In the pantheon of Telugu cinema’s evolving thriller landscape, where high-octane action often eclipses narrative depth, *Mrithyunjay* (2025) emerges as a taut, introspective beast. Directed by Hussain Sha Kiran in his feature debut, this investigative thriller clocks in at a lean 128 minutes, delivering a pulse-pounding exploration of guilt, redemption, and the blurred lines between hunter and hunted.

Starring Sree Vishnu in the titular role of Jay, alongside Reba Monica John as the enigmatic foil, the film arrives in theatres on October 3, 2025, under the banners of Light Box Media and Picture Perfect Entertainments. Produced by Sandeep Gunnam and Vinay Chilakapati, with Kaala Bhairava’s brooding score, Vidya Sagar’s shadowy cinematography, and Sreekar Prasad’s razor-sharp editing, *Mrithyunjay* isn’t just a film—it’s a meticulously crafted labyrinth that rewards patient viewers with its intellectual heft.

From the outset, the title teaser—unveiled on Sree Vishnu’s birthday in late February 2025—set the tone with its cryptic voiceover: “Game over, Jay.” Flashing between Vishnu’s steely gaze as a relentless investigator and his haunted visage behind bars, the 45-second clip promised a cat-and-mouse saga laced with moral ambiguity.

Now, having witnessed the full unravelling, I can confirm: *Mrithyunjay* delivers on that intrigue, though not without its stumbles. It’s a film that thrives in the gray zones of human frailty, drawing loose inspiration from the mythological “Mrityunjaya” (conqueror of death) archetype, but transposing it into a modern, urban underbelly of crime and corruption. In a year dominated by spectacle-driven blockbusters like *Mirai* and *Kalki 2898 AD*, this grounded thriller feels refreshingly subversive, prioritizing psychological tension over explosive set pieces.

Mrithyunjay Teaser

The story orbits Jay (Sree Vishnu), a sharp-witted detective whose unorthodox methods have earned him both accolades and enemies within the force. Tasked with cracking a string of seemingly unconnected murders in Hyderabad’s labyrinthine old city, Jay uncovers a web that implicates high-society figures, shadowy syndicates, and, shockingly, threads from his own buried past.

As the killings escalate—each victim marked with an ancient Sanskrit rune symbolizing “conquest over death”—Jay’s pursuit becomes personal. Enter Priya (Reba Monica John), a forensic psychologist with her own vendetta against the system, who becomes both ally and antagonist in Jay’s unravelling psyche. The narrative unfolds in a non-linear fashion, intercutting high-stakes interrogations with feverish flashbacks that peel back layers of Jay’s trauma: a childhood scarred by loss, a botched case that cost innocent lives, and a lingering doubt about his own culpability in a long-forgotten crime.

What elevates *Mrithyunjay* from procedural potboiler to cerebral standout is Sha Kiran’s assured command of pacing and atmosphere. The director, known for his short films that toyed with unreliable narrators, here expands his canvas without losing intimacy. The first act is a masterclass in slow-burn suspense, with Vidya Sagar’s cinematography transforming Hyderabad’s rain-slicked streets into a noirish fever dream.

Lenses capture the glint of neon on puddles, the flicker of interrogation room fluorescents, and the oppressive humidity that mirrors Jay’s mounting paranoia. A standout sequence midway through the pre-interval block sees Jay tailing a suspect through a crowded night market; the camera weaves through vendors hawking spiced chai and flickering diyas, building dread not through chases but through stolen glances and half-heard whispers.

It’s reminiscent of Park Chan-wook’s vengeance trilogies, but infused with Telugu cultural specificity—references to local folklore about “mrithyunjaya mantras” for warding off death add a layer of eerie authenticity.

Sree Vishnu, fresh off his rom-com detour in *#Single*, reaffirms his chameleon-like versatility here. As Jay, he embodies quiet intensity: furrowed brows conveying a man teetering on the edge, his physicality shifting from coiled predator to broken supplicant. Vishnu’s eyes—those piercing, soul-baring orbs—do the heavy lifting in silent monologues, particularly in a pivotal therapy session with Priya where he confesses fragments of his guilt.

It’s a performance that demands restraint amid chaos, and Vishnu nails it, drawing comparisons to his brooding turn in *Gentleman*. Reba Monica John, often relegated to glamour roles, breaks free with Priya, a character whose steely intellect masks profound vulnerability. Her chemistry with Vishnu crackles—not in overt romance, but in charged intellectual sparring that hints at unspoken attraction. John’s monologue on the fragility of justice, delivered in a dimly lit archive room surrounded by dusty case files, is a highlight, her voice trembling with restrained fury.

Supporting turns add texture without overshadowing. Aditya Devulapally shines as Jay’s jaded partner, a comic-relief foil whose quips (“In this city, even ghosts file FIRs”) provide fleeting levity amid the gloom. Veteran actor Raj Arjun, in a cameo as a corrupt bureaucrat, chews scenery with malevolent glee, his silken threats lingering like smoke.

Kaala Bhairava’s score deserves its own ovation: pulsating synths underscore chase scenes, while minimalist percussion mimics a heartbeat during revelations. Tracks like “Rune of Shadows,” a haunting flute melody interwoven with electronic undertones, amplify the film’s mythological undercurrents without veering into melodrama.

Yet, for all its strengths, *Mrithyunjay* isn’t flawless. The second half, while packed with revelations, occasionally succumbs to thriller tropes: a predictable double-cross and a climactic confrontation that, though viscerally staged, feels telegraphed from the midpoint.

Sha Kiran’s ambition to layer in philosophical musings on mortality—Jay’s arc mirroring the Mahabharata’s Karna in his quest for self-conquest—sometimes bogs down the momentum. A subplot involving Priya’s estranged family feels extraneous, padding the runtime without deepening emotional stakes. And while the editing is crisp overall, a few transitions between timelines jar, pulling viewers out of the immersion. Clocking under two hours helps, but trimming the fat could have sharpened the blade.

Thematically, *Mrithyunjay* punches above its weight. In an era of vigilante heroes meting out instant karma, Sha Kiran interrogates the cost of justice: Is conquest over one’s demons true victory, or just another illusion? Jay’s journey isn’t triumphant; it’s Pyrrhic, forcing audiences to confront uncomfortable truths about systemic rot and personal complicity.

The film’s release timing—post-monsoon, as Hyderabad shakes off its seasonal gloom—feels serendipitous, mirroring the narrative’s cathartic release. Box-office whispers suggest a modest opening, but word-of-mouth could propel it to cult status, much like *Agent Sai Srinivasa Athreya* did for Vishnu.

In the broader 2025 Telugu slate, *Mrithyunjay* stands as a counterpoint to the VFX-heavy spectacles dominating screens. While *Mirai*’s mythological grandeur dazzles with CGI eagles and divine interventions, *Mrithyunjay* opts for human-scale horror: the terror of a knock at midnight, the weight of unspoken regrets. It’s not the biggest film of the year, but it’s among the smartest, proving that thrillers needn’t explode to ignite. For fans of *Andhadhun* or *Drishyam*, this is essential viewing—a film that lingers like a half-remembered nightmare.

On balance, *Mrithyunjay* earns a solid 3.75/5. It’s a triumph of craft over flash, a debut that signals Sha Kiran as a director to watch. Sree Vishnu cements his leading-man cred, and the ensemble elevates a script that, while not revolutionary, resonates deeply. Head to theatres this weekend; in a genre prone to forgettable twists, this one’s a genuine conqueror.

Related Reviews:

SYG – Sambarala Yeti Gattu Movie Review