Mammootty’s latest film Kalamkaval, which released in theatres in December and hit Sony LIV on Friday, draws from the real-life crimes of Mohan Kumar aka Cyanide Mohan. It is a story that has already inspired Hindi shows like Bhagwat: Chapter One – Raakshas and Dahaad. And yet, Kalamkaval keeps you hooked, thanks largely to Mammootty’s deeply unsettling turn and Jithin K. Jose’s taut storytelling.
Unlike most crime thrillers, in Kalamkaval we are never invited to guess who the killer is. From the very beginning we know Mammootty is the killer. The tension, instead, comes from watching how long the truth can stay buried, and what it costs to finally drag it into the light.
Directed by Jithin K. Jose, Kalamkaval is a police procedural set in early-2000s in the Kerala–Tamil Nadu border. The film opens with what looks like a routine investigation: Sub-Inspector Jayakrishnan (Vinayakan) is tasked with probing local riots after a young woman is suspected of eloping.
As Jayakrishnan digs into the investigation, inconsistencies begin to surface. The elopement is a decoy. What emerges is a pattern of missing women — divorced, widowed, or unmarried — vanishing from rural Kerala and Tamil Nadu. Even more unsettling is the method: each victim’s phone is used to lure the next.
The Kerala police bring in Stanley Das (Mammootty), a Malayali officer posted close to the Trivandrum–Tamil Nadu border to help in the investigation. Stanley works closely with Jayakrishnan, discussing theories, chasing leads, and participating in the hunt.
One of the film’s boldest decisions is its refusal to mythologise its killer. Despite Mammootty’s towering screen presence, Stanley is never framed as heroic, tragic, or even particularly charismatic.
The first real glimpse into Stanley’s psyche comes in a superbly written hotel-room scene, built almost entirely on conversation. What begins as casual chatter around a random news item slowly grows into violence. It is here that Kalamkaval triumphs.
There’s another remarkable 20-minute stretch in the first half that traces Stanley’s modus operandi across multiple victims. Faces change, names blur, identities dissolve. One woman’s fate becomes indistinguishable from another’s. Editing and screenplay move so seamlessly together that you stop noticing either.
Mammootty is extraordinary in Kalamkaval. He is effortless switching between languages and demeanours, yet there is nothing showy about his work. Stanley is chilling because he feels plausible. This man is hollowed out, driven by compulsion, not conflict.
Vinayakan matches Mammootty beat for beat. As Jayakrishnan, he epitomises quiet restraint and intelligence, and in some ways that mirrors his adversary. The film repeatedly draws parallels between the two men, suggesting that only someone wired in a similar way could ever hope to catch a predator like Stanley.
Faisal Ali’s cinematography turns cars, lodges, and border roads into claustrophobic traps. Mujeeb Majeed’s music adds to the unsettling experience.