Mandala Murders Review: Vaani Kapoor's Show Has Appetite Of Mythological Epic But Palate Of Reheated Leftovers

Directors: Gopi Puthran, Manan Rawat

Cast: Vaani Kapoor, Vaibhav Raj Gupta, Manan Rawat, Surveen Chawla, Jameel Shaikh

Where to watch: Netflix

Rating: **1/2

In Mandala Murders, Netflix’s latest crime-meets-cult cocktail, a secret society worships a god named Yast, fingers get chopped, and a crime-solving duo deciphers a prophecy no one really asked for. Set in the fictional but atmospherically murky Charandaspur, this eight-episode series — loosely adapted from Mahendra Jakhar’s novel The Butcher of Benaras — tries valiantly to be India’s answer to True Detective, only to end up feeling like a grim, genre-blending buffet where the biryani lost its masala halfway through the simmer.

Helmed by Mardaani 2’s Gopi Puthran and co-directed by Manan Rawat, the series goes full throttle on the visuals. Everything is bathed in bruised tones, shadows dance on every wall, and even the corpse dissections appear to have been lit by an indie cinematographer with a fondness for noir. But all this brooding aesthetic can’t quite mask the fact that the narrative is both overstuffed and undercooked. There’s black magic, political conspiracies, and a wish-granting machine that looks like it wandered in from a Doordarshan-era sci-fi set. You’d think with all these ingredients, the dish would be rich. Instead, it’s mystifyingly bland.

Vaani Kapoor plays Rea Thomas, a cop with an oddly poised demeanour, a tragic backstory, and a performance that, while not textbook law enforcement, finds its rhythm as the series progresses. There are flashes of sincerity that hint at untapped potential. Thankfully, Vaibhav Raj Gupta as Vikram Singh provides a welcome anchor. His world-weary intensity grounds the lunacy, even as the script throws every trope at him — from the classic “disgraced cop returns home” arc to “investigator with secret personal ties to the case.”

Surveen Chawla, imperious and intriguing, glides through the chaos like she knows she’s in a better show. Shriya Pilgaonkar, as Rukmini — the elusive and unsettling leader of the cult that drives much of the narrative — commands the frame with eerie conviction. Draped in red and walking through flame-lit menace, she delivers more nuance in one slow-motion moment than some characters muster across entire episodes. The supporting cast, in fact, is the show’s saving grace — committed, compelling, and mercifully unburdened by the plot.

The show flirts with profundity — ancient mandalas, destiny, duality, the “nature of evil” — but rarely marries symbolism with substance. Instead, it layers esoteric jargon over a police procedural that might’ve worked better had it stuck to its core mystery. By the time the final episode teases a streaming star cameo (because of course there’s a sequel), you’re either mildly intrigued or emotionally checked out.

Still, Mandala Murders isn’t a total write-off. It’s visually arresting, occasionally gripping, and earnest in its ambition to do something different. It joins a growing list of Netflix India originals that dazzle on the surface but falter in narrative depth — a pattern that’s becoming difficult to ignore.

In short, Mandala Murders has the appetite of a mythological epic but the palate of reheated leftovers. Watch it if you’re into symbolic mumbo-jumbo, serial killers with flair, or just want to see a god named Yast demand a thumb. Otherwise, this murder board might just leave you pointing fingers at the writing.