What is your review of Ghoul (Netflix series)?

What is your review of Ghoul: Netflix and Radhika Apte’s new show is more than a critique of modern India; it is a takedown and a humiliation before 130 million paying subscribers. Rating: 3.5/5.

Just as one controversy ends, another begins. The opening minutes of Ghoul, Netflix’s latest Indian original, showcase some of the boldest filmmaking of the year. The entire first episode is filled with confrontational audacity, and I mean that as the highest compliment. To put it in perspective, if you found the Rajiv Gandhi line in Sacred Games delightfully irresponsible—especially in today’s context—wait until you watch Ghoul.

Even the opening title card is highly provocative, informing viewers that the show is set in the near future in a country torn apart by sectarianism. Those who oppose the government are sent to specially created military detention centers. It’s dystopian from the very beginning.

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review of Ghoul

However, notice the deliberate vagueness of it all. The country is never explicitly identified, even though the show is in Hindi (and possibly Urdu) and features a cast of Indian actors. It also never overtly acknowledges that the persecuted are exclusively Muslims.

Using evocative images and familiar violent rhetoric, with terms like ‘anti-national’ and ‘terrorist,’ Ghoul reveals itself to be a surprisingly potent show. It goes beyond critiquing modern India or serving as a cautionary tale about our potential future; it’s a takedown, a slap in the face, and a humiliation before 130 million paying subscribers.

Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. For the longest time—perhaps wisely, considering how easily some of us get triggered—no one had mentioned Ghoul’s pointed politics. The trailers had positioned it as a supernatural horror show, produced through an exciting collaboration between Ivanhoe, Blumhouse, and Phantom, three companies with remarkably similar philosophies.

However, it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to describe Ghoul as a lesser cousin to one of Blumhouse’s recent major successes: Get Out.

Like Jordan Peele’s Oscar-winning film, Ghoul uses genre tropes to address complex issues that mainstream cinema typically avoids for various reasons, including commercial potential and the risk of political retaliation.

Watching an elderly Muslim intellectual being pulled over, profiled, and harassed evokes familiar memories—only the skin color has changed. That’s the beauty of science fiction and horror: these genres tap into our deepest fears, exposing our potential for evil, and in doing so, they transcend borders. Ghoul is scary, but for entirely different reasons than you’d expect.

Just as one controversy ends, we must brace ourselves for another. The opening few minutes of Ghoul, Netflix’s latest Indian original, showcase some of the bravest filmmaking you’ll see this year. In fact, the entire first episode is filled with confrontational boldness—and I mean this as the highest compliment.

To put it in perspective, if you thought the Rajiv Gandhi line in Sacred Games was delightfully irresponsible – especially now, especially here – wait till you watch Ghoul.

Even the opening title card is highly provocative. It informs viewers that the show is set in the near future, in a country torn apart and ruined by sectarianism. Those who oppose the government are sent to specially created military detention centers. So far, so dystopian.

Through evocative imagery and familiar violent rhetoric—using terms like ‘anti-national’ and ‘terrorist’—Ghoul emerges as a surprisingly potent show. It’s not merely a critique of modern India or a cautionary tale about our potential future; it’s a takedown, a slap in the face, and a humiliation before 130 million paying subscribers.

Believe me, I was just as surprised as you are. For the longest time—perhaps wisely, given how easily triggered some can be—no one had mentioned Ghoul’s pointed politics. The trailers had framed it as a supernatural horror show, born from an exciting collaboration between Ivanhoe, Blumhouse, and Phantom, three companies with remarkably similar philosophies.

But it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to describe Ghoul as a lesser cousin to one of Blumhouse’s biggest recent success stories: Get Out.

Much like Jordan Peele’s Oscar-winning film, Ghoul employs genre tropes to tackle complex issues that mainstream cinema often sidesteps—whether due to commercial concerns or fear of political backlash.

Observing an elderly Muslim intellectual being subjected to profiling and harassment evokes familiar memories—only the complexion has changed. This illustrates the power of science fiction and horror; these genres delve into our deepest fears, revealing our capacity for malevolence, and in the process, surpassing boundaries. Ghoul is indeed unsettling, but for reasons entirely unforeseen.

In a scenario reminiscent of Fahrenheit 451, Muslim literature is incinerated, religious artifacts deemed contraband, and dissenting voices stifled with accusations of ‘sedition!’ From student activists to university professors to intellectuals—bearing resemblance to the Armenian genocide—it’s invariably the intellectuals who are silenced first. They’re rounded up, subjected to ‘reconditioning’ until they profess unwavering loyalty to the government. Those who refuse are dispatched to what essentially amount to concentration camps.

One of these camps is run by Colonel Sunil Dacunha (played by Manav Kaul). His uniform has shades of Hugo Boss’ SS outfits – perhaps one of the few subtleties of this largely ham-fisted allegory.

They possess their own rendition of Inglourious Basterds’ Bear Jew, embodied in Ghoul by a formidable Punjabi figure named Foulad Singh. He roams the corridors of the facility with a resounding clang, his fearsome reputation preceding him.

Foulad Singh serves as the ultimate recourse, summoned only when every other method has faltered—when all the ‘enhanced interrogation techniques,’ violence, and humiliation have proven ineffective. Nida Rahim, our protagonist portrayed by Radhika Apte, joins this militant, government-backed force around the same time as Ali Saeed. Saeed, considered a legendary figure and labeled a terrorist like his fellow Muslims, harbors a dark secret that gradually unravels in subsequent episodes.

It’s regrettable that Ghoul largely disregards this intriguing premise in favor of a more conventional horror narrative in episodes two and three, likely inspired by the formulaic Conjuring films. When watched in succession—which shouldn’t be challenging—the episodes feel disjointed and lacking in true episodic cohesion.

This could be because Ghoul was originally intended to be a feature film, but was later recut into a miniseries for Netflix. That’s my guess.

In any case, once the supernatural occurrences you were anticipating emerge from the shadows, the story’s underlying messages are obscured. As Nida uncovers new truths about Ali Saeed’s identity, I couldn’t help but feel the disappointing realization that if director Patrick Graham had chosen a direction and remained consistent, the narrative would have been more compelling.

But as it stands, there isn’t nearly enough mystical lore to engage the audience in the horror elements, the psychological thrills are oddly limited to a 20-minute patch in episode two, and the politics are largely forgotten until an admittedly well-conceived and emotional conclusion.

Even casual viewers could easily spot the scenes added solely to extend the runtime, and they’d confidently assert that the story would have been far more effective as a 90-minute film. And they’d be correct—especially considering that the most compelling moments seem to be the ones inserted as afterthoughts.

All the components are present—a strikingly original concept, Jay Oza’s atmospheric and claustrophobic visuals, and a compelling, simmering performance by Netflix’s favored Indian talent, Radhika Apte. However, Ghoul, akin to its demonic namesake, grapples with an identity crisis.

Nevertheless, it concludes with the implication that there is further narrative territory to explore. If handled adeptly, this could potentially evolve into our own rendition of The Handmaid’s Tale or The Purge.

review of Ghoul.

review of Ghoul

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