Avihitham Movie Review:

Senna Hegde’s latest outing, Avihitham, unfolds in Ravaneshwaran, a fictional village in northern Kerala that feels instantly familiar to anyone who has seen his breakout gem, Thinkalazhcha Nishchayam. The rhythms of small-town gossip, fragile male pride, and moral policing once again take centre stage. The filmmaker, who has made Kanhangad his creative home, revisits his trademark terrain with warmth and confidence, though this time the story feels a little less fresh and more contained.

Director: Senna Hegde

Cast: Unni Raj, Renji Kankol, Vineeth Chakyar, Dhanesh Koliyat, Rakesh Ushar, Vrinda Menon, Ammini Chandralayam

Avihitham opens on a quiet night, with unseen men bickering against the backdrop of an unmoving camera. The scene is almost identical to the way Thinkalazhcha Nishchayam began, and it immediately sets the tone for a story driven by conversation, judgement, and half-truths. Prakashan, a jobless villager, sees Vinod, a young neighbour, sneaking into veteran carpenter Madhavan's field to meet a woman under the cover of darkness. The next morning, he confides in Venu, a local tailor who stitches exclusively for women and takes pride in knowing their body measurements by heart.

Venu convinces himself after watching the encounter the next night that the woman must be Nirmala, the daughter-in-law of Madhavan, a veteran carpenter. Though he never sees her face clearly, he insists he can identify her by the height and body measurements of her shadow, an absurd observation that perfectly captures the misplaced confidence and comic self-assurance running through the film’s world.

Driven by overeager certainty and a sense of moral duty, Venu decides to inform Madhavan’s younger son Murali, whose elder brother Mukundan is married to Nirmala. Soon, Murali, his friend Nidheesh, Venu, and Prakashan form a team of self-appointed investigators. They watch, speculate, and analyse, mistaking suspicion for proof. At one point, Prakashan even tries to lip-read a conversation between Vinod and Nirmala, wildly misinterpreting every word.

Senna and his co-writer Ambareesh Kalathera build this world through dialogue rather than incident. The humour is rooted in everyday speech and pauses. The first half is gentle and observant, though at times leisurely paced for its own good. It lacks the kind of madcap unpredictability that made Thinkalazhcha Nishchayam such a delight. Yet, there is something compelling in the way Avihitham captures the community’s growing obsession with a story that is entirely of its own making.

As the gossip deepens, Senna layers in more irony through a simmering family dispute that blurs the line between ownership and morality. What begins as idle curiosity soon grows into a collective obsession, with Murali and his allies determined to expose the supposed affair. The second half unfolds with sharper humour and mounting absurdity, as the men of Ravaneshwaran turn night-time surveillance into a community mission.

Senna stages these scenes with wry precision, letting the fragile male ego drive both the comedy and the tension. When the story reaches its turning point, the payoff is funny and cutting, though the predictability is a drawback, since it feels clear from the start that the suspicions were misplaced. Although Avihitham holds together as a smart satire, its trajectory feels familiar. The film’s rhythm, tone and moral themes echo Senna’s earlier work, and though it lands its commentary on male hypocrisy effectively, it rarely surprises in how it gets there.

In fact, Vipin Atley's Pombalai Orumai, an even smaller Malayalam film released last year, explored a similar idea of uncovering the possibility of an illicit relationship with far more freshness and stylistic daring, even within its shoestring production scale. Compared to that, Avihitham feels safe, polished, and slightly repetitive. Still, there is much to appreciate in Senna’s restraint. His humour arises from pauses and contradictions rather than slapstick. He allows scenes to breathe, giving his characters space to expose themselves through speech and silence. The 100-minute runtime feels apt, keeping the film light even when its subject matter grows heavy with irony.

The entire ensemble cast delivers with ease. Dhanesh Koliyat stands out as the straight-faced Murali, whose seriousness makes his foolishness even funnier. Renji Kankol is impressive as the gossip-loving Prakashan, while Unni Raj captures both the vanity and insecurity of Venu, the tailor who believes he understands women better than they understand themselves. Rakesh Ushar is convincing as the confused husband Mukundan, caught between doubt and silence.

While Vrinda Menon lends Nirmala quiet dignity, Ammini Chandralayam as Nirmala’s mother-in-law Sarojiniyamma steals every scene with her sharp wit and lived-in humour.  The performance resonates most in moments where she captures the quiet exasperation of women, remarking how her husband Madhavan and their sons come and go without notice, assuming the women will always be there to serve. In a standout moment, as Murali leaves the house in the morning, she delivers a perfectly timed quip, asking, “Check out aano?” as if he were leaving a hotel, before adding with a dry bite, “Raathri varunnu, raavile povunnu.” These small moments ground the film’s satire in lived truth, and Ammini’s presence gives the story its most honest and memorable voice, especially in its climax.

In the end, Avihitham is a modest yet engaging satire that observes more than it surprises. It may lack the sparkle of Thinkalazhcha Nishchayam and tread familiar ground in its critique of male morality, but Senna’s control over tone and character keeps it steady and effective. With its dry humour and quiet irony, the film holds a mirror to small-town self-righteousness, showing how easily gossip turns into judgement in the hands of those least fit to make it.