Walking into Wanita Ahli Neraka, I expected a straightforward horror film—one filled with predictable scares and ominous shadows creeping around dimly lit corridors. Instead, what I got was something more layered, something that felt unsettling in a way that lingers. This is a film that operates less on sudden shocks and more on an underlying dread, the kind that seeps into your bones as the story unfolds. It is not just a horror film; it is a psychological descent wrapped in the fabric of faith, expectation, and the unseen forces that shape our lives.
At its heart, the story follows Farah, a young woman who has spent her life devoted to faith. Her beliefs shape her, guiding her decisions, and for her, marriage is more than just companionship—it is a sacred path, a fulfillment of divine duty. Her husband, Wahab, is a man with political aspirations, ambitious and driven, and their union appears to be one built on mutual understanding. But the moment they step into their shared life, an unsettling presence begins to unravel the carefully constructed reality Farah once knew. Strange occurrences begin, whispers in the dark, objects moving on their own, and a creeping sense that she is being watched. As Wahab's political career takes center stage, Farah is left to navigate these disturbances alone, trapped between the seen and the unseen, between devotion and fear.
The film’s strongest suit is how it builds atmosphere. The cinematography wraps around the narrative like a second skin, using confined spaces and shadows to create a suffocating sense of dread. It is not about what you see but about what you feel lurking just outside the frame. The camera often lingers a beat too long, forcing you to anticipate something that may or may not happen, playing on the psychological aspect rather than resorting to overused horror tricks.
Farah’s slow unraveling is portrayed with precision. She begins as a woman of unshakable belief, only to find herself doubting the very foundations of her reality. Is what she is experiencing supernatural? A manifestation of stress? A punishment? Or is it something far more insidious, something rooted in the expectations placed upon her as a wife, as a believer, as a woman? The film never spoon-feeds answers, and that ambiguity is what makes it effective.
On the other hand, Wahab’s character serves as a contrast. His ambition pulls him further away from his wife’s growing distress, making his presence feel more like a shadow than a solid figure in her life. His performance does not rely on exaggerated emotions but on subtle detachment—he is present, but not truly there. This growing gap between them mirrors Farah’s descent into isolation, making the horror feel even more tangible.
The film does have its flaws. Pacing is an issue at times, with certain sequences stretching longer than necessary, slowing down momentum. While the build-up is fantastic, the payoff feels somewhat muted—less of a shocking revelation and more of a quiet, creeping realization. Some viewers might crave a more traditional horror climax, but this film is not about grandiose scares. It is about what lingers after the lights come back on, about the thoughts it plants in your mind.
Sound design plays a major role in amplifying the unease. The use of silence is as deliberate as the moments filled with sound. A distant whisper, a barely-there movement, the softest creak of a door—these details create an atmosphere where every small noise feels significant. It keeps you on edge, making you question whether you actually heard something or if your mind is simply playing tricks on you.
Beneath the horror, there is a deeper commentary. The film explores themes of faith and control, of what happens when devotion turns into something that isolates rather than strengthens. It questions the weight of expectations placed upon women, particularly those tied to religious and marital roles. Farah’s struggle is not just with the supernatural but with the very structure of her reality. The haunting she experiences is not just external—it is internal, embedded in the very expectations that shape her world.
Supporting characters add further dimensions to this exploration, serving as both mirrors and warnings to Farah’s own journey. Some provide comfort, others skepticism, but each interaction adds another layer to her unraveling state of mind. It is not just the ghosts that haunt her—it is the whispers of judgment, the unseen pressure, the quiet fear of stepping outside the boundaries that have been set for her.
In the end, Wanita Ahli Neraka is not a film that relies on easy scares or loud horror. It is a slow burn, unsettling in a way that feels personal. It takes its time, immersing you in its world and making you feel the weight of its protagonist’s fear and uncertainty. While its pacing issues and understated climax might not satisfy those looking for a high-intensity horror experience, it succeeds in crafting something that lingers. The kind of horror that does not just terrify but makes you think. The kind that stays with you long after you have left the theater.
Final Score- [6/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times