Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders Review | A Deliciously Paced & Politically Resolute Crime Drama

As Honey Trehan continues to struggle for a domestic platform for Punjab 95, his Diljit Dosanjh–led film, his cinema remains anchored to the impulse that drew him to filmmaking in the first place: an unsparing examination of class hierarchies, social decay and the moral failures of the justice system. Trehan’s directorial debut and the crime-thriller franchise that began with Raat Akeli Hai (2020) returns with its second chapter, Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders, streaming on Netflix from December 19. Nawazuddin Siddiqui slips back into the skin of Jatil Yadav, the inspector who, in the first part, pursued the murder of a wealthy patriarch and the rot festering beneath familial respectability. The investigation strikes a recognisable chord, but the story unfolds along darker, more treacherous lines. The massacre of the powerful Bansal family pulls Yadav into a labyrinth of violence, privilege and buried guilt. 

The film opens with Meera Bansal (Chitrangada Singh) sitting in meditation, her calm steadily fraying as the harsh cawing of crows pierces the silence. Drawn to her backyard by the disturbance, she stumbles upon a sight that appears ritualistic and deeply unsettling. Within minutes, Trehan establishes the film’s mood with unnerving clarity: Meera’s meditative calm is a privileged illusion and the machinery of vengeance is already in motion to demolish it. Inspector Jatil Yadav meets with the family, whose members are thus introduced to the audience. We’re also led to notice Aarav Bansal (Delzad Hiwale), who happens to be a particularly troubled individual within the Bansals. 

As the trailer suggested, the film heavily centres on the mass murders of the Bansal family. Yet, it spends a generous stretch deliberately misleading the viewer—juggling red herrings before settling into the familiar architecture of a whodunnit. However, once the puzzle clicks into place, the film owes us more than the identity of the culprit. It quietly demands a deeper reckoning with motive—the why, not merely the who. Trehan and writer Smita Singh form an electrifying pair, mastering the art of revelation and concealment as the film unfolds into a deliciously tense crime drama.

Belonging to a newspaper empire, Meera is the face of her family legacy. Her alliance with the mysterious, sermon-spilling Guru Maa (Deepti Naval) reveals a family that’s deeply embedded in both money and religious practices. Rajat Kapoor, as DGP Sameer Verma, navigates the delicate space between the police establishment and Rajesh Bansal (Sanjay Kapoor), one of the Bansal brothers, running his own news channel from a life apart. As suspicion ricochets from one powerful family member to another, the film quietly compels the audience to confront their appetite for appearances and narratives that gloss over the deeper moral decay. Another subtle triumph lies in its critique of journalism—the often-vaunted fourth pillar of democracy—exposing how stories are consumed more than interrogated. The film also doesn’t forget to laugh at itself, as the case could have been flattened into a neat, binge-friendly “Netflix thriller,” yet Yadav resists, and so does Trehan.

In order to balance the film’s plot line with the protagonist’s, there are several misfires. Yadav’s domestic life feels underdeveloped and awkwardly handled. His mother, Sarita Kumari, portrayed by Ila Arun and Radha, played by Radhika Apte, function mainly as instruments to hint at his inner world, yet they lack the gravity to make it cohesive. Although Apte as Radha is charming but unlike the previous film, here she is quite forgettable: the film limits her to a very few scenes and to the role of Yadav’s love interest. Stellar forces like her and Arun, are criminally underused. The scenes between the three of them appear comical (with emphasised funny sound effects) but don’t quite coalesce with the otherwise serious tone of the rest of the film. 

What makes the invincible, razor-sharp cop trope surprisingly engaging here is that he isn’t the lone genius solving everything. Instead, women chart his path—emotionally and professionally. Radha and Sarita anchor his emotional world, while Nisha Pal (Priyanka Setia) and Dr. Rosie Panicker (Revathy Asha Kelunni) steer the investigation itself. Setia’s Nisha, though confined to a handful of scenes, lends crucial legal insight that pushes Yadav closer to the truth. Meanwhile, the spirited clashes between Yadav and Dr. Panicker spark tension and wit, eventually coalescing into an effective investigative partnership. When the conventional, patriarchal machinery of justice proves inadequate, these women don’t just support him emotionally but also sharpen his intellect and illuminate the path through the darkness. 

Yadav’s resolve is absolute—so absolute, in fact, that the film rarely lets us doubt if he will crack the case, as he barrels forward on sheer instinct and unshakable intuition. His personal and private conflicts seem minimal as compared to the mystery in front of him. Siddiqui delivers a performance that feels honed yet alert—sharp-eyed, faintly perplexed, and carried with an ease born of long familiarity with such roles. It is Chitrangada Singh, however, who quietly commands the film. From her very first appearance to her final moment on screen, she exudes an arresting mystique, her presence charged with authority and an almost hypnotic control.

The film thrives on its unrelenting atmospheric bleakness—the Bansal house transforms into a gothic nightmare as darkness descends, with Yadav navigating its shadows with a mobile flashlight. There are no cheap jumpscares. Unease seeps from every corner—rivers of blood, a relentless killer on the prowl, and a ticking clock that whispers of malevolent forces. Being Trehan, he never shies from political precision, laying his convictions bare. The crime itself transcends mere violence, revealing the forces that made it inevitable. Without giving too much away, The film delivers a searing meditation on the cost exacted by unbridled power and entitlement, drawn with uncanny precision from the textures of real life. Trehan once again asserts that his storytelling demands attention, refusing to dilute his politics into a neat, palatable “Netflix formula.“ The film cements him as a confident director, just as unmistakably as in the previous installment. Raat Akeli Hai: The Bansal Murders (2025) unfolds as a meticulously crafted thriller, one that attempts an accessible and engaging structure along with grounded narrative intent that audiences are likely to savour.