If done well, conversational films carry an undeniable charm. The context and dialogue must hold our attention, and the actors must know how to talk. It all sounds easy, although the absence of location changes can quickly make any film monotonous. In Prasanth Vijay’s Ithiri Neram, we meet podcast host Anish (Roshan Mathew), who reconnects with his former girlfriend Anjana (Zarin Shihab). Before we realise it, a brief encounter turns into an unforgettable night for the two.
The film begins like any urban dramedy, building its world around a studio and later a routine Christian household preparing for a child’s baptism. On the side, the child’s father plans a night of drinking with his office friends at a local hotel. Ithiri Neram moves in the most sedate, unpretentious manner until Anish gets a call. Truecaller reads the name as Anjana S Kumar, making his heart skip a beat.
In seconds, the film shifts into a bona fide romance. The estranged couple meets after seven long years. Sparks fly. Alcohol flows. Guards drop. Unresolved issues resurface. Meanwhile, Basil C. J.’s soothing flute tones beautifully wrap the narrative.
At its core, Ithiri Neram has every element of a love story. With her future set in the USA, why did Anjana call Anish at all? Was it for closure, reconciliation, or something unsaid? As the film unfolds, Anjana becomes Anju again for Anish. Their physical proximity increases, threatening to unsettle Anish’s marriage, which he seems to have grown into rather than chosen.
There’s a point when Anish admits he has become less egoistic and arrogant over the years, while Anjana now drinks. One wonders if Anish judges her for it, but he doesn’t. He is not the regular chauvinistic college boy stereotype. As we learn, the couple never had a formal breakup. They drifted apart.
Going by their chemistry and lingering emotions, the film lightly suggests that Anish and Anjana may well be two wheels of the metaphysical idea of twin flames. Their intimacy is instant and intense. Their separation shaped them, but not without scars. Even their poor jokes feel like rituals they never outgrew.
Growing up in Kerala, we understand the apprehensions that might have kept them apart. The film mentions an interfaith couple who must celebrate both religions. Perhaps such social realities made Anish and Anjana treat their college romance casually. This is an ecosystem where people marry, have children, visit church or temple, and live the most conventional life possible.
The writing by Vishak Shakti gently teases us about where this renewed connection might head. The night is not without interruptions. A major track involves a wise driver, Rajan (Nandu), and a young and difficult Chanchal (Anand Manmadhan). There is also a brief encounter with a Sabarimala devotee (a hilarious Jeo Baby) who drives an autorickshaw.
These chapters become mini road trips in Ithiri Neram. One brings the couple closer; another grows tense when Anjana passes out. It is late into the night, and she’s with three men who are neither family nor close friends.
The final chapter of Ithiri Neram does feel like a major diversion from the intimate, conversation-led narrative we enjoyed earlier. While not an absolute mood killer, the tonal shift alters our worry. From wondering what will happen to the couple, we begin thinking of women’s safety and the insensitivity of the system around them.
The film soon regains focus, giving Anish and Anjana a kind of closure. In the last minutes, the bright frames by Rakesh Dharan in Kanyakumari light up the screen. The tension dissolves into breezy calm. With a mature look at how memories of a past love linger, the film refuses to take sides. In Ithiri Neram, it is impossible to be Team Anish or Team Anjana. We become Team Life, hoping both find peace.
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A film like this demands actors who understand the slow redevelopment of rusted bonds. Everything happens over one night, and they must oscillate between hesitation and familiarity. Roshan Mathew and Zarin Shihab share a lived-in chemistry that lets us read the glint in their eyes and their half-smiles.
Among many standout moments, the bar scene is remarkable. Their reservations fall away for the first time. Anish is stunned by Anjana’s insistence on going into a bar, drinking, and later smoking. It becomes part of his coming-of-age regarding the image he once had of her. It reminded me of Sibi Malayil’s Ishtam where Dileep meets a transformed Navya Nair (coincidentally named Anjana) after years. That couple, too, had a history, though of a different kind.
How different could Ithiri Neram have been? Shorter diversions would have helped. The film is strongest when Anish and Anjana converse, rediscovering their rhythm. Even though pleasant, the film could have used one song fewer. In Don Palathara’s Santhoshathinte Onnam Rahasyam, the absence of tonal shifts heightens interest. Prasanth Vijay, however, has a premise with more material, making the final output more organic.
With love stories becoming rare in Malayalam cinema, Ithiri Neram offers a tender look at modern relationships, driven by well-written lead characters and a talented ensemble. Yes, its bittersweet ending feels inevitable. But the film gently suggests that a little more conversation with partners, friends, or family can make all the difference. After all, what if a brief chat, for just “a little while” (Ithiri Neram in Malayalam), brings an unexpected ray of light into a dull life?
Rating: ★★★ 1/2
