He occupies the dual role of victim and avenger.
The film builds its tension not around “who” the killer is but “why” the killings occur. This psychological examination is captivating but gets undermined by excessive violence. Scenes filled with mutilated bodies, blood-covered walls, and ritualistic killings quickly lose their impact due to the sheer quantity. The repetition dulls rather than shocks.
In contrast, a surprising emotional thread quietly runs in the background, a teenage romance told through flashbacks that appear after each major crime. Initially feeling misplaced, it eventually becomes the delicate heart of Bandook. The glances, silences, and youthful dreams of escape serve as a counterbalance to the film’s darkness, offering moments of tenderness amid a harsh reality.
At the same time, we track Rudra (Balaji Manohar), a grieving father whose past loss and present pain spill into his professional life. His wife Roopa (Shwetha Prasad), a dedicated police officer, discovers a mysterious book written by a blind man. It has 144 unpublished chapters, each predicting a crime. However, before she can share what she knows, she becomes a victim herself, forcing Rudra into a personal investigation filled with sorrow and anger.
The film also shows a group of teenage boys at an Advaith ashram where one dreams of love, while another seeks revenge. Their innocence is swiftly swallowed by a world that allows no space for either. These moments highlight the film’s central message: violence isn’t innate; it’s handed down, shaped by neglect and silence.
On a technical level, Bandook has powerful moments. The cinematography is striking, using the natural landscape and rivers. The sound design is minimal, letting quiet tension develop naturally. However, the editing is inconsistent with sudden cuts, jarring tonal shifts, and slow transitions between genres that weaken the emotional flow.
In terms of performance, Raghav is satisfactory as Mitra/Vishwamitra, but the emotional depth comes from supporting characters. Balaji Manohar provides a restrained yet poignant portrayal of Rudra, while Shwetha Prasad is sharp and grounded in her limited screen time. Gopal Krishna Deshpande has a compelling presence but is unfortunately underused.
Bandook is not an easy film to watch. It is messy, uneven, and at times overly self-aware. Still, it bravely reveals the psychological space behind the barrel of a gun, where memory, pain, and anger collide. Its scars feel authentic. For those willing to look beyond the blood and violence, it presents a grim, though flawed, image of a generation marked by wounds few want to acknowledge.