NARIVETTA REVIEW
Cast: Tovino Thomas, Suraj Venjaramoodu, Cheran, Arya Salim, Priyamvada Krishnan, Rini Udayakumar, Prasanth Madhavan
Director: Anuraj Manohar
Rating: 4/5
There’s something almost prophetic about watching Narivetta unfold on screen, as if Anuraj Manohar knew we’d need this particular mirror held up to our faces right now. The film arrives like a well-timed thunderclap, reverberating with the echoes of the 2003 Muthanga incident while feeling urgently contemporary.
Tovino Thomas slips into the role of Varghese Peter with lived-in authenticity that makes you forget you’re watching a performance. Here’s a CRPF constable who joins the force not out of noble calling but because life has cornered him into it, and Thomas captures that reluctant trajectory with subtle brilliance. When Varghese finds himself stationed at a tribal protest in Wayanad, Thomas lets us see every flicker of recognition cross his character’s face—the slow, horrifying realization that he’s become part of the problem he never fully understood.
What makes Narivetta particularly interesting is how it refuses to offer simple answers or comfortable moral positioning. The film’s title, meaning “leopard hunt,” becomes a haunting metaphor that shifts meaning as the story progresses. Manohar and writer Abin Joseph have crafted a narrative that feels like watching dominoes fall in slow motion, each scene building inexorable momentum toward a conclusion that feels both inevitable and devastating.
The technical craftsmanship is stunning. Vijay’s cinematography captures both the lush beauty of Kerala’s landscapes and the stark brutality of institutional violence with equal precision, while Jakes Bejoy’s score amplifies emotion without overwhelming it. Suraj Venjaramoodu brings his usual reliability as Head Constable Basheer Ahmed, while Arya Salim as tribal rights activist Shanthi provides some of the film’s most powerful moments, her performance crackling with righteous fury that feels both authentic and necessary.
Where Narivetta occasionally stumbles is in its pacing—the second half sometimes carries the weight of too many emotional beats, and certain sequences veer toward melodrama when restraint might have been more powerful. The film’s final act doesn’t shy away from depicting the brutal realities of state violence, and these sequences are genuinely difficult to watch. But that discomfort feels intentional, necessary even—this isn’t cinema interested in making viewers feel good about themselves.
This is cinema that matters, the kind of film that lingers long after the credits roll. Manohar has created something deeply rooted in its specific historical moment yet urgently relevant to our current political climate. It’s not perfect, but it’s necessary, brave, and quite moving.