Vritta Movie Review: A survival thriller with no exit

“Until you leave fear, fear won’t leave you.” It isn’t just a line—it’s the noose tightening around Siddharth’s (Mahir Muhiyuddin) existence. Vritta doesn’t begin with a bang. It begins with a tremble. A boy, alone. Shivering. Then cut to a man, older but no less lost—Siddharth. A son his father resents, a man his mother still tries to save with silence. He has a past, but the film doesn’t stop to explain it.

Instead, Siddharth is always on the move—driving, calling, borrowing—but going nowhere. A phone lights his face. A cigarette burns slow. Fear lingers like an unwanted passenger. He seeks a ₹30 lakh loan. Appa calls repeatedly; Siddharth never answers. He’s told to drive to Pushpagiri, and the road ahead begins to twist.

Susmita (Chaithra Achar) calls. She’s pregnant. He’s the father. A wrong turn. A forest. An accident. No escape. Vritta—meaning "circle"—is exactly that: a loop of helplessness and dread.

Director: Likith Kumar

Cast: Mahir Muhiyuddin, Harini Sundarrajan, Chaitra Achar, Srinivas Prabhu, Shashikala, Master Anurag

The film spirals, not escalates. Each scene draws us closer into Siddharth’s unravelling mind. There are no clear backstories, no neat expositions. Director-writer Likith Kumar wants us to feel, not follow, to survive, not solve. Siddharth isn’t navigating external enemies—he’s confronting his own fractured self. The night outside mirrors the one within.

Mahir Muhiyuddin shoulders the film as Siddharth—not a hero, not even an anti-hero, just a man imploding. There’s a stiffness in Mahir’s body language that works—it reflects Siddharth’s mental freeze. Even his tears feel restrained. His scenes with Susmita lack warmth. His silences with Appa are louder than words.

Priya (Harini Sundarrajan)—the ex—is another ghost in Siddharth’s orbit, now spinning too far to matter, and told in flashback. But Vritta isn’t chasing closure. These fragments—voices, pasts, regrets—float in and out like passing headlights.

Gowtham Krishna’s cinematography amplifies the tension. The darkness isn’t just visual—it’s emotional. Forest sequences are particularly unsettling, with a stillness that makes the silences scream. Antony MG and Hari Krishanth’s music pulses like a second heartbeat—unobtrusive, yet ever-present.

The writing is intentionally cryptic. We don’t know why Siddharth needs the money, who he owes, or how deep the damage runs. Even Susmita remains more a voice than a character. But these aren’t oversights—they’re choices. Vritta is not interested in closure. It’s an experience, not a puzzle.

There’s a disoriented rhythm that never quite resolves. While the story moves forward, the emotional experience is circular—just like its title.

Among the rest of the cast, Master Anurag makes a brief impression. Harini Sundarrajan, Shashikala, and Chaitra Achar drift through like shadows, which suits a film where Siddharth is the centre and everyone else simply fades.

Vritta isn’t made for comfort. It doesn’t entertain—it confronts. Its thrills come not from action but from silence. You keep expecting something to happen; what happens instead is the slow burial of hope.

It’s not for everyone. It wasn’t meant to be. But for those who can sit through the quiet horror of being trapped within oneself, Vritta offers a rare kind of survival thriller—one with no map, no end, and no escape. Only the circle.