‘404’ (404 Run Run) Netflix Movie Review - A Spirited Clash Between Ambition and Apparition

Thai horror cinema has always had a knack for turning everyday places into unsettling playgrounds, but in "404," a Netflix original released in 2025, the haunted space isn’t just a backdrop—it’s the central player in an oddly emotional tug-of-war between ambition and, well, death. The hotel, Sukhee Nirun, is less a crumbling piece of architecture and more a stubborn old woman refusing to leave her seat on a crowded train. And Nakrob, played by Ter Chantavit, is the unfortunate newcomer trying to kick her off that seat.

The premise is straightforward on the surface. Nakrob, a schemer in tailored shirts and with a perpetually nervous smile, sets his sights on flipping the Sukhee Nirun into a boutique hotel. But of course, there's a hitch. Lalita, the former owner, is dead—and not a peaceful kind of dead. She’s very much still around, haunting every corner of the place, and not too thrilled about the idea of her sanctuary becoming a profit-making enterprise. She makes her discontent known through the usual ghostly antics: flickering lights, eerie whispers, furniture that seems to rearrange itself just to mess with you. But what sets Lalita apart isn’t her scare tactics—it’s her presence. She’s not just a ghost; she’s a full-blown character with motives, regrets, and a voice that's more sulky than spooky.

The film leans hard into the horror-comedy blend, and for the most part, it pulls it off. There are moments of genuine suspense—sudden appearances in mirrors, slow creaking doors, uncomfortable silences—but they’re often quickly deflated by the slapstick responses of Nakrob and his rotating cast of spiritual consultants. One moment you're wondering if something sinister is about to happen, and the next, someone’s running out of the room in boxer shorts holding a garlic necklace. It's a delicate balance, and the movie teeters on the edge of overdoing it more than once. But it never fully tumbles into absurdity.

Visually, the film is striking. The location itself—set in southern Thailand rather than the overused cityscapes of Bangkok—gives the film a distinct sense of place. The hotel’s fading elegance, colonial hallways, and echoing staircases add depth to the atmosphere. The art direction leans into a romantic decay: cracked wallpaper, grand chandeliers, dusty piano keys. You get the sense that the place was once important and that whatever happened to Lalita wasn’t just tragic—it was unfair.

The performances are where the film picks up the slack from its occasional tonal confusion. Chantavit’s Nakrob is not your usual horror protagonist. He’s not especially brave or clever, but he’s persistent in the way people who are too broke to back out tend to be. His charm lies in his failure. You want him to win—not because he deserves it, but because watching him lose is exhausting. Opposite him, Kanyawee Songmuang as Lalita is equal parts haunting and strangely likable. She plays her ghostly role with just enough restraint to keep it from becoming campy. When she finally reveals the full story behind her death and her attachment to the hotel, it lands with an emotional weight that catches you off guard.

Now, the downsides. The film’s humor, while fresh and rooted in Thai sensibilities, doesn’t always translate well. There are sequences involving exorcists and Ghostbusters that feel repetitive, even if the intent is to milk the absurdity. You start to wish someone would just call a priest and be done with it. Also, the pacing occasionally stumbles. The second act, where Nakrob repeatedly fails to evict Lalita through various comic methods, drags its feet. The jokes stretch, the stakes stay flat for a little too long, and you start to wonder if the film is more interested in loops than progress.

The plot resolution is surprisingly tender. Nakrob and Lalita reach an understanding that doesn’t rely on a sudden twist or dramatic exorcism. It’s more of a quiet acceptance, a compromise between the living and the dead. The horror genre doesn’t often allow for mutual respect between ghosts and humans, but "404" dares to imagine that sometimes, the scariest part isn’t the ghost—it’s the failure to listen.

"404" isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s refreshingly unpretentious. It doesn’t rely on jump scares or gore, and it doesn’t shove morality down your throat. It’s a film about ambition, memory, and letting go, all wrapped in the form of a haunted real estate investment. If that sounds weird, that’s because it is—but weird in a good way. It’s funny without trying too hard, spooky without screaming at you, and just sentimental enough to leave a small mark.

In the end, "404" feels like a movie that knew exactly what it wanted to be and occasionally forgot how to get there. But even in those moments, it remains watchable, memorable, and oddly charming—like a haunted house that creaks and moans, but still makes you feel oddly at home.

Final Score- [5/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
Follow @AnjaliS54769166 on Twitter
Publisher at Midgard Times