Review: Maa – A Visually Dazzling Myth-Horror Let Down by Familiar Beats
Kajol, as a fierce mother battling demonic forces to save her daughter—now that’s the kind of pitch that demands your attention. And in many ways, Maa does try to deliver. It’s visually ambitious, steeped in mythology, and offers Indian horror a much-needed high-gloss makeover. But beneath its stylized surface lies a story that, while well-intentioned, treads too familiar a path to truly haunt you.
The plot follows a predictable arc: an ordinary mother, a child in danger, a cursed legacy, an ancient mythological creature, and inevitably, a divine awakening. It's the stuff of classic genre storytelling, but horror thrives not just on tropes, but on how they're twisted. Maa plays it too safe, leaning on well-worn beats rather than disrupting them. The tension rarely spikes, the jump scares are telegraphed, and the narrative lacks that edge-of-your-seat unpredictability.
Still, the film has its triumphs. Vishal Furia’s direction shines most in the visual department. From eerie, shape-shifting shadows to richly rendered mythical creatures, Maa is at times breathtaking. Certain scenes feel like panels ripped straight from a dark fantasy graphic novel. If this were a visual showcase alone, Maa would easily rank among the year’s most striking Indian films.
One of the more compelling aspects is the embrace of Goddess Kaali—a refreshing shift in a cinematic space largely dominated by Durga Maa representations. The film’s use of myth and folklore not only taps into India’s rich spiritual heritage but also celebrates the power of motherhood and feminine rage. Kajol, unsurprisingly, rises to the occasion. She embodies fury, fear, and maternal love with such conviction that you feel her stakes. Her performance is the emotional and narrative anchor of the film.
But Furia, after Chhorii and its sequel, seems to be circling the same thematic drain. His aesthetic is becoming predictable, and his reliance on certain motifs feels less like a signature and more like repetition. The Bengali backdrop, meant to add cultural depth, instead becomes a surface-level aesthetic. The accents are exaggerated, the stereotypes overt, and the authenticity compromised. Instead of immersing us in the region, the film leans into caricature.
Ronit Roy surprises with his presence, but his forced Bengali accent feels more like parody than performance—a missed opportunity, especially when compared to Indraneil Sengupta, who brings grace and gravitas to even a limited role. The younger actors, Kherin Sharma and Rupkatha Chakraborty, show promise, while Jitin Gulati is, unfortunately, reduced to a forgettable presence.
There are moments that hit the right emotional chords. The gesture of crediting cast and crew alongside their mothers’ names is poignant. And Jubin Nautiyal’s haunting Humnava Mere, used to underscore the mother-daughter bond, is a masterstroke—it lingers, both thematically and emotionally.
But for all its spectacle, Maa is emblematic of where Indian horror still struggles. It either tips into melodrama or myth without fully exploring the psychological horror that lies in between. In the end, it’s Kajol—like her character—who salvages the film. But only just.
