‘In Flames’ Review: From Pakistan, a Vivid Psychological Thriller That Tackles Grief, Ghosts and the Patriarchy

In Zarrar Kahn’s eerie debut feature In Flames, the oppressive obstacles of the patriarchy are rendered as a ghost story. White-eyed apparitions haunt corners of rooms; uncanny sounds, resembling owl calls, carry us across scenes; and a visual palette of fiery reds and ghastly greens set the tone, filling the film with spooky-tale conventions. 

Death instigates the horror of Kahn’s narrative, which premiered in the Directors’ Fortnight section of Cannes. When Mariam’s grandfather, the patriarch of their household in Karachi, dies, the young woman (played by Ramesha Nawal) and her family are suddenly left imperiled. Everything — the house, the car, various accounts — are in his name, which means any men in the extended family ostensibly have a right to seize them. The 25-year old medical student worries about her bereaved mother Fariah (Bakhtawar Mazhar) and her spacey brother Bilal (Jibraan Khan).

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The pressures Mariam faces mount when a stranger throws a brick into her car, disrupting her drive to the library and shattering her window. The aggressive action leaves her shaken, afraid and paranoid. Close-ups and a menacing score by Kalaisan Kalaichelvan highlight Mariam’s vulnerability within the city and cast the outside world as a dangerous obstacle course. Men stare with disapproving looks or intense desire, watching her as she walks around town or sits on her apartment terrace. 

At school, Mariam finds comfort in a new boy Asad (Omar Javaid), who wants to help her find the man who threw the brick. The search yields nothing substantial, but it does form the foundation of their friendship and, later, romance. Their courtship progresses quickly and its speed is the one unsteady beat in an otherwise strong narrative. The tone of their romantic drama — characterized by an uncharacteristic warmth and charm — feels discordant with the rest of the film. It seems to serve one purpose only, which becomes clear later after an accident changes Mariam’s life. 

When In Flames does regain its footing, it’s in large part thanks to Nawal’s performance. Her delicate portrayal of Mariam projects strength without abandoning her character’s underlying fragility. Nawal’s expressions are penetrating and precise. As Mariam navigates the aftermath of recent trauma, she finds herself slipping mentally. Ghosts of her father (who died earlier) and her grandfather visit her at night. These apparitions, conjured by Kahn with the help of production designer Matti Malik, are reminders of how men retain control long after they’ve disappeared. Her nightmares become increasingly vivid, and the line between her reality and fantasies blur. Nawal’s restraint makes the film all the more chilling. 

While processing her own struggles, Mariam also tries to advise her grieving mother against trusting her Uncle Nasir (Adnan Shah Tipu). Her father’s brother has never taken an interest in the family affairs before, but after the death of Mariam’s grandfather, he ingratiates himself into their lives. Mariam knows her uncle wants to swindle her mother out of the property and inheritance left by her grandfather, but she struggles to reason with her. 

At its strongest, In Flames teases out how the patriarchy — a large, unruly force — fractures the relationship between mother and daughter. Kahn depicts Mariam and Fariah’s parallel experiences, observing how each of them tries to regain a sense of agency. Mariam uses a sympathetic driver to help her figure out what happened to Asad, while Fariah attempts to seduce a lawyer she hired to fight Nasir into lowering his legal fees. These scenes are tinged with a stressful desperation, as the women find themselves further constricted by society. 

It’s only when Mariam and Fariah start sharing their respective experiences with each other that they find some form of freedom. In one of the film’s most powerful scenes, Mariam walks in on her mother smoking a cigarette and crying. Fariah asks her daughter why she wasn’t at the library and Mariam lies with a practiced casualness. Fariah invites Mariam to sit with her and eases into a story about the insomnia she experienced after the death of Mariam’s father, and how nightmares would haunt her. A healer told Fariah that if she ever experienced nightmares again, it would be because her daughter was making the same mistakes as she was. 

Kahn shoots the scene in an intimate range that connects, for the first time, mother and daughter. “Whatever has happened to you,” Fariah says to her daughter, as she grasps her hand “you can tell me.” The conversation underscores the intergenerational trauma imposed by patriarchal forces — how they wield shame to disconnect us from each other.