Murderbaad Movie Review: A Flawed but Watchable Debut by Young Filmmaker Arnab Chatterjee

Beyond the Hype: Murderbaad and the Gritty Charm of a First-Time Filmmaker's Gambit

The buzz around Arnab Chatterjee’s Murderbaad began not with a studio marketing blitz, but in the hushed, excited conversations of film school corridors and indie cinema Instagram feeds. It was the project everyone was curious about: a 22-year-old director, a shoestring budget, and an ambition as dense as the fog in his film’s titular, fictional village.

Now that the film has premiered on a major streaming platform, the curtain has been pulled back. The consensus? Murderbaad is a fascinating, frustrating, and ultimately promising debut that feels less like a polished product and more like a raw, beating heart slapped onto the screen. It’s flawed, but it’s fiercely watchable.

Chatterjee doesn’t just want to tell a story; he wants to build a world you can feel. Murderbaad is drenched in atmosphere. Cinematographer Priya Mehta’s lens captures the eerie beauty of rural Bengal—the emerald paddy fields hiding secrets, the decaying zamindar mansion groaning with history, and the unsettling silence that hangs heavier than the humidity. You can almost smell the damp earth and anticipation. This is where the film truly excels, building a palpable sense of dread that is its strongest asset.

The plot, a neo-noir mystery involving a missing journalist and a web of local corruption, is where the seams begin to show. The first act is a masterclass in tension, but the narrative buckles under its own ambition in the second. Chatterjee packs in one twist too many, and a crucial subplot involving a local politician feels rushed, relying on archetypes where the rest of the film strives for authenticity.

Yet, even when the plot meanders, the performances anchor it. Debutant Rajveer Singh as the cynical city investigator is a compelling lead, but it’s Sohini Mukherjee as the village matriarch, Parvati Devi, who is the film’s haunting soul. Her every glance is loaded with a history the script only hints at, and she commands the screen with a terrifying, quiet power.

The most compelling character in Murderbaad, however, might be Arnab Chatterjee himself. His direction is impatient, bold, and unafraid of imperfections. There’s a chaotic energy to his choices—a sudden, jarring jump cut, a prolonged silence that lasts just a beat too long, an audacious, almost-forgotten 90s-style background score that appears out of nowhere. These aren't the slick, algorithmic decisions of a seasoned pro; they're the passionate, sometimes misguided, gambits of a young artist shouting to be heard. You wince at the missteps, but you can’t help but admire the courage.

In an industry often criticized for playing it safe, Murderbaad’s very existence is a victory. It’s a film that prioritizes mood over mechanics and feeling over formula. It doesn’t all work, but the parts that do crackle with a talent that cannot be taught.

The final verdict? Murderbaad is not a perfect film, but it is an undeniable arrival. Arnab Chatterjee has not made a masterpiece; he has made a compelling business card. It’s a messy, ambitious, and thrilling announcement that a new, distinct voice has entered the scene, and we’d be wise to pay attention to what he does next.