'Anomie' Movie Review: An Inconsistent Thriller That’s Neither Personal Nor A Procedural

It’s perfectly fitting for Anomie to begin by thanking director Amal Neerad. Apart from the fact that the film stars Amal Neerad regulars — Bhavana, Rahman, Shebin Benson and more — the visual language of the film also recalls the work of our most stylish filmmaker. We sense this, when we see the “right foot first” slow-mo intro shot of the film’s most mysterious character, as he gets out of the car. We also connect with the film primarily through its imagery, with shots that must have been meticulously recreated from a storyboard (including one of red ants crawling all over an eyeball). We also sense this when dialogue and performances take a back seat, when the aesthetics are all that matter. This is what we’re thinking when you notice a bunch of people in Anomie sporting sweaters all throughout, even though it all of it seemingly unfolds in a sweltering Kerala city. This is what we’re thinking when a police officer chooses to travel across the State in an old rickety red Mercedes, even when he’s meant to be in a tearing hurry. 

But these flavours recede to the background when the film’s setting kicks in. For a serial-killer thriller that takes its time to build its world, Anomie stumbles upon a core idea with immense dramatic potential. Not only does it have a police officer trying to redeem himself after a botched-up investigation, but the film also works overtime to place this in sharp contrast with a parallel investigation. The second investigation involves a forensic officer named Zara (Bhavana) at the height of her powers, but she also has a deeply personal motivation to find the serial killer, because her brother is one of the victims ( her suicidal brother reminds one of Amal Neerad’s work in Anwar Rasheed’s Trance). But with these parallel tracks, it appears that one is all about the brawn as Ghibran (Rahman playing the cop) tries to chase the same case while Zara stands in for the brain.

This makes the lines particularly blurry between a procedural and personal revenge story, as they often merge into one. Because the two characters operate on different ends of the same investigation, their equation adds the extra element of a professional rivalry, even if this feels underexplored. Yet the parts of Anomie that work, work primarily because it feels like a procedural that doesn't have to cut corners. Both Ghibran and Zara are professionals and this allows for the film to not have to simplify the complexities of each crime and the modus operandi. Jargon and medical-speak are high and heady as in a Robin Cook novel, and the film also uses clues like a single sound bite, over and over again to join pieces of a puzzle. The lighting cues add a disturbing layer to the overall treatment as the blues and greys of Zara’s world get interspersed with the warmer, moodier colours of Ghibran's investigation. 

But it’s a little into the second half that Anomie starts to fall apart. From Zara, when the drama switches to Ghibran’s personal/professional struggle, it begins to feel like the stakes are suddenly not high enough. The clunky English does the rest of the damage. During a closed-room confession scene, it’s hard to control one's laughter when the suspect shouts cheesy lines like, “I don’t know that murderer. I have people with me. Don’t frame me. I’m not a frikin' psychopath!” You sense the same tackiness in the way Ghibran introduces us to a character much later, just so he can mouth his innermost thoughts of the investigation to her (he is only speaking to the viewer). The set-like detours into a garage, a confession, and a secret lair for the bad guys, all add to the hilarity.

But even this does not prepare you for the film’s ending. With an elaborate confession begins to involve AI-generated dream sequences, after-life and the thought of nirvana, the film degenerates from a clunky thriller into abstract stoner talk. Nothing, including Bhavana’s sincere performance, can bring you back into the film’s world after this point of no return.