'Vash Level 2' Review: A rare sequel that unsettles in the best way and lingers long after

Vash Level 2

In theatres (in Hindi and Gujarati)

Cast: Janki Bodiwala, Hitu Kanodia, Hiten Kumar & more

Directed by: Krishnadev Yagnik (also writer)

Rating - **** (4/5)

Some sequels arrive weighed down by the expectation of being bigger and louder than their predecessors. Others flip the rulebook and go for something sharper, leaner, and infinitely more unsettling. Vash Level 2, Krishnadev Yagnik’s sequel to his 2023 Gujarati horror-thriller, belongs squarely in the second category.

The film does not pick up immediately after Vash but instead drops us twelve years later. What you’d assume to be a closure has only twisted into something stranger. Atharva, played with a broken intensity by Hitu Kanodia, has trapped the dreaded Pratap, the original master of Vashikaran. Arya (Janki Bodhiwala) still lives, but only as a hollow vessel with a fixed smile and no agency. Her mother and brother are gone. Her father now lives in this strange limbo, part jailer, part caretaker, part grieving parent. The setup alone feels suffocating, but Yagnik wastes no time in turning the screw tighter.

A Cold Open That Stings

The film’s opening fifteen minutes are a curious experiment. On paper, they might feel indulgent. On screen, they unfold like a meticulously designed cold open, the kind television shows deploy before credits roll. The first ten minutes tease, stall, and linger almost to the point of frustration, before the next five minutes hit like a thunderclap. Suddenly you are strapped in, eyes peeled, aware that you are walking into a story that delights in toying with patience before ripping it away.

This is Yagnik’s greatest strength: he trusts silence and rhythm over noise. Instead of bombarding you with exposition, he lets unease bloom through pauses, through a shot that overstays its welcome, or through a small gesture that feels just a little too unnatural.

A New Evil Emerges

What do you do when the monster from the first film is chained? You invent another one. Just when you think Atharva has successfully imprisoned Pratap, a new force arrives out of nowhere, deadlier and far less predictable. He isn’t a whispering sorcerer playing mind games with one family. He is a tormentor who has ensnared nearly two hundred schoolgirls in his vile grasp.

The sheer scale of this evil jolts the narrative. Instead of a personal chamber of horrors, we are thrust into a collective nightmare. Imagine being the parent of one of these girls, watching helplessly as chaos spirals and order collapses. Yagnik stages these scenes with raw chaos, never letting the camera rest long enough to give viewers false comfort. You flinch, you squirm, you wonder how deep into inhumanity this figure will descend.

The Art of Restraint

Most sequels fall for the temptation of scale. Bigger sets, bigger effects, bigger noise. Yagnik resists. Vash Level 2 barely leaves a handful of locations. The setting is intimate, confined, even suffocating. Yet the stakes soar higher because of the claustrophobia. When every scene is boxed in, every small shift feels seismic.

What emerges is a masterclass in screenplay control. Instead of grand speeches, the film thrives on moments that last seconds. A child sneezes. A command is given: stop breathing. She obeys, and collapses lifeless. No gore, no theatrics, just sheer terror in its simplest form. These flourishes are scattered throughout the film like landmines, and every few minutes, one detonates.

Atharva and His Broken Life

At the heart of it, Vash Level 2 is still Atharva’s story. For twelve years he has held Pratap captive, yet victory feels hollow. His daughter Arya is alive but not living. Her permanent, eerie smile is all that remains of her once vibrant self. She has not spoken in years, except for one word that comes much later, loaded with unbearable weight.

Atharva’s existence is a study in paradox. He has “won” by enslaving the monster who destroyed his family. Yet he is enslaved himself, tending to the shell of a daughter, trapped in grief and a twisted sense of duty. Why live this way? Why cling to torment? Yagnik answers these questions not with sweeping monologues but with tiny, piercing details. A look held a beat too long. A ritual carried out with hopeless devotion. It is in these small choices that the film draws you in, pulling you deeper into Atharva’s tragic maze.

The Ensemble That Refuses to Fade

Handling a crowd on screen is notoriously tricky. Most filmmakers let extras dissolve into wallpaper. Yagnik refuses to. Each of the hundreds of schoolgirls in Vash Level 2 feels like she matters. Even if she appears for only a moment, her fear is visible, her role integral to the larger atmosphere.

This is not just smart direction but also careful writing. By refusing to let the crowd be faceless, the film creates a constant sense of weight. The room feels heavy with lived-in panic, and it makes every horrifying act that much more unbearable. The young performers step up to the challenge with conviction, refusing to let the veterans carry the film alone.

Janki Bodhiwala’s Haunting Silence

If Vash was Janki Bodhiwala’s playground, Vash Level 2 reduces her presence to near absence. For most actors, that would feel like a demotion. Bodhiwala turns it into a triumph. Her Arya is barely human, a puppet caught in a perpetual trance. She does not speak, she barely moves, and yet she terrifies and devastates in equal measure.

The prosthetics aid the illusion, but it is her ability to perform with nothing but presence that elevates it. Her one line of dialogue arrives like a thunderstorm. You feel the twelve years of silence collapse into a single moment of unbearable release. It is a performance rooted in restraint, and it lingers far longer than more verbose ones would.

A Near-Flawless Thriller with Minor Hiccups

No film is perfect, and Vash Level 2 has its share of cracks. The first ten minutes might test patience before rewarding it. The final act, after such meticulous tension, feels hurried. The logic holds, but the satisfaction is slightly dulled by how quickly it unfolds. These are small blemishes, however, on an otherwise razor-sharp canvas.

For most of its runtime, Vash Level 2 is the rare sequel that refuses to inflate itself into cartoonish excess. It digs deeper instead of climbing higher. It unsettles instead of dazzling. It shows that horror and suspense are not about how loud you scream but about how quietly you wait for the scream to escape.

Final Thoughts

With Vash Level 2, Krishnadev Yagnik proves that sequels need not always chase spectacle. Sometimes the braver choice is to contract, to zoom in, to choke the air out of every frame until the audience squirms. This film does exactly that.

Atharva’s tragic existence, Arya’s ghostly shell, Pratap’s restrained menace, and the emergence of a new and terrifying force combine into a narrative that keeps you perpetually on edge. Performances across the board anchor the madness, but it is Yagnik’s trust in silence, patience, and detail that makes the film unforgettable.

Yes, it stumbles briefly at the beginning and end. But the middle stretch is so taut, so consistently unnerving, that it demands to be experienced. And for the first time, audiences outside Gujarat can join in, thanks to a Hindi release that opens the door for a wider viewership.

In a year already packed with thrillers, Vash Level 2 still manages to stand apart. It is chilling, intimate, and masterfully crafted. It is not just a sequel. It is proof that the scariest horrors are not the ones that grow louder, but the ones that grow closer.