Tumbbad Review: A Cinematic Descent into the Abyss of Greed

Tumbbad is what if Martin Scorsese directed a horror film. Hold on before you sharpen your pitchforks at the mere mention of Martin Scorsese in the same breath as Tumbbad. Comparing an iconic filmmaker like Scorsese, who made mob epics and complex characters a staple, with a horror film sounds, on the face of it, utterly ridiculous. But let me explain — because beneath the surface, Tumbbad is something more than a horror movie. Strip away all that eerie atmosphere and supernatural folklore and bone-chilling visuals, and what you’re left with is a deeply disturbing character study of greed, ambition, and moral decay. In that context, Tumbbad bears more DNA with Scorsese’s films than you might initially think.

At its core, Tumbbad is actually a story about an insane man—Vinayak Rao—played magisterially by Sohum Shah. Vinayak is a man who has consumed only one thing in this life: greed. His avarice for wealth, or rather, mudra in the olden days of India, catapults him into a very dark, destructive and yet enthralling road just like some of the dubious but never too resistible protagonists in Scorsese’s films, Jordan Belfort in The Wolf of Wall Street or Henry Hill in Goodfellas. Just like these morally ambiguous characters, Vinayak is not someone you would look up to, but he remains irresistibly magnetic. His charm draws you in even when his choices repel you.

Vinayak’s avarice becomes less of a character feature and gets transformed to a motivation; his greed for money is such that he doesn’t think about what has to be done to earn it-fiddle, exploit, and even risk death. That is what makes Tumbbad really terrible-it is not so much the gruesome visuals or the omens cast by Hastar, but a reflection of human greed in its most raw, unfiltered form. 

Director Rahi Anil Barve very vividly depicts how this greed devours all that it may reach. Like most of Scorsese’s anti-heroes, Vinayak knows that his desires are leading him towards destruction, yet blindfolds him with an addictive nature of wealth.

One of the most interesting facts about Tumbbad is how it translates greed into a curse along generations. It is not only Vinayak who is enslaved by his desires – he gives this disease to his son, proving the point once again that greed is not just a personal failing but a corroding force that can take hold of an entire family like an infection. 

The relationship between Vinayak and his son is chilling in its cold pragmatism. The greed of the son is even greater than that of the father who raised him. In this way, the movie strongly presents a bleak commentary on how human wishes and their devastating consequences are inherited as well.

What’s fascinating about Tumbbad is that it manages to do so seamlessly so that one is interlocked into this tale of greed and its supernatural element comes hand-in-hand with a dose of optimism. The folklore and horror aren’t there to spook the audience alone but rather as a metaphor for Vinayak’s rapacious hunger for wealth. 

This not only gives the movie some really creepy atmosphere but also helps a lot in portraying the haunting nature of Tumbbad. The village of Tumbbad itself becomes a living, breathing character in the movie, an entrancing entity whose very name sends people into paroxysms of fear if they ever hear it.

And it is much like the corrupting influence of this riches-only, as those who venture into its labyrinthine depths change to become something worse with each passing second. The characters who venture into this village of curses begin to drown in the pool of immorality, their morals sapped away and their souls dimmed. This makes it perhaps one of the most vivid and unforgettable locations in Indian cinema.

The frightening demon, Hastar, is something of a masterpiece. His presence, though minimal on the screen, hangs above the whole movie like a dark, ominous cloud. Even before he appears on screen in the second half of the movie, his name sends shivers down the spine. He becomes a sort of facsimile for everything Tumbbad stands for-the devastating extent of unchecked greed and its ability to unleash unimaginable horrors on humanity. 

Hastar is a personification of greed just as Tumbbad is an allegorical embodiment of moral decay. Existence itself is a cautionary warning for those who have something more than mere needs to hunger for.

Where Tumbbad is also similar to the Scorsese filmography is in the use of side characters. Like The Wolf of Wall Street or Goodfellas, they are not there to redeem the protagonist nor play as any form of moral counter-point. They just enable and exacerbate Vinayak’s greed. Vinayak’s mother, who initially tries to save him from Tumbbad’s secrets, finally becomes a helpless victim. 

However, in the latter half of the film, the people whom Vinayak becomes friendly with are either silent witnesses to his demise or encourage him towards it. Just like Scorsese’s protagonists, Vinayak is confined within an ethically barren ecosystem, so he cannot turn back from where he has come.

The final sequence of Tumbbad is some masterstroke of visual storytelling and thematic closure. Yes, it does feel predictable to some-as we see in so many cautionary tales-and that, after all, it is Vinayak’s greed that ultimately dooms him. However, the execution leaves nothing more than perfect. 

The slow, methodical build-up to this inevitable downfall is both inevitable and satisfying. This makes the finale richer in terms of tragedy layers because it’s father-to-son cyclical greed. It leaves you with this sense of haunting inevitability, which stays with you long after credits roll.

Where Tumbbad really shines, though, is in its technical mastery. This is a film that can pride itself on being one of the greatest Indian cinema, not just for its storytelling but for its sheer craftsmanship. The cinematography by Pankaj Kumar is breathtaking; it catches the lush and decaying landscapes of rural Maharashtra with the eye of a painter. 

Every frame feels precisely crafted, heightening the atmosphere of dread and foreboding. Jesper Kyd’s score is special for blurring eerie soundscapes with traditional Indian instruments in a haunting sort of aural experience. In fact, the sound mixing also demands a special mention as it adds an extraneous layer to the dark and brooding ambiance of the film.

Tumbbad is an achievement in Indian filmmaking. This is a film that cannot be pigeonholed easily, neither folklore, horror, nor psychological drama-all blended into a singular, unforgettable experience. Much like Scorsese’s works, it digresses into the darkest corners of the human psyche, forcing us to confront our deepest flaws and desires. Whether or not a sequel will live up to the original remains to be seen; in the meantime, Tumbbad stands shining as an example of what Indian cinema is capable of: brilliant storytelling, technical mastery, and a unique voice that should make any cinephile take pride.

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