Streaming on: Amazon Prime Video
Created by: Gaurav Desai
Directed by: Raaghav Dar
Written by: Gaurav Desai, Raaghav Dar, Chintan Sarda, Karan Anshuman
Cast: Priya Bapat, Karanvir Malhotra, Prajakta Koli, Surveen Chawla, Parvin Dabas, Pranay Pachauri, Kavin Dave, Vatsal Sheth
Rating: ★★☆☆☆ (2/5)
What happens when you throw cosmic horror, psychological trauma, AI anxiety, childhood abuse, and paranormal podcasting into the same cauldron? You get Andhera—a show with ambition by the truckload but execution that trips over its own shadow.
At its core, Andhera wants to be more than just a horror series. It aims to be a multi-genre, multi-generational, multi-layered exploration of fear in the age of disconnection. But while its ambition deserves a slow clap, its storytelling demands a facepalm.
The show kicks off with a promising, even chilling, sequence: a woman fleeing into a Mumbai hotel room is consumed by an amorphous black entity seeping through the walls. A sinister vibe sets in. Inspector Kalpana Kadam (Priya Bapat), reeling from a botched investigation, is reassigned to the case—and this mysterious darkness begins to stretch its tentacles across multiple characters and subplots.
Jay (Karanvir Malhotra), an anxious loner prone to hallucinations, begins experiencing visions that connect to the vanished woman. His brother lies in a coma, his podcasting ally Rumi (Prajakta Koli) investigates djinns and desi demons, and somewhere in a luxurious wellness centre, a sleekly detached Surveen Chawla runs a clinic with more secrets than patients.
Sounds cool? It is—on paper.
Andhera feels like a series constantly sprinting in all directions, hoping one of them hits. At times, it brushes brilliance: the 'andhera' as a living entity that feeds on psychological vulnerabilities is a clever metaphor—one that could have reflected society’s increasing surrender to AI, mental health neglect, and emotional burnout.
But instead of trusting the power of this idea, the show buries it under piles of exposition, side plots, and sci-fi jargon. There’s a black goo bubbling in underground labs, child abuse flashbacks, evil billionaires chasing immortality, spiritual mumbo-jumbo, and more. Every time a theme starts to resonate, another subplot elbows it out of the way.
The ensemble cast is a mixed bag. Priya Bapat brings grit to her role, but the writing doesn't let her evolve beyond the "haunted cop" stereotype. Karanvir Malhotra carries his internal turmoil convincingly, but his arc is diluted by overwritten dialogue and repetitive sequences. Prajakta Koli has the energy but seems miscast in a role that requires more depth than quirk.
Surveen Chawla gets the most intriguing character—a wellness queen with a murky agenda—but her potential is squandered in exposition dumps and monologues.
Visually, the show delivers. The atmospheric lighting, eerie set design, and ominous score by Ketan Sodha all work to create a mood that should scare or at least unsettle. But horror is more than aesthetics—it’s emotional engagement. And Andhera fails to draw us into the inner worlds of its characters. Without that investment, even the most stylish dread feels hollow.
There’s a fascinating show buried deep inside Andhera—one about fear as currency, AI as predator, and trauma as fuel for supernatural manipulation. But that show is smothered by convoluted storytelling, inconsistent pacing, and a lack of emotional focus.
Instead of delivering thought-provoking horror, Andhera settles for flashy confusion. It wants to scare you, move you, warn you, and wow you—all at once. The result? A muddled experience that fizzles out before it can ever truly flicker to life.
If you're curious, give it a shot—but don’t forget to bring a flashlight. You might need it to find meaning in the dark.