This murder mystery loses steam by chasing its own tail

A film with a promising premise, a pointed title, and diligent and intuitive cop characters becomes a total misfire

The serial killer trope in the whodunnit genre often relies on the familiar childhood trauma element, but Asthram attempts a chess-fuelled twist to it. In director Aravind Rajagopal’s film, a boy with a manic obsession with chess becomes a serial killer. His mother rewards each of his wins with a kiss, which in turn becomes the boy's twisted obsession. His mother's death, coupled with crushing defeats against other opponents, unleashes a murderous rage within him. Despite a promising premise, Asthram's script flounders, squandering any chance of real thrills in the process.

Director: Aravind Rajagopal

Cast: Shaam, Nira, Ranjith DSM, Venba, Nizhalgal Ravi

Asthram’s reliance on excessive exposition suffocates the narrative, keeping it from developing any real tension. The central plot involves a police officer named Akhilan (Shaam) looking into a series of deaths with a common pattern: each victim moves the knife in a cross-like pattern in front of their body before taking their own life by stabbing themselves in the stomach. The film's gratuitous depiction of their deaths becomes repetitive and lacks narrative purpose. The victims are from different places with no direct connection to each other. However, it does not take long for the police officer to deduce patterns, connect them to an age-old Japanese myth, and create an abstract profile of the killer. 

Despite his portrayal as an observant and diligent investigator, Akhilan's actions sometimes defy logic, undermining his credibility. A particularly egregious example is the scene where Akhilan and his fellow officers fail to recognise an obscure portrait of Vishwanathan Anand, a figure instantly recognisable to most. The film uses this as a clumsy excuse to point the investigation in a particular direction with an information dump, eventually contributing to a needless exposition about a Japanese myth. Every time a character's death is mentioned, the film juxtaposes it with a corresponding visual of the same. These are victims of mind control, something which the film describes as mesmerism. It may be an interesting idea on paper, but the execution hardly leaves you mesmerised with the proceedings.

Asthram hurls red herrings at the audience at a rate of knots. Plot twists arrive abruptly, with no build-up or impact. A major character appears in front of the hero at the mere reference to his identity following a wild intuition. The convenient timing reminds you of countless films where a police jeep or an ambulance arrives at a location immediately after an emergency.

The performances fail to elevate the already weak material. Shaam is unfortunately saddled with an underdeveloped character, and the actor can only do so much to elevate it. The film huffs and puffs its way to a contrived ending, only to later deliver an anticlimactic wink at the camera, a sequel bait. Suffice it to say, this asthram misses the target more than an archer would even with a blindfold from miles apart.