Eko (Malayalam)
A string puppet who vainly revelled in the illusion of autonomy—that is the image I was left with as the lights came on after Eko: From the Infinite Chronicles of Kuriachan. Things are not what they seem—we know much, but the unknown looms larger. When the credits rolled, there was the satisfaction of a successful gotcha, but also the fear of being an unwitting puppet in someone else’s performance.
Eko unravels in Kaattukunnu, a range of barely inhabited mountains tucked along the Kerala-Karnataka border. Atop one of them, far from other fellow humans, live an elderly woman known as Mlaathi chedathi (Biana Momin) and Pious (Sandeep Pradeep), a young caretaker hired by her sons who live afar. Their lives seem ordinary, though secluded.
Eko doesn't follow a linear narrative. Instead, the film reels you in with slow but deliberate world-building. Before you know it, you are immersed too deep.
What Kaattukunnu lacks in human presence, it makes up for in dogs. They have a keen sense of territory and constantly surveil every crack and crevice along the mountains. Theirs is, of course, no accidental presence.
In the run-up to its release, much of Eko’s attraction was that it is from the same team that made the widely acclaimed Kishkindha Kaandam (2024). With Eko, director Dinjith Ayyathan and Bahul Ramesh, who oversee the story, screenplay and cinematography, have come together yet again with editor Suraj ES and music composer Mujeeb Majeed.
What Dinjith and Bahul did in Kishkindha Kaandam with the monkey army, they’ve done even better with the dog brigade in Eko. The movie puts to good use the beauty and intelligence of indies, like few other have done before.
Besides Mlaathi, Pious, and the dogs, the only other presence in the mountains are the men who come looking for Mlaathi’s husband, Kuriachan, who, we are told, went missing a few years ago.
Kuriachan is elusive and enigmatic. He remains so to the audience too, never for once letting us decide if we should like or hate him, admire or fear him. His story is told on a foundation of blurry lines between human and animal, dog and disciple, the guard and the guarded, loyalty and servitude, good and evil, and protection and restriction. Frail bodies do not mean weak minds, obedience does not imply loyalty, and safety does not come with assurances of freedom.
In one scene, a character refuses to feed the dogs, saying that feeding is a way of establishing ownership. We are shown a glimpse of the blurry lines between prisoner and pet. Throughout the movie, Eko plays with this idea: Who owns, who controls, and who is the master?
In Eko, there are no definite answers, and yet, you are made to believe you know all you need to. On the ride back from the theatre, your brain will buzz with one too many questions and conspiracy theories. Yet, somehow, the movie gives you a sense of fullness and of loose ends perfectly tied together.
How does a movie manage to satiate a hungry viewer despite leaving countless questions unanswered? Dinjith and Bahul have created the most enchanting world that deftly draws viewers to it.
Eko works so well because the crew’s efforts are equally matched by the cast. Sandeep Pradeep, playing Pious, gives his all and some more. What a treat he was to watch! So are every other actor – Narain, Vineeth, Binu Pappu, Ashokan, and others – playing roles big and small. Not to forget Meghalaya-born actor Biana Momin, who brought a quiet strength to her portrayal of Mlaathi chedathi.
Bahul’s visuals and Mujeeb’s music are both poetic. I wish I possessed the language to describe the beauty I perceived. If I didn’t have the deadline for this review looking over my shoulders, I would have watched Eko a second time, as much for the story and the actors as for a chance to remain in Mujeeb’s musical world for some more time.
Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.