That David F Sandberg, the director of Lights Out and Annabelle: Creation, is returning to horror should pique your interest. But the hype behind his latest film adaptation of the Until Dawn video game had to be studied. Having not played the original game, it was only right that I researched what the deal was all about, and boy, did Sandberg land upon a gold mine of material that lets him flex his genre-filmmaking muscles.

Sandberg’s adaptation, apparently like the game, is designed with just one goal: to instil fear, not the kind you feel of a spirit lurking in the dark, but the visceral feeling that makes you feel grateful for having company around you. The screenplay by Blair Butler and Annabelle writer Gary Dauberman gets its cues sharp and doesn’t beat around the bush. Is it an innovatively narrated genre-defining piece of work? No. Does it scare and engage you throughout? It certainly isn’t for the weak-hearted.

A group of five friends embark on a journey to a remote valley. We have Clover (Ella Rubin), a woman battling a cycle of grief and hope over the mysterious disappearance of her sister Melanie (Maia Mitchell); Max (Michael Cimino), Clover’s ex-boyfriend who clearly hasn’t moved on; Megan (Ji-young Yoo), with a penchant for New Age spiritualism and rituals; Nina (Odessa A’zion), who is suppressing attachment issues; and Nina’s three-month-old boyfriend Abel (Belmont Cameli), the stock horror movie doofus. The group is backing Clover’s wish to go on the trip to where her sister vanished a year ago, searching for closure. Clover’s love for Melanie, Max’s attempts to win back Clover, and Megan’s general sense of kindness towards all form the emotional foundation to back these characters for the next 100-odd minutes — there simply isn’t enough time for more tango, as they would be busy staying alive, keeping each other safe, or at times, even having to kill.

A still from ‘Until Dawn’
| Photo Credit:
Sony Pictures Entertainment

Clover gets a clue about Mel’s last known whereabouts, following which they meet a deserted cottage called Glory Valley, tucked into the woods and fenced by a weird weather anomaly. Just as the gang investigates the clues in the cabin, the film’s atmosphere begins to take shape, and a wildly fun ride begins. Each of the five gets killed in some creatively gruesome fashion — firstly, there’s a masked brute with an axe; escaping who you would meet gnarly creatures called wendigos all around the valley, waiting to feast upon the humans; and there’s a witch that can possess you and make you do some killing work on its behalf. Did I mention that the water in the valley can explode you from within? After a point, cinematographer Maxime Alexandre’s capturing of these combustions borders on sickly dark humour.

When the fifth character dies, all five go back in time to the cottage, and the dreadful night begins again. And oh, if you were to attempt to escape via road, a giant Slender Man-ish creature towers over the trees. That the characters are themselves becoming wendigos with each successive time-loop makes the ticking time bomb of this horror.

First off, Until Dawn isn’t for an audience searching for refined storytelling flourishes. But that doesn’t make it a less novel cinema either. It’s a film that plays as an exercise in reducing horror to its bare essentials: being scary. The screenplay takes a no-frills approach to horror, and an episode ofGoosebumps would have more twists and jumps in time than this slasher Groundhog Day; much of it is just a series of gruesome attacks and almost-there escapes, made interesting purely by how shockingly creative the kills become in each successive time loops.

Until Dawn also proves to be deserted of impactful character writing, as none build upon their initial promises. Nina and Abel make meta horror-movie comments before becoming genre-cliched annoyances, and Max is just the knight in shining armour Clover didn’t need. Megan is as immaterial as the plot serves her abilities, and it is only in the showdown that Clover gets some material to grow beyond a final girl cliche. If this is for the human characters, the wendigos and the boogeyman stick to their jump scares and slashing through people, and it gets quite tedious to the extent you begin to wish for the Witch to come back.

A still from ‘Until Dawn’
| Photo Credit:
Sony Pictures Entertainment

Yet, one must confess that these complaints may not matter while watching Until Dawn, especially if you have been craving a pure horror film that doesn’t try to be anything more. In a way, this is the fast-food version of the horror genre; with each time-loop, the gang is allowed to discover new details about this world, where Sandberg and co find space to bend through sub-genres, like when the film takes a found-footage turn.

Until Dawn is meant to scare and engage you, and it does so using one of the oldest tricks in the book — bread-crumbling information, letting us sit with our unanswered questions until the grand reveal that tells it all. One would also nibble comfortably on the many ambiguities it leaves you with. After all, it’s only intentional that you are told nothing more than what our leads witness, as if it’s all a first-person VR game with no cut-away scenes. Like was the case with Lights Out, Sandberg (and, one must credit the film’s production design team) leaves you wishing for more stories in the world of the film.

If you had to look up the Until Dawn video game, you might come across articles by gamers who are already livid with Sandberg’s adaptation. Regardless of where you fall on that argument, it’s only intriguing how the film, as well as the gaming community’s perception of the adaptation, inadvertently shines light on the source material. Perhaps it’s time to check out that game, and perhaps like the film, the game should arrest you in a chokehold for much of its gameplay.

Until Dawn is currently running in theatres

Watch: Is Andaz Apna Apna still relevant? | FOMO Fix

Film critics and buddies Raja Sen and Sudhish Kamath take a nostalgic deep-dive into Andaz Apna Apna, the cult comedy classic re-releasing in cinemas this week.

From crime master Gogo’s chaos to Salman’s scene-stealing comic timing, they debate whether the film still works today — or if it’s just a rose-tinted time capsule. Slapstick, spoof, or satirical gem? The verdict’s in.

Also on this episode:

TV Gold — The Last of Us Season 2 brings grief, gore, and gut punches. Is this still escape, or just emotional masochism?

Heads Up — Logout on Zee5 proves a one-actor thriller can still scroll deep.

KHAUF — Real horror hits home in Smita Singh’s harrowing hostel haunting.

Rewatch Alert — Andaz Apna Apna is back on the big screen. Go for the nostalgia, stay for the oranges gag.

Hit play, subscribe for more recs, and remember:

Sometimes the only escape is watching someone else lose it.

Script and editing: Sudhish Kamath

Sound: Ivan Avakian

Almond-shaped eyes, aquiline features, elongated faces with defined chins and noses, earthy tones, panoramic landscapes and stylised clouds — these are some of the things that set apart Kishangarh paintings from the other miniature traditions of India.

Drenched in bhakti and sringara rasas, these miniatures originated somewhere around the 17th Century in Kishangarh in Ajmer, Rajasthan. Rulers such as Raj Singh and Sawant Singh set up court ateliers led by Bhavanidas and Nihal Chand and patronised this art form. However, diminished patronage over the years has seen miniatures and traditional visual art forms relegated to the realm of handicraft.

Centuries later, Vaishnavi Kumari, who traces her lineage to the erstwhile royal family of Kishangarh, has taken upon herself the task of reinventing the art form to suit the contemporary milieu. In 2010, she set up Studio Kishangarh, where she works with artists to create paintings that merged traditional aesthetics and modern sensibilities.

“We do acrylic on canvas, work on wasli (handmade) paper and take up landscape themes. We might take inspiration from a Pichwai painting and interpret it in our own way, using gold and silver embellishment. We recently had a show ‘Ishq Chaman’ based on the poetry of Raja Sawant Singh. The poem talks about devotion and we created allegorical paintings on love and devotion for god,” says Vaishnavi Kumari, the curator and founder of Studio Kishangarh.

Vaishnavi graduated from NIFT and pursued her Master’s in art history from SOAS University, London. “Middlemen buy unique haathi-ghoda paintings at very low prices from artists. These are sold as souvenirs. That set me thinking. In museums and auctions, you see work that is highly valued, and I wondered why we were not producing that kind of quality. Traditionally, a patron influenced the kind of work done in karkhanas (workshops). For example, you see hunting scenes in Kota paintings, because the ruler wanted those depictions. Nainsukh (1710-1778) painted most of his works for the local ruler Raja Balwant Singh of Jasrota in Himachal Pradesh. That encouraged me to set up an atelier and offer contemporary patronage,” says Vaishnavi.

A Kishangarh miniature
| Photo Credit:
Courtesy: Kishangarh Studio

A couple’s rendezvous in a lush green garden against the picturesque backdrop of mountains, dense flora and fauna and a distinct blue sky is an aesthetic marvel, and a typical Kishangarh miniature. This style is also synonymous with Bani Thani — known as the Indian Mona Lisa, a combination of grace and beauty, supposedly painted by Nihal Chand, as instructed by then ruler Raja Sawant Singh. It is said that the Raja and Bani Thani were lovers, and they are the nayak and nayika in several paintings.

Among the most famous of Kishangarh paintings, ‘Boat of Love’, is on display at the National Museum, Delhi. Inspired by Raja Sawant Singh’s poem, the painting depicts three scenes featuring Radha and Krishna — atop a hill, crossing the river seated on a boat accompanied by attendants, and amid dense foliage.

Through her work in the atelier with her artists, Vaishnavi wants to educate people about the art tradition. “What you see is just the first layer which is the aesthetic — the women are beautiful, the figures so lyrical… but there is a deeper meaning. Bani Thani wasn’t just a beautiful woman. She was an accomplished poet and an amazing musician. Sufism and Haveli Sangeet were major influences at the time and we want the viewers to discover all these facets to these paintings. Raja Sawant Singh was a Bhakti poet and wrote in Rekhta, a precursor to the Hindustani dialect, among other languages, under the pen name of Nagari Das. A pushtimargi, belonging to the Vallabhacharya sect, he wrote devotional poetry for Krishna and Bani Thani,” she adds.

Kishangarh miniature
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Once Vaishnavi returned from London, she discovered many families that had been painting for generations. She brought together a few of them for two reasons — better livelihood opportunities and the chance to develop a unique aesthetic.

“We have a core group but we also work with other artists. When we started, we were doing handicrafts — we painted apparel. I explore a lot of media. Even though I give ideas, the exploration is by the artists. Also, each painting is the collective work of two or three artists — one does the basic drawing, the other adds the flora and fauna elements, the third might add an iconic element like the Kamadhenu. They enjoy working on a new visual vocabulary,” says Vaishnavi, who is trying to strike a balance between the old and the new.

Vaishnavi Kumari, who traces her lineage to the erstwhile royal family of Kishangarh, has taken upon herself the task of reinventing the art form to suit the contemporary milieu