Andhera Review: A supernatural mystery that collapses under its own ambition

A dark, atmospheric mystery with flashes of brilliance, this series hooks you early with its unsettling premise and strong performances, only to lose its grip eventually.

Sometimes you can tell a show has bitten off more than it can chew, but you still cannot look away because it has flashes of brilliance. Andhera is exactly that kind of series. It wants to be many things at once, including a supernatural horror, a psychological drama and a sci-fi mystery. However, while trying to juggle them all, it ends up being both fascinating and frustrating. 

Some shows try to pull you into a mood, wrap you in a certain darkness and make you sit with it for hours. Andhera, is one of those series that clearly sets out to do just that. Yet in its eagerness to be both a supernatural horror and a layered psychological drama with elements of urban folklore and even sci-fi intrigue. It becomes a work that is gripping in moments, frustrating in others and ultimately uneven in a way that keeps you hooked while also wishing it had been a little more disciplined about the story it really wanted to tell.

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Created by Gaurav Desai and directed by Raaghav Dar, the eight-episode Hindi series takes place in a Mumbai that cinematographer Huentsang Mohapatra shoots like a living, breathing organism. At its heart is the idea of a malevolent entity that feeds on negative emotions like guilt, shame and depression, an idea that is thematically rich and, in the early episodes, handled with just the right mix of subtlety and dread.

The show begins with a sharp hook when Bani Baruah (Jahnvi Rawat) makes a frantic distress call and then vanishes without a trace, as if swallowed whole by a shifting, suffocating darkness. Her disappearance draws in Inspector Kalpana Kadam (Priya Bapat), a determined cop fighting off both workplace sexism and the ghosts of her own past. She soon crosses paths with Dr. Prithvi Sheth (Pranay Pachauri), who lies in a mysterious coma, and his brother Jay (Karanvir Malhotra), a medical student plagued by relentless, nightmarish visions of Bani and the darkness that took her.

Jay’s desperation leads him to Rumi (Prajakta Koli), a paranormal podcaster whose curiosity and persistence push her into the investigation. Together they dig into the operations of Aatma Healing, a wellness center whose glossy spiritual branding masks experimental treatments, disturbing secrets and a tangle of connections that link modern AI experiments to ancient entities and long-suppressed trauma. In these first few episodes, the show has a steady hand with atmosphere, letting flickering lights, lingering silences and claustrophobic spaces do the heavy lifting.

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As the season progresses, the story begins to sprawl, throwing in supernatural horror, sci-fi conspiracies, corporate greed and personal backstories without always finding the threads that would make them cohere. By the middle stretch, some developments feel abrupt, such as the sudden decision to explain the entity’s origins in a comic-book style that clashes with the otherwise grounded tone. The shift into AI-driven conspiracies further blurs the identity of the show until you are not quite sure whether you are watching a horror story, a science thriller or an anthology of half-explored ideas.

Some subplots feel especially thin, such as Vatsal Sheth’s Darius, whose role never justifies the screen time it gets. Rumi, however, is perhaps the clearest example of the show’s tendency to overreach. She is introduced as a lively counterpoint to the heavier arcs of Kalpana and Jay, yet her podcasting angle is a convenient but flimsy excuse to involve her so centrally in the mystery. Her entry into the investigation is more coincidence than logic, and while Prajakta Koli’s natural charisma makes her likable, the character often feels like a forced Gen-Z insert. Her quippy energy sometimes undercuts the oppressive tone the series works so hard to build, and her half-hinted romantic chemistry with Jay never develops into anything that feels earned. This makes her prominence in the story feel like a distraction from stronger, underused characters such as Surveen Chawla’s Ayesha.

It is important to say that Prajakta Koli is not the problem. She brings warmth and empathy in moments, such as when she comforts Jay during a breakdown. But those flashes of humanity could easily have been given to another, more narratively essential character. With Rumi taking up so much narrative space while more intriguing arcs are sidelined, the imbalance in the writing becomes obvious, especially when the series is already juggling so many genre threads at once.

The acting overall is strong, with Priya Bapat delivering a standout performance as Kalpana, balancing grit with vulnerability, and Karanvir Malhotra making Jay’s descent into paranoia both believable and affecting, while Surveen Chawla’s Ayesha, despite limited screen time, has a presence that hints at a richer role that never comes to fruition, and it’s in these performances, paired with the mood-driven cinematography and sound design, that Andhera finds its strongest footing.

By the time the finale arrives, the show feels less like it is tying threads together and more like it is rearranging them to keep the door open for season two. While that is not necessarily a bad thing for a continuing story, it does mean the resolution lacks the gut-punch impact you might expect after such a promising start. You are left with the sense that you have watched something bold and atmospherically rich but stretched too thin and too wide for its own good, a show worth recommending for its mood and performances but with the caveat that its ambition often gets in the way of its clarity.

Andhera is now streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

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