Last Updated:April 17, 2025, 13:10 IST

Logout movie review: The film succeeds where it counts — it gets people talking. It reflects the toxic cycle of influencer culture, where self-worth is measured in numbers and genuine emotions are staged to please the algorithm.

Logout movie review: Babil Khan takes centerstage in Logout, a taut tech thriller that unfolds over a nerve-wracking 48 hours. Directed by Amit Golani, the film dives into the dark side of influencer culture, digital dependence and the terrifying fragility of our online identities. With Babil playing a popular Instagram influencer whose life is derailed after a fan hijacks his phone and personal data, Logout delivers a timely, thought-provoking premise — and Babil carries it with striking intensity.

Babil’s character, Pratyush AKA Pratman, is on the brink of a major social media milestone: 10 million followers. But just as he’s riding high on digital fame, a seemingly harmless fan interaction spirals into a nightmare. When his phone is stolen and his passwords compromised, Pratyush is dragged into a psychological game with an anonymous stalker who begins controlling his online persona — and slowly, his life.

As Pratyush begins to unravel, Babil leans fully into the role. He’s raw, explosive and emotionally honest. From helpless outbursts of rage to quieter, more desperate moments of introspection — especially as he reflects on his family or the validation he’s addicted to — Babil breathes life into every frame. He captures the suffocating panic of being cut off from your own digital identity with heartbreaking realism.

The film’s tension builds well, with the viewer feeling increasingly claustrophobic as Pratyush tries to piece together who’s behind the attack. The stalker, played by a convincing Nimisha Nair, stays mostly in the shadows. Her voice, calm and emotionless, carries a sense of eerie control. She knows exactly what she’s doing and that calm confidence is what makes her character so disturbing. Rasika Dugal as Pratyush’s sister, makes a fleeting appearance in a blink-and-miss role.

Director Amit Golani deserves credit for creating a sharp, edge-of-the-seat thriller that taps into our shared fear of losing control in the digital world. He shows how smartphones and social media have become part of who we are — and how lost we feel without them. Logout also reminds us how social media can pull us away from our families, making us more focused on online approval than real-life connections. It raises important questions: Who are we without our phones? And have we let them define us too much?

That said, the film has a few weak spots. Some plot points feel unfinished or not fully thought through. For example, it’s hard to believe that Pratyush never tries to get a backup phone early on or ask someone for help by simply stepping out. In a world where we’re always connected, an influencer with millions of followers would likely have some kind of plan. These moments make the story feel less believable in parts, especially for a film that leans on realism.

Still, Logout succeeds where it matters — it sparks conversation. It holds up a mirror to the toxic validation loop of influencer culture, where numbers define worth and real-life emotions are curated for the algorithm.

In the end, Logout is a psychological reflection of the world we live in and Babil Khan ensures we feel every second of its unraveling. A good, one-time watch.

Cwtch, which means embracing someone to offer a sense of warmth, is a famous Welsh word some of us might be familiar with. An inter-title before Naangal commences introduces us to another one word — Hiraeth — which means homesickness for a home one cannot return to or one that never existed. Very rarely can an entire film’s plot, conflict and resolution be summed up in a word, and director Avinash Prakash establishes precisely that in the first frame of his film, which also doubles as his biographical.

With Naangal, Avinash puts us in the middle of three brothers’ traumatic yet transformative upbringing in a dysfunctional family. Rajkumar (Abdul Rafe) is a man whose once-affluent family is now bankrupt. After parting ways with his wife and some financial setbacks, he has become the chairman of a run-down school. With no place to assert dominance, he takes it out on his three children — Karthik (Mithun V), Dhruv (Rithik Mohan) and Gautam (Nithin D) — who stay with him and are forced to endure his physical and emotional torture. What happens when their resilience gets tested forms the rest of Naangal.

The film, drawn from Avinash’s own experiences, captures the trials and tribulations of this troubled family from August, 1998 to the summer of 2002, and every time the timestamp appears on screen, a sense of how long the characters have endured their fates hits us. Enduring pain is a common trait among all the characters. Rajkumar has to manage his crumbling empire where some of his employees prefer running away when he needs them the most or, after years of service, don’t have the heart to leave even when he begs them to. His estranged wife Padma (Prarthana Srikaanth) hopes for a future with her family, and even the youngest member of their family, Kathy (Roxy the canine), has a rough upbringing. But Naangal is predominantly the story of the three kids who, along with Kathy, are innocent souls caught in an adult’s world, one where dysfunction is considered everyday life.

Avinash does not hesitate to utilise most of the film’s runtime to show their daily routine, day in and day out. Despite the large estate, it’s the boys who have to run outside with plastic cans to fetch water as they don’t water supply. The first couple of nights show their home battered down by rain, which we assume is the reason for the power outage, only to be informed later that it is due to their bill dues. Even their everyday meal becomes plain rice with pickles or sandwiches made from the heel pieces of bread. In a mainstream film, this family would be the textbook example of the ‘vaazhnthu ketta kudumbam’ (a family that has seen better days) trope. But here, the film does not milk their plight for our sympathy and instead holds a mirror to showcase another day in their lives.

In a scene a few minutes into the film, a pitch-dark rainy night’s silence is broken by a sound. it leads the two youngest boys to investigate, with one of them certain that it’s a ghost. When we breathe a sigh of relief to know it’s just their dad, we immediately learn how the kids would have rather preferred that it were an evil spirit haunting the old property. To further drive home the point, the scenes turn to monochrome, denoting how the joy gets sucked out of their life when their father is around. The film does a fantastic job of showing the adults through the kids’ eyes. As time progresses and the kids learn it’s not all dark with their parents, we understand that they are also victims of their circumstances.

Despite some violent sequences, such as the ones where the kids are manhandled by their authoritative father, Naangal has its share of lightness, like a scene where one of the kids dunks their father’s shaving brush in toilet water to take his share of revenge. For every slap or a show of misplaced anger, the kids also meet folks who show them how love, empathy and kindness should not be a luxury — like those who’ve worked for their family, their maternal granddad or even a random girl they bump into on a bus ride. The filmmaker expertly hits us with sequences that bring out multiple emotions. Like the scene where one of the kids bites into their farm-grown, lusciously red strawberry only to twitch from its acerbic taste, the film takes us on a rollercoaster ride of sentiments.

A still from ‘Naangal’
| Photo Credit:
Special Arrangement

Similar to the thick blanket of fog that slowly engulfs the hills, Naangal takes its time to unfold. Thankfully, this slow-burn nature works in tandem with establishing the tedious routine the boys are put into by their father. But that does not stop Avinash from having a little fun; the film that the kids sneak out to catch is Baby’s Day Out, one of the children sings ‘Raja, Rajathi Rajan Indha Raja’ while cleaning the toilet bowl, and — in a beautiful touch — Guna’s screenwriter Sab John is roped in for a small but effective role. Speaking of Kamal Haasan starrers, considering the backdrop, the kids’ fondness for Phantom comics, and the abusive father, the film also reminds us of Aalavandhan, but thankfully, no one goes on a killing spree in Naangal.

With cinematography and editing also handled by Avinash, ideas such as the one to show the same sequence in motion despite a cut in between are bold moves. While the makers have opted for live sound, not all the dialogue reaches us the way they are intended to. Ved Shanker Sugavanam’s music rightly elevates the mood the film opts for in each scene, and his use of deafening silence makes the punches land harder. Despite this being the feature debut for almost all of the film’s primary cast, the kids Mithun, Nithin and Rithik, along with Abdul, pull off a neat job, especially considering the number of lengthy takes the film has.

Naangal takes you on a trip down memory lane to your childhood days without assuring you that all of those memories would be pleasant. It is a profoundly personal work from a filmmaker who, with the title, tells the world that this is who they are without letting this chapter of life define them. And for that, he deserves a cwtch!

Naangal is releasing in theatres this Friday

In Drop, director Christopher Landon (Happy Death Day, Freaky) trades supernatural body-swaps for a grounded, nerve-shredding thriller set in a single, sleek high-rise restaurant. Working from a taut script by Jillian Jacobs and Chris Roach, Landon crafts a tightly wound chamber piece with digital-age paranoia, emotional stakes, and escalating dread. Anchored by a commanding performance from Meghann Fahy, Drop isn’t just a thriller—it’s a ticking time bomb of psychological torment, familial love, and corporate corruption.

A Date Gone Wrong:

At its center is Violet (Fahy), a widowed mother navigating the early stages of dating after the traumatic suicide of her abusive husband, Blake. The emotional vulnerability of Violet’s character is crucial to the film’s success, and Fahy brings a compelling balance of strength, fear, and subtle optimism. Her attempt at re-entering the dating world leads her to “Palate,” an upscale rooftop restaurant where she’s arranged to meet Henry (Brandon Sklenar), a charming, soft-spoken city photographer she’s been chatting with online.

But things begin to unravel before he even arrives. Violet is plagued by mysterious “Digi-Drops”—a blend of harmless memes and progressively menacing messages that shift from unsettling to outright horrifying. While the term “drop” may sound benign, the film makes it ominous through clever pacing, ominous audio cues, and the growing realization that someone in the restaurant is watching Violet. The sleek, almost too-pristine atmosphere of Palate—complete with a smooth pianist (Jeffery Self) and a scattering of diners—starts to feel increasingly claustrophobic as Violet is ensnared in an elaborate cat-and-mouse game.

Excellent directing and cinematography:

Landon masterfully builds tension with spatial precision. Every table, glance, and corridor feels suspect. The cinematography, cool and composed, contrasts sharply with Violet’s growing internal panic, making the setting itself feel like a silent predator. When Henry finally arrives, the story shifts gears from flirtatious awkwardness to tense suspicion. Brandon Sklenar’s performance as Henry walks a careful line: is he the only ally Violet has, or is he somehow involved?

Rather than leaning solely on whodunnit mechanics, Drop is more interested in the how and why. The film thrives in its ability to slowly peel back the layers of Violet’s trauma and strength. As her situation worsens—eventually witnessing a home invasion through her own security cameras and being blackmailed into silence—we see a woman being pushed to the brink in real time. Fahy captures every flicker of hesitation and resolve, carrying the film through even its most implausible twists.

Supporting cast and the use of technology:

There’s a fascinating interplay between Violet and the cast of characters around her, particularly the enigmatic Richard (Reed Diamond). Meanwhile, Violett Beane as Jen provides some grounded human warmth that serves as both a red herring and an emotional tether. Jeffery Self’s Phil, too, provides an intriguing counterweight—his scenes, light on dialogue but heavy on mood, add subtle texture to the ensemble.

The film’s use of technology is notable and highly effective. Rather than relying on gimmicky visualizations of texts and apps, Landon and the writers integrate modern tech anxiety organically into the plot. The concept of “Digi-Drops”—a fictionalized but plausible evolution of digital messaging—feels right at home in a world where surveillance and data manipulation are everyday concerns. The idea that Violet can’t even trust her own phone, her date, or the people around her lends Drop a chilling, Black Mirror-like undertone.

Pacing and other issues:

Where the film truly excels is in its pacing and structure. Though confined to mostly one location for much of its runtime, the film never feels stagnant. Each new development raises the stakes, and just when the situation seems to plateau, it jolts forward again with a new revelation or threat. The tension is sometimes suffocating, particularly in the film’s second act, where Violet is forced to make increasingly difficult decisions with impossible stakes.

If there’s a drawback, it’s that Drop occasionally edges toward the melodramatic. Some twists, particularly in the final act, require a mild suspension of disbelief. A few characters are underdeveloped—specifically some of the diners and side figures whose motivations feel more like plot devices than fully fleshed-out individuals. But these are minor criticisms in a film so confident in its tone and so carefully constructed.

A well-rounded experience with payoff:

The emotional payoff in the third act—without getting into spoilers—is well-earned. Violet’s arc, from a cautious woman afraid to re-enter the world to someone forced to confront both internal and external threats head-on, is compelling and cathartic. The relationship between her and her young son Toby is understated but essential. The stakes are never abstract—there’s a child’s safety and a family’s future on the line—and that gives Drop a grounding, emotional anchor that’s missing from many thrillers of this kind.

Brandon Sklenar’s Henry turns out to be more than a pretty face, and the chemistry between him and Fahy adds a bittersweet layer to the escalating danger. The film doesn’t need to lean into romance, but it does, gently and effectively, never forgetting that vulnerability and connection are just as dangerous—and necessary—as deceit and power.

The technical elements—score, lighting, and editing—are all top-notch. The music subtly morphs throughout the film, moving from elegant ambiance to urgent pulses without drawing too much attention to itself. The use of camera angles and close-ups heightens Violet’s isolation without it feeling gimmicky. It’s a confident, sleek production that knows when to hold back and when to go all in.

Overall:

Drop is a smart, stylish thriller that understands the fears of the digital age but roots them in very human emotions: grief, love, and trust. It balances its high-concept tension with grounded performances, particularly from Meghann Fahy, whose turn as Violet deserves recognition. Christopher Landon once again proves he’s not just a genre director—he’s a filmmaker who knows how to use suspense as a tool to explore deeper truths. It’s a harrowing night out—and one that audiences won’t soon forget.