“It’s hard being human.” That quiet little line sums up the grim, gleaming heart of Sister Midnight, a bold, darkly comic horror film from director Karan Kandhari that’s equal parts arthouse mood piece and genre freakout. It starts as a deadpan domestic drama and ends somewhere … else entirely.

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Part Wes Anderson, part Jennifer’s Body, part Indian gothic fever dream, it’s the rare film that has the audacity to ask: What if the weird girl in your neighborhood wasn’t just weird — what if she was something else entirely?

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Uma (Radhika Apte, in a knockout performance) and Gopal (Ashok Pathak) are married and promptly dumped in a dingy little hovel by families who clearly had other priorities. They sit next to each other on their wedding night, faces covered by ornate beaded veils, not touching, barely moving. The first spoken line of the film doesn’t come until six minutes in, from a sneering neighbor: “Fucking hillbillies.” The contempt is palpable — and it’s mutual.

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She doesn’t know how to run a household. He doesn’t know how to speak in a polysyllabic manner. Most of Gopal’s communication consists of gestures and glances. She learns how to cook from a neighbor and gets a job as a maid. He comes and goes in silence, while she stares blankly into space. The whole relationship unfolds like a silent film — but it’s her silence that roars.

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Then something bites Uma. She gets sick and stops eating. And, about 45 minutes in, Sister Midnight twists the knife and flips the script. Is this a … vampire movie?

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Not exactly. But also … maybe.

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The transformation is slow, surreal, and spectacular. Animals start behaving strangely. The dead don’t stay dead. And in a brilliant, almost David Lynch moment, fast-moving, reanimated creatures skitter across the floor in what looks like stop motion — but blends seamlessly into the otherwise grounded world. Huge credit to the film’s effects team for creating visuals that are both playful and quietly terrifying.

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Beneath all this stylish weirdness lies biting social commentary: on gender roles, marriage, isolation, and the suffocating weight of traditionalism. In this world, women like Uma are still bartered away like livestock. And when the livestock bites back, the villagers panic. The horror here isn’t just supernatural — it’s systemic.

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The soundtrack pulses with Western influence — blues, punk, folk, even a little new wave — hinting at Uma’s inner rebellion. The Iggy Pop–inspired title fits: Sister Midnight is ragged, stylish, and just dangerous enough to make you lean in for more.

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Apte’s performance is the soul of the film. She speaks little, but says everything with her eyes: frustration, irony, exhaustion, defiance. Her deadpan delivery turns everyday moments into biting commentary. There are no punchlines here — just perfect framing, brilliant timing, and the crushing absurdity of her situation. It’s funny. But it’s also tragic. And deeply, painfully weird.

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By the end, you may not know exactly what Uma has become, but you’ll understand why. Sister Midnight is a wickedly clever genre cocktail: part social satire, part horror fable, all attitude. It’s a film that stares into the abyss of arranged marriage and conservative culture, smirks back with blood-stained teeth, and dares you to look away.