Jatadhara: A Supernatural Gamble That Falls Short on Thrills and DeliveryIn the crowded arena of Indian supernatural thrillers, where films like Karthikeya and Virupaksha have masterfully blended mythology, mystery, and spine-chilling horror, Jatadhara arrives with ambitious intentions. Directed by the duo Venkat Kalyan and Abhishek Jaiswal, this bilingual Telugu-Hindi release (November 7, 2025) promises a fresh dive into Indian folklore, centering on the eerie legend of Dhana Pisachini—a demoness who guards hidden treasures and devours the greedy. Starring Sudheer Babu as a skeptical ghost hunter and Sonakshi Sinha in her Telugu debut as the enigmatic antagonist, the film aims to bridge ancient tantric rituals with modern skepticism. Backed by Zee Studios and producer Prerna Arora, it boasts a runtime of 135 minutes and features supporting turns from Shilpa Shirodkar, Divya Khossla Kumar (in a special appearance), and a ensemble including Ravi Prakash and Jhansi. On paper, it's a cocktail of faith, fear, and folklore that could have been intoxicating. In execution, however, it's more like watered-down spirits—tepid, uneven, and leaving you with a mild headache rather than a haunting afterglow.
The story kicks off with Shiva (Sudheer Babu), a tech-savvy ghostbuster armed with gadgets like Tesla coils and AI-driven detectors, who dismisses the supernatural as pseudoscience. Plagued by recurring nightmares of a child's brutal murder by a shadowy woman, Shiva's world collides with the mystical when he discovers an old photograph in his ancestral home linking the dream to real events at the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple in Kerala. As he delves deeper, partnering with the devout Anjali (Divya Khossla Kumar), Shiva uncovers a web of greed-fueled black magic involving Shobha (Shilpa Shirodkar), a wealthy woman entangled with the Dhana Pisachini. Enter Sonakshi Sinha as the demoness herself—cloaked in dreadlocks and dripping malevolence—whose arrival pivots the narrative into a battle of wills, rituals, and divine intervention. The plot draws from authentic Tantric lore, weaving in elements like wealth-guarding spirits and Lord Shiva's tandav, but it's bogged down by a screenplay that meanders like a lost soul in purgatory.
Let's start with the positives, because Jatadhara isn't a total exorcism fail. The first half builds intrigue effectively, eschewing cheap jump scares for atmospheric tension. Scenes at the Padmanabha Temple, shot by cinematographer Sameer Kalyani, capture the grandeur of Kerala's misty landscapes and ornate architecture with a glossy sheen that evokes reverence. The folklore foundation is the film's strongest suit: the Dhana Pisachini myth—rooted in tales of yakshinis who trade riches for souls—feels culturally resonant, and the film smartly ties it to contemporary issues like blind faith and superstition without veering into preachiness. One standout sequence is the temple ritual dance choreographed by Sandeep, where Divya Khossla's fluid movements blend spirituality and spectacle, hinting at the mythic universe the filmmakers aspire to create. The social commentary on black magic's perils lands subtly, urging viewers to question greed's demonic pull, and the emotional core—Shiva's transformation from cynic to believer—offers fleeting moments of profundity.
Performances are the lifeline here. Sudheer Babu, ever the sincere warrior, infuses Shiva with physicality and quiet intensity. His ghost-hunting antics, from gadget-fueled stakeouts to a rain-soaked bike chase, showcase his commitment, especially in the film's climactic dance-off where he channels Shiva's fury with raw energy. It's a role that suits his brooding persona, and his dedication shines through the script's cracks—much like in Harom Hara, where effort couldn't fully salvage the material. Sonakshi Sinha, stepping into Telugu waters with poise, steals her limited screen time as the demoness. Her transformation—wild-eyed, cackling, with minimal dialogue but maximum menace—is a highlight, evoking a fiercer version of her Heeramandi intensity. The blood-licking confrontation with Shiva crackles with unintended camp, but her physicality elevates it to memorable territory. Shilpa Shirodkar adds gravitas as the greed-blinded matriarch, her subtle expressions conveying quiet desperation better than the louder histrionics around her.
Yet, for every spark, Jatadhara douses itself in narrative quicksand. The dual-directorial effort feels like a mismatch: Venkat Kalyan's flair for visuals clashes with Abhishek Jaiswal's stilted pacing, resulting in a film that drags despite its brevity. The second half unravels into a sluggish exposition dump, recycling tropes from every temple-haunting thriller without innovation. Predictable twists—like the family secret reveal—elicit yawns, not gasps, and the climax's divine bailout feels as forced as a deus ex machina in a soap opera. Worse, the VFX are a disaster zone: CGI demons look like low-budget video game cutouts, with glaring errors in masking and rotoscoping that harken back to early-2000s efforts like Murari—but without the charm. AI-generated elements, from ethereal apparitions to temple floods, scream laziness, turning potentially epic set pieces into laughable glitches.
Technically, the film is a mixed bag. Karthika Srinivas's editing is choppy, jumping between subplots without rhythm, while the background score—though potent in action beats—overcompensates with bombast during quiet moments, amplifying the unintentional comedy. Songs, including the recycled "Pallo Latke" item number (a baffling nod to 2017's Shaadi Mein Zaroor Aana), are forgettable intrusions that halt momentum. Ajay Thakur's action integrates spiritual symbolism admirably in fights, but they're too sparse to sustain thrill. The sound design deserves kudos for immersive temple chants and eerie whispers, yet it's undermined by dated dialogue that treats pseudoscience as gospel—Tesla coils zapping ghosts? It's equal parts intriguing and eye-roll-inducing.
Audience reactions mirror this schizophrenia. Some hail it as a "paisa vasool" spiritual ride for mythology buffs, praising the "vast mythic universe" and Sonakshi's "mindblowing" avatar. Families drawn to the Shiva devotion find solace in its devotional vibes, calling the finale "breathtaking." But the chorus of detractors is louder: "Unbearable torture," "clueless bore," and "tests your patience" dominate feeds, with many bemoaning the "weak execution" of a "strong concept." Box office whispers suggest a disastrous opening—under ₹10 lakhs in Hindi markets—signaling word-of-mouth woes. Critics largely concur, averaging 2/5 stars: ambitious but amateurish, dated and devoid of scares.
Ultimately, Jatadhara conjures the ghost of better films past—echoing Karthikeya's temple sleuthing without its wit, or Bhool Bhulaiyaa's psychological depth minus the laughs. It's a sincere stab at elevating folklore to spectacle, but poor direction, shoddy VFX, and a screenplay allergic to subtlety doom it to mediocrity. Sudheer Babu and Sonakshi deserve props for their gusto, but in a genre demanding precision, this feels like a ritual gone awry. Fans of unpretentious mythic horror might squeeze a one-time watch from its earnest chaos; everyone else, consider streaming it post-OTT exorcism.
Rating: 2.25/5—a flicker of faith in a fog of forgettability.
The story kicks off with Shiva (Sudheer Babu), a tech-savvy ghostbuster armed with gadgets like Tesla coils and AI-driven detectors, who dismisses the supernatural as pseudoscience. Plagued by recurring nightmares of a child's brutal murder by a shadowy woman, Shiva's world collides with the mystical when he discovers an old photograph in his ancestral home linking the dream to real events at the Anantha Padmanabha Swamy Temple in Kerala. As he delves deeper, partnering with the devout Anjali (Divya Khossla Kumar), Shiva uncovers a web of greed-fueled black magic involving Shobha (Shilpa Shirodkar), a wealthy woman entangled with the Dhana Pisachini. Enter Sonakshi Sinha as the demoness herself—cloaked in dreadlocks and dripping malevolence—whose arrival pivots the narrative into a battle of wills, rituals, and divine intervention. The plot draws from authentic Tantric lore, weaving in elements like wealth-guarding spirits and Lord Shiva's tandav, but it's bogged down by a screenplay that meanders like a lost soul in purgatory.
Let's start with the positives, because Jatadhara isn't a total exorcism fail. The first half builds intrigue effectively, eschewing cheap jump scares for atmospheric tension. Scenes at the Padmanabha Temple, shot by cinematographer Sameer Kalyani, capture the grandeur of Kerala's misty landscapes and ornate architecture with a glossy sheen that evokes reverence. The folklore foundation is the film's strongest suit: the Dhana Pisachini myth—rooted in tales of yakshinis who trade riches for souls—feels culturally resonant, and the film smartly ties it to contemporary issues like blind faith and superstition without veering into preachiness. One standout sequence is the temple ritual dance choreographed by Sandeep, where Divya Khossla's fluid movements blend spirituality and spectacle, hinting at the mythic universe the filmmakers aspire to create. The social commentary on black magic's perils lands subtly, urging viewers to question greed's demonic pull, and the emotional core—Shiva's transformation from cynic to believer—offers fleeting moments of profundity.
Performances are the lifeline here. Sudheer Babu, ever the sincere warrior, infuses Shiva with physicality and quiet intensity. His ghost-hunting antics, from gadget-fueled stakeouts to a rain-soaked bike chase, showcase his commitment, especially in the film's climactic dance-off where he channels Shiva's fury with raw energy. It's a role that suits his brooding persona, and his dedication shines through the script's cracks—much like in Harom Hara, where effort couldn't fully salvage the material. Sonakshi Sinha, stepping into Telugu waters with poise, steals her limited screen time as the demoness. Her transformation—wild-eyed, cackling, with minimal dialogue but maximum menace—is a highlight, evoking a fiercer version of her Heeramandi intensity. The blood-licking confrontation with Shiva crackles with unintended camp, but her physicality elevates it to memorable territory. Shilpa Shirodkar adds gravitas as the greed-blinded matriarch, her subtle expressions conveying quiet desperation better than the louder histrionics around her.
Yet, for every spark, Jatadhara douses itself in narrative quicksand. The dual-directorial effort feels like a mismatch: Venkat Kalyan's flair for visuals clashes with Abhishek Jaiswal's stilted pacing, resulting in a film that drags despite its brevity. The second half unravels into a sluggish exposition dump, recycling tropes from every temple-haunting thriller without innovation. Predictable twists—like the family secret reveal—elicit yawns, not gasps, and the climax's divine bailout feels as forced as a deus ex machina in a soap opera. Worse, the VFX are a disaster zone: CGI demons look like low-budget video game cutouts, with glaring errors in masking and rotoscoping that harken back to early-2000s efforts like Murari—but without the charm. AI-generated elements, from ethereal apparitions to temple floods, scream laziness, turning potentially epic set pieces into laughable glitches.
Technically, the film is a mixed bag. Karthika Srinivas's editing is choppy, jumping between subplots without rhythm, while the background score—though potent in action beats—overcompensates with bombast during quiet moments, amplifying the unintentional comedy. Songs, including the recycled "Pallo Latke" item number (a baffling nod to 2017's Shaadi Mein Zaroor Aana), are forgettable intrusions that halt momentum. Ajay Thakur's action integrates spiritual symbolism admirably in fights, but they're too sparse to sustain thrill. The sound design deserves kudos for immersive temple chants and eerie whispers, yet it's undermined by dated dialogue that treats pseudoscience as gospel—Tesla coils zapping ghosts? It's equal parts intriguing and eye-roll-inducing.
Audience reactions mirror this schizophrenia. Some hail it as a "paisa vasool" spiritual ride for mythology buffs, praising the "vast mythic universe" and Sonakshi's "mindblowing" avatar. Families drawn to the Shiva devotion find solace in its devotional vibes, calling the finale "breathtaking." But the chorus of detractors is louder: "Unbearable torture," "clueless bore," and "tests your patience" dominate feeds, with many bemoaning the "weak execution" of a "strong concept." Box office whispers suggest a disastrous opening—under ₹10 lakhs in Hindi markets—signaling word-of-mouth woes. Critics largely concur, averaging 2/5 stars: ambitious but amateurish, dated and devoid of scares.
Ultimately, Jatadhara conjures the ghost of better films past—echoing Karthikeya's temple sleuthing without its wit, or Bhool Bhulaiyaa's psychological depth minus the laughs. It's a sincere stab at elevating folklore to spectacle, but poor direction, shoddy VFX, and a screenplay allergic to subtlety doom it to mediocrity. Sudheer Babu and Sonakshi deserve props for their gusto, but in a genre demanding precision, this feels like a ritual gone awry. Fans of unpretentious mythic horror might squeeze a one-time watch from its earnest chaos; everyone else, consider streaming it post-OTT exorcism.
Rating: 2.25/5—a flicker of faith in a fog of forgettability.