Masthishka Maranam Review: Krishand’s Brilliantly Absurd Neon-Lit Mirror To Society’s Darkest Truths
In a cinematic arena where science fiction often leans on mythology for emotional scaffolding, Masthishka Maranam dares to imagine a disturbingly human future.
Directed by Krishand, this genre-bending cyberpunk comedy is at once a satire, a murder mystery, a courtroom drama, and a philosophical inquiry into grief, memory, and the commodification of women in a hyper-digital 2046.
Spoiler Alert:
Set in a neon-drenched neo-Kochi, the film opens with a “high futuristic morning,” advertisements speak to you using the faces of your dead relatives, AI edits your trauma on demand, and relationships have evolved into algorithmic “situationships.”
At the centre of this chaotic brilliance is Bimal Raj (Niranj Maniyanpillai Raju), a father shattered by the death of his daughter Tungudu.
His wife, Anindya (Ann Saleem), has undergone a procedure to delete memories of her child in order to survive. Bimal cannot.
Instead, he seeks refuge in virtual memory games and near-death simulations, digital purgatories where grief can be replayed, reshaped, or temporarily escaped.
This existential dilemma echoes the emotional architecture of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, yet Krishand refuses sentimentality. Memory here is not romantic; it is weaponised, monetised, and gamified.
Enter Frida Soman, played in a tour-de-force performance by Rajisha Vijayan.
Frida is a global superstar manufactured for the age of sensory capitalism. She is aesthetic excess, bold, volatile, self-aware, yet trapped in the machinery that sells her body as spectacle.
Through “Simon’s Memory,” a purchasable digital experience that allows users to virtually inhabit and physically engage with Frida, the film exposes a terrifying extension of today’s deepfake culture.
Rajisha embraces the exaggeration. Her performance oscillates between satire and vulnerability. At times loud, intentionally performative, and almost parodying stardom, she gradually reveals fractures beneath the celebrity veneer.
When Frida kills a predatory producer (Klint Marthandan) and attempts to bury the crime with reluctant help from Bimal, the film shifts gears into black comedy thriller territory.
There are unmistakable tonal echoes of Double Barrel in its anarchic humour and meta-references, while the futuristic absurdism recalls Gaganachari in spirit. Yet Masthishka Maranam carves its own chaotic grammar.
This is not futuristic fantasy; it is tomorrow’s extension of today’s exploitation.
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The high-tech police station headed by GD Praveen Shashank (Jagadish) may have holographic screens and robotic assistants.
Krishand’s satire bites hardest here. Even in 2046, women are objectified, commodified, hypersexualised, only now through immersive sensory technology. Privacy breaches are trivialised. Trauma becomes trending content.
Frida’s character becomes the embodiment of this paradox: a woman who wields power in an industry that simultaneously consumes her.
The film’s structural genius lies in its narrative layering.
Characters including Shaji (Rahul Rajagopal, Frida’s transman PA, Amber (Sreenath Babu), and Frida’s advocate Desdemona (Divya Prabha) played so well.
The second half transitions into a courtroom drama that is unexpectedly hilarious and piercing.
The dialogues here are razor-sharp, peppered with Malayalam cinema references, political jabs, and media satire. There are moments of outright laughter followed by uncomfortable recognition.
Krishand mocks everything: celebrity culture, media trials, performative outrage, political opportunism, social media thumbnails, and the voyeuristic male gaze.
Visually, Masthishka Maranam is intoxicating.
The colour palette, drenched in reds and greens, evokes the neon melancholy of Blade Runner 2049, while its surreal tonal shifts occasionally channel the dream logic of Antichrist, though without the psychological brutality.
Krishand’s mise-en-scène is meticulous. Frida’s world is sleek, symmetrical, and curated. Bimal’s home is cluttered, suffocating grief manifesting as physical congestion.
The art direction effectively reflects class divides in a technologically equalised future, especially with the congested home setting reminiscent of the one we see in China.
Krishand’s editing deserves special praise. Transitions between memory layers, virtual realms, and physical reality are seamless, immersive, and often intentionally disorienting.
The background score occupies significant narrative space. Varkey amplifies tension and absurdity, though it occasionally lacks the emotional depth required to elevate the film’s more intimate moments.
Still, the sound design in memory sequences and near-death simulations is immersive and experimental, adding to the cyberpunk texture.
In a world that markets even mourning, grief remains stubbornly personal.
Masthishka Maranam is not a film designed for passive consumption. It is loud, vibrant, occasionally confusing, deliberately excessive, a cyberpunk fever dream that will not be easily digested by everyone.
Timeline Verdict:
More than a spectacle for the senses, Masthishka Maranam is a mirror held up to a society racing toward technological transcendence without ethical evolution. In 2046, flying cars may exist. Memory may be editable. But misogyny, grief, and voyeurism remain painfully intact.
Cast:
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Rajisha Vijayan
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Niranj Maniyanpillai Raju
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Ann Saleem
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Divya Prabha
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Jagadish
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Suresh Krishna
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Vishnu Agasthya
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Shambu
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Rahul Rajagopal
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Sreenath Babu
Crew:
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Director & Writer: Krishand
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Producer: Vinayaka Ajith, Krishand
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Cinematography: Prayag Mukundan
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Music Composer: Varkey
