Baramulla Review: A Beautifully Bleak Thriller That Almost Freezes You, But Never Chills You Deep Enough

In the snow-blanketed town of Baramulla, a police officer investigates a string of child disappearances, even as his own family becomes haunted by strange, inexplicable events at home.

Aditya Suhas Jambhale’s Baramulla blends horror and thriller elements against the hauntingly beautiful backdrop of Kashmir’s winter. The film opens on a promising note—its tense, foreboding atmosphere hinting at a layered mystery. The valley’s bleak silence and white expanse create an ideal canvas for dread to seep in. Yet, when the supernatural finally arrives, it raises more questions than it answers.

The film holds back too much, leaving viewers to connect dots that never quite appear. It eventually comes together, closing on a sombre note underscored by a haunting Shilpa Rao track, but the road there is uneven.

The story begins with the kidnapping of Shoaib Ansari, the young son of ex-MLA Ansari (Mir Sarwar). Suspicion falls on a wandering magician, Zafar Mansoor, who vanishes after a public performance. DSP Ridwaan Sayyed (Manav Kaul) takes charge when local police flounder. As more children disappear, panic grips the valley. Meanwhile, at home, Ridwaan’s wife Gulnaar (Bhasha Sumbli) and their children Noorie (Arista Mehta) and Ayaan begin encountering eerie happenings—dog smells, invisible friends, and whispers from unseen corners. When they learn their house once belonged to a displaced Hindu family, the film takes a darker, supernatural turn.

Two parallel threads drive Baramulla: Ridwaan’s grounded investigation and Gulnaar’s chilling domestic ordeal. Each has merit, but their disjointedness makes the first half uneven. The final act ties them together neatly, though by then, the film has tested the audience’s patience. A few more narrative breadcrumbs could have made the mystery far more gripping.

Performance-wise, Baramulla stands tall. Manav Kaul lends quiet intensity to Ridwaan, though the script gives him limited emotional scope. Bhasha Sumbli embodies both fear and dignity with poise, and young Arista Mehta delivers an affecting portrayal of childhood trauma. The true standout, however, is the setting itself—the snow-clad Kashmir valley, whose silence amplifies every secret.

Director Jambhale crafts a visually stunning world, steeped in mood and melancholy, even as the script occasionally wavers. By the time the threads meet, Baramulla lands on a logically satisfying, if melancholic, note.

It’s a film that succeeds in evoking atmosphere more than emotion—impressive in craft, restrained in execution, and just shy of being truly haunting. Baramulla almost freezes you, but never quite gets under your skin.