It felt like déjà vu. After watching Kunchako Boban’s latest crime thriller Officer On Duty, I couldn’t shake off the familiarity—it had the same essence as Mohanlal’s 2012 hit Grandmaster. A cop with a fractured family, a crime that ties into their past—it was gripping, well-crafted, and fast-paced, yet undeniably a case of old wine in a new bottle. That’s when it hit me: Malayalam cinema’s crime thriller wave might be coming full circle.
Malayalam cinema has long been a sadhya—a feast offering a little of everything, balancing taste and texture. It had the comforting dal of family dramas, the fiery achar of political narratives, the crisp pappadam of comedies, and the sweetness of payasam in experimental films. This variety made it a distinct and exciting experience, with something new to savor each time. But now? The industry seems to be serving up the same dish over and over—crime thrillers.
A well-made thriller is like a solid plate of Kozhikode biryani—spicy and intense, making you crave more. But what happens when you’re served the same thing for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Sooner or later, you’ll start longing for something else. Malayalam cinema seems to be approaching that point. Every film involves a chase, a murder, or gaslighting, followed by a last-minute twist—either leaving viewers stunned or prompting a weary, “Oh, this again.”
Thrillers dominate for a reason. They’re engaging and perfectly suited for today’s attention-deficient audience. In an era where viewers scroll past videos if they don’t captivate within three seconds, a gripping thriller wastes no time—it grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. But the real question is: Is Malayalam cinema tilting too far toward this genre? Has it begun sidelining the very diversity that once made it exceptional?
Credit where it’s due—Malayalam cinema has mastered thrillers. Unlike Bollywood, where “thrillers” often mean slow-motion shootouts and villains delivering monologues longer than a train ride across Kerala, Malayalam films thrive on silence, subtlety, and atmosphere. Drishyam (2013) didn’t need high-speed chases, Anjaam Pathira (2020) avoided excessive jump scares, and Joji (2021) transformed Shakespeare’s Macbeth into such an eerie experience that even broad daylight felt unsettling.
Thrillers are also cost-effective. Unless a filmmaker insists on making a half-baked KGF lookalike, they don’t require extravagant sets or CGI-heavy sequences. A sharp screenplay, an efficient crew, and a talented cast—things Kerala has in abundance—are all it takes to create a compelling thriller.
Then, there’s the social media factor. Movies today aren’t just made for theaters; they’re crafted for Instagram reels and viral memes. They’re filled with moments meant to be clipped and shared. Think of the jaw-dropping courtroom scene in Drishyam 2 (2021)—it wasn’t just watched, it was circulated widely. The unsettling silences in Rorschach (2022) were perfect for short video edits. That one-line revelation in Iratta? Instant meme material. Thrillers naturally lend themselves to this formula—a gripping moment, a shocking reveal—exactly the kind of content that trends online. Compare that to a slow-burning family drama—it may be great cinema, but it’s not exactly viral material.
However, an overdose of thrillers makes them predictable. Every film now feels obligated to have a twist, even when it doesn’t make sense (The Priest, 2021, comes to mind). Psychological breakdowns have become so commonplace that it seems like every Malayali character is just one bad day away from losing it (Joji did it well, Theerppu, not so much). Serial-killer thrillers, too, are becoming repetitive (Forensic’s creepy kid subplot—what was the point of that?).
If the industry keeps chasing viral twists, it risks losing the kind of cinema that set it apart: its range. When was the last time we saw another Maheshinte Prathikaram (2016), Kumbalangi Nights (2019), or Nanpakal Nerathu Mayakkam (2022)?
That’s not to say thrillers should stop being made—they work. But a mix is necessary. Malayalam cinema became great because of its variety. The same Padmarajan who directed the romantic classic Thoovanathumbikal (1987) also gave us Ee Thanutha Veluppan Kalathu (1990), one of the first serial-killer movies in Malayalam. Sathyan Anthikkad, known for his lush portrayals of rural Malayali life, also made the vengeance drama Pingami (1994). Anjali Menon, who gave us the meditative Manjadikuru (2008) and the vibrant Bangalore Days (2014), later adapted the Marathi psychological drama Happy Journey (2014) into Koode (2018).
There’s still so much left to explore! How about a cyberpunk thriller set in a futuristic Kerala, like the upcoming comedy Gaganachari (2024)? A post-apocalyptic survival story? A psychological sports drama delving into the mental toll of competition? Malayalam cinema has yet to produce a proper war film, a folk horror based on Theyyam, or a Pan’s Labyrinth-style dark fantasy drawing from Kerala myths. Even a rural musical, where the narrative unfolds through songs, could be groundbreaking.
The best films aren’t made for algorithms—they’re made because they deserve to exist. Malayalam cinema didn’t become one of India’s finest film industries by following trends; it created them. Imagine if the ’80s and ’90s had been dominated solely by slapstick comedies—we wouldn’t have gotten Adaminte Vaariyellu (1983), Yavanika (1982), Moonnam Pakkam (1988), or even Ramji Rao Speaking (1989). If the industry keeps pushing thrillers just because they sell, it risks missing out on the next great classic.
Crime thrillers will always be a vital part of cinema. But for Malayalam cinema to keep evolving, it must take bigger risks. It has already proven that it doesn’t need big budgets or heavy VFX to create masterpieces. What it needs now is fresh thinking. The films that stand the test of time aren’t just those with shocking twists—they’re the ones that dare to tell unique stories with exceptional craftsmanship.
