The response has been overwhelming and far more than we expected. It is not just positive comments; many viewers are actually revisiting the film. Only yesterday, someone told me they were watching it for the third time. That level of enthusiasm is truly encouraging. I even receive calls as late as 3 am from viewers who want to share their love for the film.

Initially, we struggled to find a suitable Malayalam title, so we shifted our attention to possible English titles, although those are not always readily accepted. Films like Dies Irae are an exception, but such choices are not generally the norm. Still, we wanted something interesting, something that would spark curiosity when the title was revealed. I had prepared a list of 10 to 15 names.

When I came up with Eko, I shared it with Bahul. I also researched the word and found that it carried several layers of meaning: strength, newborn, and, of course, “echo” or prathidhwani in Malayalam. In some languages, it is even written as eko with a diacritical straight line above the “o”. Although prathidhwani is the Malayalam term, we often use the English word “echo” in everyday conversations. Both Bahul and I felt that the title offered local relevance as well as international appeal, while remaining true to the core of the film. The producer and the team liked it immediately, so we finalised it.

Yes. I had read Eko even before we began shooting Kishkindha Kaandam, but we were not ready to make it then. We wanted to approach it with more clarity and did not want to rush. Sandeep was not someone we had initially considered for Piyoos. After Kishkindha Kaandam was completed and received well, our confidence changed. Attempting Eko earlier would have meant compromises, especially in casting. At one point, we even considered rewriting the script for an older actor rather than someone in the 25 to 27 age range, but that would have changed the story’s perspective. Once everything aligned, we returned to the original draft.

When we revisited the script, Sandeep was the first person who came to mind for that age bracket. I had noticed his timing and screen presence earlier, particularly during the time of Falimy, and he fit the character perfectly. Our concern, though, was whether the producers would agree. Initially, a friend and I considered producing the film ourselves, but we later realised that handling both the creative and production responsibilities would place us in a difficult position. That was when Jhayaram from Arathiya Studios stepped in. He is also a relative of mine and placed complete trust in me, which gave us enormous creative freedom.

Bahul’s scripts always draw me in straightaway from the very beginning. His character placements, the directions they take, and the actions they perform are unusual and refreshing. The first jeep sequence after the prologue, for instance, felt completely new to me. The doctor arriving to treat Mlaathi chedathi, and the way the scene unfolds around Appootty’s character, created an immediate sense of intrigue that I had not encountered before.

Although we do not specify the exact year in which the narrative takes place, the period setting naturally prompts the viewer to imagine how things might have been at that time. The dog’s presence was another striking element. We have seen dogs in films, but they are rarely used in this way. The entire idea of Eko felt fresh for Malayalam cinema and, in fact, distinctive even on an international level.

That is something Bahul consistently brings into his writing. Even the briefest lines are loaded with intention, and when I first read certain dialogues, I knew they would resonate deeply with viewers. The way the script touches on ideas such as “restriction” and “protection” made it clear that these themes would prompt conversation once the film was out. Seeing audiences engage with those layers now, without us having to highlight them openly, is genuinely rewarding.

I am an artist as well, and I had my own visualisation. But what we achieved on set felt like a 200-per-cent success. Our art director Sajeesh (Thamarassery) played a major part in that. Some of the set designs went far beyond what I had imagined.

For the house in the Malaysian flashback, we had initially given a basic interior layout, and he developed it into his own interpretation. We were clearer about the exterior, based on references of an area filled with water and a narrow road, so we laid sand and stones to recreate the terrain authentically.

When I finally saw the completed set, I was astonished. Inside the house, the elevated cooking area and the steps leading to the bed were entirely Sajeesh’s ideas. Those asymmetrical details were not in my mind at all. These touches helped the film stand out visually, and Bahul’s camerawork lifted everything even further.

It was built in Kanjar, Idukki. The area had hills along the roadside, and we used one of them. It is now known as Mlaathimala. The house was constructed entirely for the film, and every tree you see in that region was placed by the art team; none of it existed naturally. We built the entire structure from the ground up, including the steps and the surrounding terrain. Because the location was very windy, we had to reinforce the construction properly, particularly the upper section, and we realised this only after the initial build. Without those reinforcements, the set could easily have been damaged or blown away. It was Sajeesh who insisted on creating a proper foundation and strengthening the roof area, and his foresight proved absolutely right.

From the beginning, we decided not to mention a specific year. Once a year is shown, the audience become more conscious of accuracy, and the film gets tied to historical precision, which we wanted to avoid. The clothes, vehicles and overall design offer enough cues to suggest a period setting somewhere around the late seventies or early eighties, without fixing it to a particular decade.

We knew we needed a specific breed of dog, something close to Malaysian breeds but with a consistent colour pattern for continuity. Using dogs with different markings is risky because replacements will not match. We found breeders through our trainer, Jijesh bhai, who had worked on Valatty. One of my assistant directors travelled to research the breed. From around forty dogs, we shortlisted ten. They had to be between one and one and a half years old, which meant old enough to train but not too young.

Jijesh trained them for aggression and for the specific movements we required, using masks and rubber toys to provoke genuine irritation and achieve the reactions we needed. Not every dog could perform every action, so we selected those best suited for running or jumping. Most of the spectacular jumps you see were done by just two dogs. Jijesh’s methods made the entire process far smoother than we had anticipated.

Yes. That intensity is one of the reasons I fell in love with the script. The parallels between human behaviour and animal instincts make the film richer. I’ve had many pets at home. My last pet died suddenly about a year ago, and it affected all of us deeply, especially my mother. I get emotional very easily around animals; even standing next to a dog can move me. I feel a strong personal connection with them, and that emotional bond definitely influenced how I approached the canine elements in the film.

I never viewed Kuriachan as an outright villain. He is a pet lover, which already reveals something about his capacity for compassion. When he kills the dogs out of desperation, he does it only because he feels he has no other choice, and he is devastated afterwards. His actions also come from a place of affection towards Mlaathi chedathi. He certainly has a lustful side, but there is also a sense of love somewhere in his mind, which makes him far more layered.

His decisions unintentionally turn many people against him, which makes him appear to some as an antagonist, but he is not inherently negative. Maintaining that balance was very important to me. We wanted an actor who was unfamiliar to the regional audience, someone who would not bring preconceived associations. That is why we chose Saurabh (Sachdev). A familiar face might have made the character feel weaker or more predictable.

I told him everything about Kuriachan’s past and way of life. I gave him a detailed backstory. What I did not explain was the mysterious aspect, the part that should remain unknown even to Kuriachan himself. His experience as an acting trainer also helped him shape that internal world effectively.

Biana Momin is a teacher and not a trained actor, with only a short film to her credit, though she was deeply passionate about acting. What first caught my attention was her natural expression in the very first photograph I saw of her. Christo Tomy, the director of Ullozhukku, sent me her photo, and I immediately felt she was right for Mlaathi chedathi. I then sent it to Bahul, and he shared the same impression. We had been searching for North-East Indian actors because we needed a specific look, and many of those we auditioned spoke only their tribal language.

Biana came in on the final day, and her presence convinced us. Her performance was shaped through intensive training. Anjali (Satyanath), our acting coach, worked tirelessly with her. Biana was extraordinarily energetic throughout the shoot. She never complained or showed signs of fatigue, even in difficult weather conditions. We were genuinely fortunate to have her in the film.

Yes, we planned that transformation very carefully. We wanted the fight to appear wild and unpolished, similar to the way a dog attacks. It was also quite risky. The water sequence in particular was dangerous because it was not a controlled environment. We used a rope for safety, and that rope was the only element erased through CG. Everything else was done practically.

Yes, the details remained the same as in the script. My original visualisation was limited by production constraints, but once we saw the actual location, the shot grew far beyond what I had imagined. I even had a rough sketch in mind before we built the set. Nothing significant changed in the edit.

Not really, except that we initially had an argument about one of the key revealing shots in the end. It was originally conceived with more conclusive detailing, but Bahul insisted that we should remove the whole visual itself entirely. My editor and I felt strongly that it needed to stay, because leaving it out might confuse or unsettle audiences who had travelled with the film up to that point. Eventually, we reached a middle ground where the visual remains, but without that certain specific detailing. Leaving it out completely would have been a risk.