FILM REVIEW
The Vvaan arrives with the ingredients of a distinctive Hindi folk-horror spectacle: an ancestral village, a forbidden forest, grief that has not settled, inherited belief, a protective feminine divinity, and characters who discover that old warnings may contain more truth than modern confidence allows. The film is most effective when it trusts that atmosphere. Its early passages create a sense that the landscape itself is watching, that memory is embedded in trees and rituals, and that returning home can mean returning to obligations a family thought it had escaped. That foundation gives the film an identity beyond a routine creature feature or jump-scare thriller.
The difficulty begins when the narrative becomes impatient with its own mystery. Instead of allowing mythology, character and fear to deepen together, the screenplay gradually adds explanations, confrontations, emotional revelations, comic interruptions and supernatural rules faster than the drama can absorb them. What begins as a moody collision between faith and grief becomes a crowded mythological thriller. The Vvaan therefore remains interesting even when it is uneven. It has images, performances and cultural textures worth discussing, but it also demonstrates how quickly suspense can thin out when every symbol is explained and every mystery is pushed toward a large, noisy resolution.
Introduction
At the centre of the story is a grieving couple who return to an ancestral world and become entangled in a forest legend shaped by faith, family history and fear. Sidharth Malhotra carries the film's rational, emotionally wounded energy, while Tamannaah Bhatia gives the narrative its more intuitive and spiritual register. Their characters are not simply tourists wandering into danger. They arrive carrying emotional baggage, unresolved loss and a distance from the customs that once structured the lives of the people around them. That personal fracture is important because the supernatural threat works best when it appears to be responding not only to trespass but also to emotional disconnection.
The film's setting is one of its strongest assets. The village, forest, ritual spaces and night sequences are designed to suggest a boundary between the ordinary and the sacred. The most promising idea is that the forest is not merely a scary location but a moral and cultural space with its own rules. The film also draws on Chhath-associated imagery and devotional language, using belief not as background decoration but as part of the dramatic engine. Yet the screenplay sometimes treats these elements as information to be delivered rather than a world to be experienced. The result is a film that can feel genuinely eerie in one scene and excessively explanatory in the next.
Screenplay & Script Sense
The screenplay is strongest in the first half because it understands the power of withholding. Small warnings, hesitant villagers, fragmented memories and unexplained reactions build curiosity without immediately offering answers. The couple's grief gives the early narrative an emotional base, while the forest mythology introduces a second layer of tension. This is smart construction because the viewer is simultaneously trying to understand what happened to these people and what the village refuses to say openly. The humour, when kept light, also gives the atmosphere breathing space rather than destroying it. For a significant stretch, The Vvaan feels as though it might develop into a patient, culturally rooted supernatural drama.
After the interval, the script begins to lose that discipline. New pieces of mythology arrive in quick succession, motivations are spelled out, antagonistic forces become more literal, and scenes start serving explanation rather than discovery. The central problem is not that the film has too much mythology. The problem is that it has not arranged that mythology into a clean dramatic hierarchy. A strong folk-horror screenplay normally makes one or two rules emotionally unavoidable. Here, rules, legends, family history and supernatural mechanics compete for attention. The narrative still moves, but the viewer spends increasing energy processing information instead of feeling dread.
The emotional writing is similarly mixed. Grief gives the central couple a credible vulnerability, and several scenes work because the characters are forced to confront what they have avoided. Yet the screenplay sometimes jumps from intimate pain to broad supernatural spectacle without allowing one mood to complete itself. The comic track also becomes less useful when the danger escalates. Maniesh Paul's timing can generate relief, but the writing occasionally places lightness too close to sequences that need sustained tension. A cleaner second half would have reduced explanatory dialogue, protected the emotional core and allowed the mythology to remain partly unknowable.
The climax is where the structural weaknesses become most visible. The film wants emotional closure, mythological revelation, action, horror and devotional uplift at once. Each of those choices can work separately, but together they create a finale that feels more assembled than inevitable. The story would have benefited from deciding whether its final battle was primarily about faith, family, sacrifice or survival. Because it tries to satisfy all four, the ending becomes louder while the emotional line becomes less precise. The screenplay deserves credit for ambition, but ambition without selection produces clutter.
Direction
Deepak Kumar Mishra approaches the material with an evident interest in place, ritual and character. His best scenes are not necessarily the biggest scenes. They are moments in which a look, a distant sound, an unexplained absence or a change in the behaviour of villagers tells the audience that something is wrong. He also allows the central performances enough quiet space in the first half, which helps the supernatural material feel connected to human experience rather than imposed on it. The film's tonal ambition is substantial because it attempts grief drama, folk mythology, horror, comedy and spectacle within one commercial framework.
The direction becomes less assured when the screenplay expands. Mishra can stage individual moments effectively, but the transitions between moods become abrupt. The second half needs firmer tonal policing. Horror loses force when exposition arrives immediately after it; grief loses force when a gag follows too quickly; mythology loses mystery when a character explains its meaning in full. The director also leans into visual effects and large confrontations near the end, although the film's most persuasive power lies in physical locations, faces, firelight, ritual and the suggestion of unseen presence. A more restrained final act might have made the same story feel more confident.
Acting
Sidharth Malhotra gives the film a grounded centre. His performance is most convincing when his character is processing grief, confusion and disbelief rather than performing conventional heroism. He uses physical stillness effectively in the quieter passages and does not overplay fear. When the story shifts toward action and confrontation, he supplies the required star presence, though the writing gives him fewer psychological shades in those stretches. His strongest contribution is that he treats the supernatural situation seriously enough for the audience to invest in it. Even when the screenplay becomes busy, he maintains a consistent emotional through-line.
Tamannaah Bhatia brings sensitivity and alertness to a role that requires her to operate between emotional realism and spiritual intuition. Her expressions often carry information before the dialogue does, particularly in scenes involving memory, ritual and the couple's private pain. She is persuasive when the character's fear is mixed with a sense of recognition, as if the village is awakening something she cannot yet name. The performance becomes more demonstrative in the later portions because the screenplay demands heightened reactions, but she remains committed and gives the film an important emotional counterweight to Sidharth's more rational presence.
Sunil Grover approaches the darker material with an intensity that is deliberately different from his familiar comic persona. The casting itself creates interest because the audience expects unpredictability from him. He is effective when the character is allowed ambiguity and menace, but the written villainy becomes more conventional as the film moves toward confrontation. Grover's eyes and vocal control can create unease without excess, and the film is better whenever it lets him underplay. Some later moments push him toward a broader register that reduces the strangeness he establishes earlier.
Supporting Cast
Maniesh Paul supplies the film's most dependable comic energy. His timing is sharp, his reactions are quick, and he understands how to keep a scene moving without appearing to demand attention. The problem is structural rather than performative: humour that works beautifully in the first half becomes harder to place once the threat turns severe. Shweta Tiwari brings conviction and an earthy familiarity to the village world. Her presence helps the film feel inhabited rather than designed. Anup Soni contributes authority and seriousness, especially in exposition-heavy passages where a lesser performance could have made the information feel purely functional.
Sulbha Arya is especially valuable because she carries the weight of tradition without turning every moment into a declaration. Her lived-in performance makes the mythology feel older than the plot. Durgesh Kumar, appearing as the journalist, adds texture and a recognisable small-town observational quality. Sundip Ved as the king, Akshaan Sehrawat as Ricky, Ajay Raju as the bus conductor and Aniket Sanghavi in a smaller role help populate the film's social environment. Their screen time varies, but these faces matter in a story where community response is part of the atmosphere. The supporting ensemble is strongest when it behaves like a village with memory rather than a group of characters waiting to deliver clues.
Cinematography
Manu Anand's cinematography gives The Vvaan much of its personality. The forest is photographed as an active dramatic presence rather than a generic dark location. Daylight has its own unease, while the night work uses depth, shadow and selective illumination to create pockets of uncertainty. The camera often lets figures remain small against the landscape, reinforcing the idea that the characters have entered a space whose scale and history exceed them. Ritual sequences benefit from warm light, smoke, colour and controlled movement, while the village interiors carry a tactile quality that supports the folk-horror mood.
The visual language is less convincing when effects become dominant. Some digital work integrates smoothly, but other moments reveal the gap between the physical world established earlier and the spectacle demanded by the climax. This is not a failure of cinematography alone; it is a consequence of the film changing its visual grammar. The earlier images invite the viewer to search the frame, while the later images often tell the viewer exactly where to look. The first approach is more frightening. Anand's strongest contribution is therefore the atmosphere he creates before the film begins to overstate its supernatural dimension.
Music & Background Score
The soundtrack is closely tied to the film's cultural identity. Chhathi Maiya has the strongest contextual value because it does more than decorate a sequence; it connects belief, community and the film's devotional undercurrent. Samjho Na offers a more intimate musical space and supports the relationship at the centre of the story. Thummak Thummak is energetic but feels more externally placed, as though the commercial requirement for a lively number briefly interrupts the narrative's tonal concentration. Hum Hain works better within the atmosphere because its musical design supports unease and anticipation.
Sandeep Shirodkar's background score is most effective when it resists constant emphasis. Low pulses, ritual textures and carefully placed crescendos can deepen a scene without announcing the scare in advance. At times the score becomes too insistent during the larger horror beats, reducing the ambiguity created by the images. Folk horror benefits from sound that makes the audience wonder whether it heard something real. The film occasionally achieves that effect, particularly in the quieter forest passages. A little more restraint in the final act would have preserved the sonic tension created earlier.
Editing
Nitin Baid's editing keeps the first half purposeful. The film moves between grief, village interaction, mythology and suspense with enough clarity for the audience to follow the emotional and narrative tracks. The cuts often allow reaction shots to land, which is crucial in supernatural cinema because fear is transmitted through faces before it is confirmed by an image. The early pacing also gives the setting time to register. Viewers are allowed to understand spatial relationships, which later makes movement through the village and forest more meaningful.
The second half exposes the editor to a much harder problem because the screenplay introduces too many obligations. Exposition, flashbacks, confrontation, comedy, mythology and action have to coexist, and the transitions become increasingly mechanical. The film could lose several explanatory beats without losing comprehension. A leaner cut would also give the climax more momentum. The editing is technically competent, but no amount of cutting can entirely solve a screenplay that keeps adding information. The ideal version of The Vvaan is probably shorter, quieter and more willing to leave selected questions unanswered.
Final Verdict
The Vvaan is neither a disposable horror film nor the fully realised folk-horror experience its premise promises. It contains genuine craft, a committed central pair, a memorable setting and a cultural foundation that gives it more flavour than many formula supernatural thrillers. Its first half demonstrates how effective Indian folk belief can be when treated as atmosphere rather than trivia. The forest, ritual and grief combine to create a film that initially feels specific, rooted and emotionally motivated.
What prevents it from becoming truly persuasive is the urge to explain, enlarge and resolve everything. The second half trades mystery for mechanism and atmosphere for spectacle. Sidharth Malhotra and Tamannaah Bhatia keep the emotional centre alive, while Sunil Grover, Maniesh Paul, Shweta Tiwari, Anup Soni, Sulbha Arya and the ensemble add colour and credibility. The film remains watchable because its ideas are richer than its execution. Viewers who enjoy mythology-driven horror may find enough to engage with, but those looking for a tightly controlled supernatural narrative may leave wishing the film had trusted its silences.
On the Plus Side
The strongest positives are the rooted premise, the forest atmosphere, Manu Anand's imagery, the sincere central performances and the film's willingness to place Indian ritual and belief at the heart of a commercial supernatural story. The first half builds curiosity effectively, Sulbha Arya and the village ensemble lend authenticity, Maniesh Paul brings easy humour, and the music has moments that emerge organically from the cultural setting. The film also deserves credit for attempting a genre blend rather than merely reproducing a standard haunted-house structure.
Another important strength is the seriousness with which the principal cast treats the material. Nobody appears embarrassed by the mythology. That commitment matters. Sidharth gives the protagonist emotional weight, Tamannaah keeps the spiritual and personal strands connected, and Sunil Grover initially creates an unusual threat. Even where the film falters, its craft departments continue to provide texture. There is enough visual and thematic ambition here to make the film more interesting than its unevenness might suggest.
On the Minus Side
The biggest weakness is narrative overcrowding. The second half explains too much, introduces too many mechanics and sacrifices the elegant uncertainty created earlier. Tonal changes between horror, humour, grief and spectacle are not always smooth. Some visual effects look less convincing than the physical locations, while the climax tries to carry so many dramatic meanings that none lands with maximum force. The screenplay also repeats information that the audience has already understood, slowing the momentum at precisely the point when urgency should increase.
The film would have benefited from a simpler supernatural rule, a more concentrated antagonist track and a shorter final act. Several scenes are individually competent but collectively redundant. Folk horror becomes powerful when viewers feel they have entered a belief system larger than their understanding. The Vvaan occasionally does the opposite by reducing its mystery to explanation. That choice makes the narrative easier to understand but less haunting to remember.
Best Catchy One Liner
The Vvaan enters the forest with a strong myth in its hands, but loses part of its magic while trying to explain every shadow.
FILM REVIEW BY
SUYASH PACHAURI
GLOBAL BOLLYWOOD
DIRECTOR’S DAILY CLAPBOARD
ONE LINER: A striking forest, committed performances and an intriguing cultural foundation cannot fully rescue a folk-horror thriller that explains too much and controls too little.
PUBLISHED BY SUYASH PACHAURI, FOUNDER & OWNER, GLOBAL BOLLYWOOD | THE HOLLYWOOD SCOPE