Pattth Movie Review: A delightfully breezy mockumentary about songs, stories and memories

In a departure from his darker work, Jithin Issac Thomas crafts a light, often hilarious tale about the curious paths music takes to bring people together

If you've followed Jithin Issac Thomas for a while, you'll know his films usually come with a heavy dose of discomfort. Attention Please, Pra. Thoo. Mu. and Rekha were dark, unsettling and steeped in emotional unease. So when Pattth rolls in like a cool breeze on a lazy Sunday, you may find yourself checking twice to see if it is from the same filmmaker. It is, just in a much lighter, groovier mood. Premiered at the 29th International Film Festival of Kerala (IFFK) in 2024, Pattth is, quite simply, a mockumentary about two people trying to track down the origins of a song. That’s it. But what makes this little film pop is how it refuses to be weighed down by its own premise. It sets out on a quest and keeps tripping into detours, side stories, accidental truths and a whole lot of delightful people who all swear the song belongs to them. In a world where tracks go viral, get chopped into reels, and bounce across continents without anyone knowing where they came from, this feels timely, cheeky and oddly touching.

Director: Jithin Issac Thomas
Cast: Ashik Safiya Aboobakker, Gauthami Lekshmi Gopan

Pattth’s vibe is clear from the get-go. It is not here to flex intellectual muscle. It is here to wander, wonder and maybe hum along. Gauthami Lekshmi Gopan plays Anupama, a curious documentary filmmaker with a genuine fascination for where the tune began. Alongside her is Ashik Safiya Aboobakker’s Unni, who is more laidback, slightly chaotic and always a beat behind but just as invested in the journey. Together, they make for an excellent screen duo, their banter feeling less like scripted lines and more like a couple genuinely figuring things out over breakfast and badly brewed coffee. One of the neat little tricks Jithin pulls is with the way the film looks. The documentary interviews are shot in a 4:3 vignette frame, giving them a vintage, almost archival feel. In contrast, the scenes featuring Anupama and Unni are clean and more contemporary. It’s a clever way to separate myth from reality without shouting about it.

Unlike Attention Please, where every word spoken felt like it could explode into something nasty, Pattth has no such urgency. No one’s life depends on solving the mystery. There are no big stakes, no deadlines, no dramatic revelations waiting in the shadows. And somehow, this absence of tension becomes the film’s greatest strength. It lets you soak in the journey, listen to the stories and occasionally laugh at how confidently people can misremember history. The heart of the film lies not just in the song but in how people relate to it. The interviews are a riot. There’s a man who gives them a crash course on archaic Urdu and romance during rice hulling. A self-declared witness of forbidden love insists the song came from an Arab prince visiting a local flour mill in Kerala. A soft-spoken cleric believes it was once thought to be devotional, only to later realise it transcends religion altogether. A teacher claims she composed it during a mango-induced childhood epiphany. A nostalgic auto driver is convinced it’s Portuguese and swears by its fish-summoning powers. He also crashes the auto mid-monologue, in case you were wondering how committed this film is to its tone. No two versions match, and that’s exactly the point. Like gossip at a family wedding, the song has been picked up, embellished, remixed and claimed by everyone who ever heard it.

Through it all, Jithin manages to sketch a quiet portrait of Kerala’s many voices. Every character, whether glimpsed for thirty seconds or a full monologue, feels real. The diversity of backgrounds, accents and opinions adds a layered texture to what could have easily been a repetitive structure. It’s like watching a musical relay, where each person takes the baton and adds a little flair before passing it on. The real magic, though, is in how the film explores urban relationships. Anupama and Unni’s dynamic feels so natural and lived-in, full of playful banter and thoughtful conversations that ring true to everyday life. They argue, they roll their eyes at each other’s habits, and they definitely have different ways of doing things. But beneath all that is a quiet respect, a sense that both know how to give the other space without making a fuss. And even when Unni’s laziness or lack of hygiene gets on Anupama’s nerves, it never turns into melodrama. Just two adults navigating work, love and a shared obsession with a mysterious melody.

Technically, Pattth is a treat. Subhash Kumaraswamy’s cinematography brims with life. His ability to switch between intimate close-ups and evocative wide shots gives the film a visual dynamism that complements its tonal fluidity. Whether it is the cluttered comfort of Anupama and Unni’s apartment or a rainy, quiet forest with a lone plastic chair in the frame, each image feels carefully composed but never self-conscious. Ajayan Adat’s sound design, meanwhile, weaves the many sonic textures together, including street noises, ambient echoes and the recurring song, into something cohesive and quietly immersive. Anandhu Sheji Ajith’s editing keeps the film moving at a pleasant pace, juggling humour, interviews and quiet moments without ever losing its rhythm. If there is one small glitch, it comes at the end. The film, which so far has been light on its feet, suddenly shifts into more serious territory. It is a thoughtful close, for sure, and one that adds depth to the song’s backstory. But it also feels slightly out of step with the breezy tone that came before. Still, it does not sour the experience. It leaves you with something to think about as the credits roll, which is more than you can say for most films in this genre.

Pattth may not solve the mystery it sets out to untangle, but maybe that is the whole point. Some songs, like stories or memories, are not meant to be pinned down. They live, they travel, they adapt. And in following one such song around, Jithin gives us a warm, funny, and oddly resonant film about ownership, nostalgia, and the strange joy of not having all the answers. This one’s for those who like their cinema offbeat, their stories unhurried, and their soundtracks impossible to trace. Sometimes all you need is a song, some curious minds, and a camera ready to observe.