Songs of the Djinns (2026): A River of Stories Drifting Without a Shore
Two actresses drift through the chaotic, fire-lit streets of Varanasi on New Year’s Eve, their faces catching the glow of a thousand rituals, while elsewhere in Goa, pop stars prepare for a musical event that feels less like a concert and more like a summoning. This is the bifurcated world of Roman Mikhailov’s Songs of the Djinns, a 93-minute meditation that trades narrative momentum for atmospheric density, asking its audience to surrender to the tide rather than swim against it.
Vyom Yadav and Manasvi Mamgai Carry the Weight of Silence
Yadav and Mamgai are the film’s emotional anchors, though their performances are built on presence rather than dialogue. They wander Varanasi as if searching for a frequency only they can hear, their body language suggesting a shared history that the screenplay refuses to spell out.
Mamgai brings a grounded, almost weary physicality to her scenes, while Yadav counters with a more ethereal register. Their dynamic works because Mikhailov trusts their faces to communicate what the elliptical script leaves unsaid.
Mikhailov’s Direction: Atmosphere Over Accessibility
Roman Mikhailov’s direction is confident in its refusal to explain itself. The multi-location structure spanning Varanasi and Goa is ambitious, and the shifting realities between these spaces create a genuine sense of geographic and spiritual dislocation.
But the screenplay’s elliptical nature is also its most significant flaw. Character identities remain frustratingly opaque, and the film’s symbolic approach will alienate anyone not already invested in experimental art-house grammar.
The Genre-Core: Drama Through Storytelling Within Storytelling
The river-ship sequence, where characters take turns narrating their tales, is the film’s beating heart. It is here that the anthology structure clicks into place, each personal account layering onto the next like sediment on a riverbed, slowly forming a collective portrait of longing and illusion.
The Goa preparation scenes function as a contrasting pulse, offering a performative, almost garish counterpoint to the quiet introspection of the boat. This tension between public spectacle and private reflection drives the film’s dramatic engine.
Mikhailov uses music not as background texture but as a structural device, with the promise of hearing the genies’ singing serving as the narrative’s elusive grail. The climax resolves through reflection and atmosphere, not conventional closure, which is either a bold choice or a cop-out depending on your tolerance for ambiguity.
Supporting Cast: Viktoriya Miroshnichenko and the Ensemble of Shadows
Viktoriya Miroshnichenko appears among the principal cast, and while scene-specific notes are scarce, her casting signals a deliberate bridge between the Russian and Indian elements of the production. She embodies the cultural hybridity that the film’s cross-border production aims for.
Anastasiya Neginskaya, Vladimir Trushnikov, and Artem Kisakov round out a supporting ensemble that functions more as a Greek chorus than as individual characters. Their collective presence reinforces the film’s theme of stories circulating through a closed group, each voice contributing to a larger, unknowable truth.
Audience Reception: A Film for the Patient, Not the Passive
There is no verified critical aggregation score available, which feels appropriate for a film this defiantly niche. The praise centers on the atmospheric use of Varanasi and the river setting, while complaints focus on the lack of clear character mapping and the ambiguous plot structure.
This is a work for the festival circuit and the midnight screening crowd, not for multiplex weekend warriors. The 18+ certificate and the 93-minute runtime suggest a filmmaker uninterested in compromise, and the absence of box office data in the available trade reports implies a release strategy built on word-of-mouth rather than opening weekend numbers.
If you loved the meditative storytelling of Taxila, you’ll find a kindred spirit here.
For those willing to drift, Songs of the Djinns offers a singular, hypnotic experience best watched on a regular screen in a dark room with no distractions. But if you need your plots linear and your characters named, this ship will leave you stranded on the shore.
Songs of the Djinns is a beautiful, frustrating riddle that earns a 2.5 out of 5 for its audacity, even as it loses points for its inaccessibility.
Its fragmented river journey shares a restless spirit with Curious Case verdict.
Ankit Jaiswal is the Chief Author, covering Indian cinema and OTT releases with honest, no-filler criticism. An SEO strategist by background, he brings a research-driven approach to film writing, cutting through hype to tell you exactly what's worth your time.