Divyanshu Rathour

Pyre (2024) is one of those films that just crawls under your skin and stays there, you know? The story’s set in a bleak, almost suffocating rural landscape, where the heat feels like another character. Divyanshu Rathour takes us deep into the guts of tradition and taboo, spinning out a tale that’s as raw as it is haunting. At the center, you’ve got this young couple—barely adults, honestly—who are caught in the crossfire between old-school family honor and their desire to just, like, live their own lives. Things spiral when the two try to escape the tangled mess of caste and community expectations. But, of course, nothing is ever that simple in small-town India. Secrets spill out, violence simmers just beneath the surface, and you get this sense that freedom is always just out of reach. The film doesn’t really go easy on you—there’s no sugarcoating the ugliness, and Rathour doesn’t flinch from showing how twisted things get when society cares more about reputation than actual people. The tension sticks with you, and there are moments that’ll leave you squirming in your seat. What makes Pyre really hit, though, is how it balances hope and despair. There’s beauty in the tiny rebellions, the stolen glances, the desperate plans. But there’s also this gut-punch of inevitability, like the system’s rigged from the start. It’s one of those movies that’ll leave you thinking long after the credits roll—angry, maybe, but definitely awake.