Kamal Sridevi Movie Review: A relentless woman-driven suspense thriller

The title Kamal Sridevi raises eyebrows, but the film doesn’t revolve around the cinematic legends. The story begins with a woman found dead amid the chaos of Kalasipalya, drawing attention to the neon-flecked MM Lodge, a place ruled by shadows and whispers. From the first frame, Kamal Sridevi avoids the usual whodunit format. Rakesh (Kishore), the investigator, acts less like a detective and more as a medium for the city’s voice, uncovering testimonies filled with desire, guilt, and omission. His character is more like a page-turner. The story breaks into seven perspectives and seven intimate revelations. Each one reflects survival in a city that hardly notices the lives it destroys. There is no closure here, only corrosion.

Director: Sunil Kumar VA

Cast: Sangeetha Bhat, Sachin Cheluvarayaswamy, Kishore, Ramesh Indira, Mithra, Umesh, Akshatha Bopaiah, and Raghu Shivamoga

At the centre of this restless spiral is Devika (Sangeetha Bhat), a woman reduced by circumstance to a slot, a shadow, a body. Yet the film avoids simplification. Devika negotiates her own survival. The subtle line between choice and compulsion, survival and desire, shapes the film’s moral weight. This is a woman-driven narrative that doesn’t glorify its subject; it observes, listens, and waits. Director VA Sunil Kumar structures the film like a double helix. One strand moves through the police station and the other winds through MM Lodge. Bengaluru’s lively market, dark alleys, and neon lodges are not just backdrops; they are part of a morally fluid ecosystem where every corner reflects a piece of truth as it leaves viewers to navigate ambiguity and sense the city’s rhythm, reflecting the desperate, survival-driven lives it depicts. Performances ground this uneasy terrain. Sangeetha Bhat, in this woman-driven narrative, gives a layered, fearless portrayal of Devika. Her boldness hides fragility, showing a middle-class woman trapped by the indifference of the city and familial pressures. She embodies Devika and Sridevi so naturally that we witness the negotiation of survival in a society that commodifies women. Kishore, as Rakesh, is the steady anchor, observing and conveying a significant message in every exchange with the suspects.

Sachin Cheluvarayaswamy fits into the role of Kamal, a failed director whose motives crumble under scrutiny. His dual role as suspect and witness highlights that not everyone coming through the lodge shares the same hunger. Ramesh Indira’s Maamu steals scenes with sly humour and body language that convey deep meaning, suggesting that those who broker survival often understand humanity better than those who exploit it. The supporting cast that includes Raghu Shivamogga, Mithra as Swamiji, a young student played by Praveen Jain, a lesbian character played by Akshatha Bopaiah with her own story, and senior actor Umesh, an elderly security guard seeking vitality, completes a city full of contradictions, where the ordinary and the marginalised meet with haunting intimacy. The film takes its time, allowing tension and empathy to coexist. It shows survival without sensationalism. Even in its calmest moments, the story makes you think rather than just watch, exploring desperation and the fine line between choice and necessity.

Rajavardan’s role as the creative head has come in handy, especially in terms of story development, casting, location selection, and the overall shaping of the film. The cinematography (Nagesh Acharya) captures the city’s claustrophobia and unpredictability, being handheld and intrusive, keeping viewers close to its inhabitants. Editing (Jnanesh B Matad) aligns with the timeline. The music (Keerthan) pulses like an anxious heartbeat, varying between sharp and subdued, enhancing the moral confusion. Dialogue is crisp without being dramatic. Maamu’s line, “Everyone here switches off the light; I am the only one who keeps it on,” summarises the survival economy of the MM Lodge, where bodies are commodities. Yet the film’s success lies in its refusal to provide closure. The main question is never simply who killed her? Rather, who benefits from her death? Justice becomes about controlling the story, truth is treated like a commodity, and memory is a battlefield. The film shows that society’s indifference can be as harmful as intentional malevolence.

Kamal Sridevi matters because it rejects comfort. Devika is not just a symbol or a role; she is a woman forced into survival by circumstances, negotiating dignity in a city that values indifference over compassion. The film asserts that no single narrative can fully capture her, that truth is negotiable, and that empathy takes patience, observation, and moral introspection. This is not a puzzle to solve; it is a city to explore, awkward, noisy, vibrant, and unforgiving. In the end, Kamal Sridevi leaves a wound open. And in that wound, it finds its deepest honesty.