Eko Movie Review: A Deep Dive | Thoughts & Analysis

The plot resists simple synopsis, but here’s the spine: On the misty hills of Kaattukunnu, an aging woman named Soyi (played by Biana Momin, credited as “Malaathi Chettathi”) and her teenage servant boy, Peeyoos (Sandeep Pradeep), live in a ramshackle house that feels like a reliquary of regret. Their quiet, grinding existence is punctured by the hunt for Kuriachan (Saurabh Sachdeva) - a legendary dog breeder and outlaw who once ruled these hills with an iron grip and a pack of hounds. Kuriachan is absent, possibly dead, possibly a myth, but his presence saturates every frame. A local police officer, S. I. Sukumaran (Binu Pappu), and a stern Navy officer (Narain) search for him, while a mysterious figure, Mohan Pothan (Vineeth Radhakrishnan), seems to know more than he lets on. The narrative shuttles between present-day deprivation and fragmented memories, blurring the line between what happened, what was rumored, and what the characters desperately want to forget.

Ayyathan’s greatest achievement here is atmosphere. The film opens with a long, static shot of fog rolling over hills - no dialogue, no music, just the sound of wind and a distant dog’s bark. It sets a tone of ambient dread that never lifts. The cinematography, bathed in muted greens and grays, turns Kaattukunnu into a character: indifferent, ancient, and complicit. The sound design is equally meticulous; every creak of floorboards, every rustle of undergrowth, feels like a warning.

The performances ground the abstraction. Sandeep Pradeep’s Peeyoos is a study in silent desperation - a boy whose eyes hold knowledge he can’t articulate. He has one extended monologue midway through, delivered with a stillness that is almost painful. But the revelation is Sim Zhi Fei as the younger Soyi, seen in flashbacks. Her scenes with Kuriachan crackle with tension; she portrays a woman caught between terror and a strange, unnameable loyalty. Saurabh Sachdeva, as the titular absent presence, appears only in fragments - a shadow, a voice, a hand on a dog’s leash - but his menace is palpable, even when he’s not on screen. Vineeth Radhakrishnan’s Mohan Pothan provides a necessary foil, a man who seems to have stepped out of a different movie altogether, one about grief and culpability.

The script, co-written by Ayyathan, is elliptical. It withholds exposition as a matter of principle. We never learn exactly what Kuriachan did, or why the Navy is involved, or what secret Soyi carries. This frustrates, but it also respects the audience’s intelligence. The mystery isn’t a puzzle to solve; it’s a condition to inhabit. The film’s title, “Eko,” whispers through the dialogue as a name, a echo, a command - reflecting how the dead and the absent continue to shape the living.

If there is a flaw, it’s the pacing. The middle act, while rich in mood, drags. A sequence where Peeyoos searches for a lost dog goes on too long, testing patience. And some viewers may bristle at the lack of closure - the final scene is an image of a dog howling at a grey sky, which feels more poetic than conclusive. But for those attuned to the film’s wavelength, these are features, not bugs.

Pros

• Stunning, immersive atmosphere: the fog, the sound design, the slow zooms.
• Exceptional performances from the entire cast, especially Sim Zhi Fei and Sandeep Pradeep.
• A bold, nonlinear narrative that trusts its audience.
• Thematically rich: a meditation on absence, power, and folklore’s grip on reality.
• Gorgeous cinematography that turns landscape into lore.

Cons

• Pacing is glacial in the middle section; some scenes overstay.
• The elliptical storytelling may leave narrative-hungry viewers frustrated.
• Underdeveloped supporting roles - the Navy officer and the policeman feel like functionaries rather than characters.
• Ambiguous ending that offers no catharsis, only implication.

“Eko” is a film you don’t so much watch as let wash over you. It’s a mood piece, a ghost story about a man who is never seen but never forgotten, and a quiet tragedy about the women and children left in the wake of masculine legend. Dinjith Ayyathan announces himself as a director with a singular voice - one that prizes texture over plot, suggestion over statement. It won’t be for everyone; its deliberate opacity and slow pace will lose some in the fog. But for those who stay, “Eko” offers a rare kind of cinematic poetry: a story about silence that speaks in barks, whispers, and the heavy tread of memory. Highly recommended for patient audiences and lovers of atmospheric, folk-inflected drama.