What's with Rahul Sadasivan and haunted houses? With every new film, he is mastering the art of spinning compelling narratives around this classic horror cinema trope, which is only elevated by his strong filmmaking sensibilities. We saw that in Bhoothakaalam, where the haunted house is located right in the midst of a bustling city—unlike the usual isolated mansions. Within those cramped spaces and minimal effects, he managed to create a terrifying atmosphere that could send chills down the spine. He next took us to a spooky 17th-century mana, inhabited by a Chathan, where time and heartbeats stood still. With Dies Irae, the centre of action is a villa that screams luxury in every corner. This gives him ample space to play around, but Rahul demonstrates great restraint to not overdo it by sticking to his basics of organically arriving at thrilling moments. It might be something as simple as the curtains moving, the squeak of a door opening, or the flicker of lights, but the mood building is fascinatingly achieved through a combination of precise shot compositions, judicious use of music and sound effects, clever editing choices, and some remarkable performances.

Director: Rahul Sadasivan

Cast: Pranav Mohanlal, Jibin Gopinath, Jaya Kurup, Swathi Das Prabhu

Rating: 4/5

In horror films, we often hear that when someone dies holding deep hatred or unfulfilled desire, their soul never truly leaves this world. Dies Irae is also built on this familiar idea, but with a twist. When Rohan (Pranav Mohanlal), a typical spoilt brat into women and drugs, learns about the suicide of his schoolmate Kani (Sushmitha Bhatt), with whom he had a fling, we get a faint idea of where the film is heading. He says, I “ghosted” her, but we know what's coming. It is reaffirmed in the following scenes when Rohan is tormented by a supernatural entity in his house. But all that is only till Rahul pulls the rabbit out of the hat in a stunning interval block, setting the stage for more twists and tension.

Dies Irae has some of Pranav Mohanlal's finest acting moments yet, partly because the role also suits him perfectly. He is at home as the sophisticated and ubercool Rohan, who hardly ever shows his emotions. Cold and blunt. Even when he suspects a supernatural presence around him, his reactions aren't what we usually see in cinema. There's no screaming or frantic running around. Instead, he looks for practical solutions. He's so determined not to let it get to him that he even goes to the extent of chopping off his hair. There's a measured performance at play even during the terrifying moments, with Shehnad Jalal's camera confidently capturing Pranav's fright in closeups.

In this film with minimal characters, Jibin Gopinath's performance is another revelation. The film opens with him getting a phone call informing him of a death, and you can already see a sense of foreboding in his eyes. His body language and dialogue delivery carry immense weight, suggesting a disturbed mental state. The screenplay never really dumps information at once, but there are some hints about his lineage, connecting to a now-iconic character, which makes the character sketch far more impressive. The decision to cast not-so-familiar faces like Jibin and another female actor works exceptionally well in the film's favour.

While Rahul’s previous films addressed elaborate themes like mental health, oppression, and power structures, Dies Irae is a more personal story touching upon desire, obsession, and the wrath that comes with it. With a strong thematic foundation, Rahul constructs the narrative with his exceptional ability to mine horror out of the ordinary and create an immersive experience. Except for an imaginary jump scare moment, there are very few gimmicks at play. He relies more on the atmosphere, the silences, the shadows, and the tension in the air to evoke fear.

Dies Irae is also a testament to why Rahul prefers collaborating with the same set of technicians. Christo Xavier's music and the sound design and mix by Jayadevan Chakkadath and M R Rajakrishnan, respectively, contribute enormously to building the film's sombre mood. Long stretches of silence are often punctuated by sounds of a ghungroo or the clicking of a hair clip, which rightfully convey the eeriness. A particular sequence, which captures the passage of time and is accompanied by drum beats, shows the director’s command over his craft. Another lasting moment is a casual conversation scene between two guys that suddenly turns bloodcurdling, the effect of which is amplified by sharp cuts and chilling sound effects. It has to be among the most ingeniously creepy moments that a Malayalam filmmaker has ever managed to execute.

Towards the film’s end, we see a clever nod to one of the greatest thrillers of all time, further highlighting the director's Western cinema influence. But even when there are slight detours to unfamiliar trajectories like the concept of Dies Irae and other Biblical references, Rahul ensures the film remains grounded and accessible throughout. For an industry that consistently produces exemplary content, it often baffles why there's a dearth of quality horror films. Rahul's works have been filling that void, and with Dies Irae, he underlines his stature as one of the most distinctive voices in Indian cinema.