Ronth Review – Impressive Police Drama That Makes You Think

Ronth Review – Impressive Police Drama That Makes You Think


There are nights that pass without consequence. And then there are nights like the one in Ronth—long, unforgiving, and far too telling for comfort. Shahi Kabir’s latest directorial effort, his most introspective yet, unfolds like a moral jigsaw; one where not every piece fits, but each cut still draws blood. 

Set almost entirely over the course of a single graveyard shift, Ronth follows two policemen—an ageing, battle-worn civil police officer named Yohannan (Dileesh Pothan) and his newly posted partner Dinanath (Roshan Mathew). There’s no crime-of-the-century here. No ticking clock. Just men in uniform navigating urban shadows and human unpredictability—one call at a time.  

But beneath its procedural surface, Ronth is about everything we don’t talk about when we talk about the police. 
As a writer, Kabir is known for his socially-loaded stories (Joseph, Nayattu, Officer on Duty), and works best when his narrative isn’t screaming for attention. Here, he dials the pitch down further, letting the night speak. And it does—in silences, in glances, in unanswered questions. 

Whether it’s a street-side scuffle with a troubled youth, a confused elderly man wandering without ID, or a domestic squabble that spirals just enough to shake both men—each encounter that the two policemen face isn’t just a case, it’s a test. For the system. For their own convictions. It’s in this refusal to dramatise that Ronth finds its power. The film suggests that heroism isn’t forged in shootouts or chase sequences, but in hesitation, doubt, and restraint. 

 
Dileesh Pothan’s Yohannan feels like a man carved out of years of tired compromises. He’s not cynical so much as weary—every word he doesn’t say echoing louder than the ones he does. There’s a moment where he lingers too long outside a locked gate, the pause heavy with unspoken regret. It’s brilliant in its subtlety. 

Roshan Mathew, on the other hand, walks the tightrope of youthful moral clarity. His Dinanath is observant, idealistic, but also uneasy in his skin. As the night wears on, Mathew allows tiny fractures to surface, suggesting a slow corrosion of belief. Their chemistry is beautifully understated; they never confront each other directly, yet are in constant quiet negotiation. 
  

Technically, Ronth is a restrained triumph. Manesh Madhavan’s cinematography turns the city’s nighttime palette into a character of its own—moody, misted, often claustrophobic. The streetlights don’t just illuminate—they isolate. Every frame seems to ask, “What are you really looking at?” 

Anil Johnson’s music, used sparingly, threads the scenes with an anxious heartbeat, while the editing by Praveen Mangalath resists urgency. Instead, it embraces the slow bleed—allowing each moment to unfold and settle like fog over a windshield. 
  

For all its merits, Ronth doesn’t end on a perfect note. The final act, while tense, leans a touch too convenient—like the film finally giving in to its genre’s demands. But even that feels forgivable when the larger experience is so immersive. This isn’t a film about solving crimes. It’s about what they leave behind.  



Source link