There are films that entertain you, films that impress you and then there are films that quietly sit with you long after the credits roll, almost like an old song that keeps playing in your head without asking for permission. Ithiri Neram belongs to that rare third kind. It is gentle, slow, unhurried and deeply human. It does not try to overwhelm you with drama or manipulate you with loud emotions. Instead it invites you into a night that feels very real, very familiar and painfully honest. By the time you walk out of the theatre, it leaves you with a strange warmth in your chest and an ache that you cannot quite name.
At its heart, this is a film about two people who once loved each other deeply and meet again after many years. Aneesh and Anjana are not meeting to fix their lives or to chase a forgotten romance. They are simply meeting because sometimes people who shared something pure and intense feel the need to look each other in the eye one more time. What begins as a simple catch up slowly turns into something far more layered. The film never rushes this process. It allows conversations to breathe, silences to speak and small gestures to carry meaning. That patience is what makes the emotional impact so powerful.
In spirit, Ithiri Neram carries a strong resemblance to Richard Linklater’s Before trilogy. Much like those films, this too is driven almost entirely by conversations, pauses and emotional undercurrents rather than by dramatic plot turns. You are not watching a story unfold as much as you are listening to two people slowly peel back layers of themselves. However, while the Before films feel like romantic strolls through memory and possibility, Ithiri Neram adds an extra layer of unease. There is a subtle tension under the warmth, a constant reminder that these conversations are happening within real lives that have already moved on. That tension makes the film feel more vulnerable and more grounded.
Roshan Mathew and Zarin Shihab live on screen as Aneesh and Anjana. Their chemistry does not feel written. It feels lived. There is a comfort between them that you can sense even in the way they sit across a table or share a smile. They talk like two people who once knew each other’s habits, fears and dreams. When Aneesh first calls her Anjana, it feels slightly formal, almost like a polite distance has crept in over the years. But somewhere in the middle of their night together, without you even noticing, Anjana becomes Anju again. The shift is subtle, yet deeply emotional. It is one of those moments that quietly reminds you how names can carry memories and meanings that never truly fade.
The film takes place mostly over one evening in Thiruvananthapuram, which adds to its intimacy. Anjana is in the city only for a short while and she chooses to spend these few hours with Aneesh. He is already married and has a child. He is also on his way to a drinking party with his friends when she calls. He cancels his plans without much hesitation and runs to meet her. That simple choice sets the tone for everything that follows. It is not portrayed as a dramatic decision. It is shown as something natural, almost instinctive. That is where the film begins to gently explore the complicated emotional spaces between people who have moved on in life but never fully moved on in their hearts.
Their conversations slowly move from light jokes to deeper reflections. They talk about their past, their mistakes, their regrets and their present lives. Alcohol plays a narrative role here. With every sip, their guards come down. They start speaking more honestly. They laugh. They bicker. They tease each other. They also confront the pain that they never really addressed when they broke up years ago. There is a beautiful realism in these exchanges. Nothing feels scripted. It feels like you are sitting at the next table quietly listening to two people rediscover each other.
The film carries a gentle tension throughout. You keep wondering what this night will lead to. Will they cross a line. Will someone see them together. Will their past choices come back to haunt them. The writing smartly plays with these thoughts, keeping you emotionally invested without turning the film into a thriller. It maintains a balance between romance, vulnerability and a faint undercurrent of unease that makes the narrative quietly gripping.
Another aspect that quietly strengthens Ithiri Neram is its music, especially the song Neeyorikkal. There is something beautifully old fashioned about this track, in the best possible way. It carries the soul of an earlier era of film music, with gentle melodies, tabla driven rhythms and real instruments that feel warm and organic. In a time where most songs are layered with heavy programming and synthetic textures, Neeyorikkal feels refreshingly grounded. Composed, arranged and produced by Basil C J, who has also written its lyrics, the song blends seamlessly into the emotional fabric of the film. It does not feel like a break in the narrative but rather like an extension of what the characters are feeling. There is a certain softness to it that lingers in your mind long after the scene ends, much like the film itself. It adds another layer of nostalgia and tenderness to an already intimate story, making the emotional beats land even deeper.
Nandhu and Anand Manmadhan play Aneesh’s friends Rajan and Chanchal and both add depth to the story. Rajan especially stands out as the kind of elder brother figure who worries about Aneesh without judging him. There is warmth in their bond and it feels authentic. Their presence helps ground the film in reality. They remind you that these are not fictional lovers floating in a poetic bubble but real people living real lives with real consequences.
One of the most striking aspects of Ithiri Neram is how it treats its characters as flawed human beings rather than idealised lovers. Aneesh is not perfect. Anjana is not perfect. They have both made choices that have hurt each other and themselves. The film does not try to justify them or condemn them. It simply shows them as they are. That honesty is refreshing and it allows you to empathise with them even when you may not fully agree with their decisions.
Technically, the film is equally impressive. The cinematography has a calm rhythm that suits the narrative beautifully. There are moments where the camera quietly lingers on faces, capturing unspoken emotions. The lighting and framing create a soft atmosphere that mirrors the tone of the story. There is a rooftop bar sequence that feels particularly special. The flow of the camera, the natural movement of the actors and the seamless transitions make it feel almost like a single continuous moment. If it truly is done in one take without hidden cuts, then it is nothing short of a marvel.
The editing and sound design also deserve appreciation. They never draw attention to themselves yet they play a huge role in immersing you into the film’s world. The background score is gentle and complements the emotions without overpowering them. The songs feel like extensions of the narrative rather than interruptions. Everything works in quiet harmony.
What makes the film linger in your mind is its unconventional climax. It does not offer easy answers or neat closures. It leaves you with questions. It leaves you with a slight ache. It makes you think about love, timing, choices and the things we carry silently within us even after moving on. You step out of the theatre feeling like you have witnessed something personal, almost private.
Ithiri Neram is not a loud film. It does not shout for attention. It whispers. It trusts its audience to listen. It trusts its characters to carry the story. And they do, with remarkable grace. This is not your usual love story. It is a story about the spaces between people, about unfinished conversations and about the quiet weight of memories.
It is a film that grows on you slowly, like steam building under a closed lid, until you suddenly realise how deeply it has pulled you in. By the end, you are not just watching Aneesh and Anjana. You are feeling with them. You are remembering your own lost moments, your own almost stories and your own unanswered questions.
Strongly recommended. Some films deserve quiet watching, without distractions, letting the silence do its work. Ithiri Neram is one of them.
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