I have to admit, I suffer from major haunted-mansion fatigue. Give me another movie with a creaky wooden door in a dense, remote forest, and my eyes glaze over before the opening credits finish. So, when I sat down for Fourth Floor, I was genuinely ready to give it a fair shot. The idea of placing a supernatural horror inside a sterile, newly built urban apartment complex sounded like a refreshing change of pace. There is even a brilliantly weird early detail where a local rowdy dictates that tenants can only visit the fourth floor and the terrace—a rule that instantly hooked my curiosity. Sadly, that initial goodwill evaporated within the first twenty minutes. Instead of building actual, creeping dread in this modern setting, the film panics. It resorts to violent camera shakes, rapid-fire editing cuts, and aggressively loud music to force jump scares, turning what could have been a smart psychological thriller into a deeply predictable, exhausting mess.
The Setup, Familiar Yet Slightly Polished
If you ask little children how to make a horror film, they would probably describe something like this, an isolated location, a group of unsuspecting people, unexplained deaths, a tragic ghost backstory, and finally a hero who helps the spirit find closure or revenge. Fourth Floor almost checks all those boxes, just with a cosmetic upgrade. Instead of an abandoned house, we get a newly constructed apartment. Instead of a remote jungle, we get a sparsely populated urban stretch. The film opens by establishing that there is a mystery specifically tied to the fourth floor of this building.
The protagonist, Aari Arujunan, plays a young man named Dheeran who joins an IT company in Chennai. The company allots him a flat, which happens to be inside this eerie apartment complex. However, there is more to his arrival than a simple job relocation. His ex lover once lived in the same flat. She still calls him occasionally, speaks to him over the phone, yet he is unable to trace her location. That lingering emotional thread becomes his motivation to stay back and investigate.
The building is under the control of a local rowdy who lays down a strange rule, no one should go anywhere except the fourth floor and the terrace. That single restriction is meant to spark intrigue. Who is Dheeran really? Why is he desperately searching for his former lover? Why did they separate? Why can he hear her voice but never find her? And most importantly, what exactly is hidden on the fourth floor? These questions form the narrative backbone of the film.
Predictability Kills Fear
In horror, uncertainty is power. I am willing to forgive budgetary limitations if the writing shows intelligence and restraint. Unfortunately, Fourth Floor reveals its cards far too early. Within the second or third scene, I could already sense the direction of the so called major twist. When the villain is introduced and later exposed, the rest of the film unfolds exactly as expected. There are no meaningful subversions, no narrative risks, and no psychological depth to compensate for the predictability.
The film mistakes technical noise for fear. The camera shakes violently during tense moments. The editing slices scenes into multiple rapid cuts within a second. The colour tone shifts abruptly. The background score suddenly rises in volume. But none of these techniques, by themselves, create horror. They create distraction. True fear emerges from anticipation, from silence, from what is not shown. I kept waiting for a moment where the film would trust its own atmosphere. That moment never arrived.
I am not against stylisation, but when style replaces substance, the experience becomes exhausting. Horror is not about making the audience jump every five minutes. It is about making them uneasy even in calm scenes. That subtlety is missing here.
The Writing, Convenience Over Coherence
Beyond horror, the film struggles even in staging basic drama. Several events unfold conveniently, as if the screenplay is rushing to hit checkpoints rather than organically developing the story. A group appears claiming they are making a short film. Their presence adds confusion more than depth. I kept asking myself what narrative function they served. The answer never comes.
Dheeran‘s friends also enter the narrative, but their purpose remains unclear. They do not significantly influence the plot. They do not deepen Dheeran‘s character. They do not escalate the stakes. They simply exist in the frame. There is also a second female character residing in the flat. Ari treats her casually, almost dismissively, and the reason behind this dynamic is not convincingly explained even by the end.
The villain’s character arc is perhaps the most inconsistent element. Before the interval, there is a violent confrontation aimed at vacating Dheeran from the flat. The fight is staged as brutal and intense. The rowdy and his men seem determined to throw him out at any cost. Naturally, I assumed the second half would revolve around Ari re entering the apartment against their wishes, escalating the conflict.
Instead, after the interval, Dheeran is simply back in the same flat, staying there calmly. The earlier fight is not revealed to be imaginary. In fact, footage is shown to confirm that it actually happened. This leaves me baffled. If the villain truly wanted him out, why the sudden change in stance? Why the dramatic effort to remove a single tenant if the control of the building was already in his hands? The screenplay offers no satisfying explanation.
A Glimmer of an Idea
In the second half, there is a subplot involving an agency deal for chips and cool drinks. Surprisingly, this thread leads to a twist that I found relatively interesting. It is one of the few moments where the film attempts to connect mundane business activity with hidden motives. For a brief period, I felt that the story might redeem itself by exploring this angle with more nuance.
However, the execution remains surface level. The twist does not carry the emotional or thematic weight it could have had. It feels like a decent idea trapped inside an underdeveloped narrative structure.
A Climax That Raises More Questions Than Tension
The climax attempts to deliver shock value on a large scale. Bombs are planted to demolish the apartment building. The idea is that the flat is about to collapse. Both the hero and his group, along with the villain and his men, are inside the building when the ghost uses its supernatural power to activate the bomb. The villain becomes trapped. That much feels aligned with the revenge arc.
But then, the hero also gets caught in the detonation and escapes with severe injuries. This is where the logic begins to crumble. If the ghost has the power to activate the bomb, why not wait until the hero exits? If revenge was the sole objective, why cause collateral damage to the one person who arguably sympathised with the spirit? Could the ghost not delay or deactivate the explosion? The film does not address these questions, leaving the climax feeling forced rather than cathartic.
Performances, A Mixed Bag
Ari Arjunan, whose name appears correctly spelled as Aari Arujunan in the film credits, delivers a performance that feels inexperienced. I did not sense the emotional turmoil of a man haunted by a lost relationship. His reactions to supernatural events lack conviction. In horror, the protagonist’s fear must feel authentic, because the audience mirrors that emotion. Here, the expressions often appear rehearsed.
Among the supporting cast, Thalaivasal Vijay stands out to some extent. As a seasoned actor, he brings a degree of credibility to his scenes. His dialogue delivery and body language reflect experience. Yet even he is constrained by the limitations of the script.
The rest of the characters barely register. Their performances oscillate between overacting and indifference. At several points, I felt as though the actors were unsure about the tonal demands of the scene. The emotional beats do not land because the performances lack cohesion.
Technical Aspects, Functional But Unremarkable
The cinematography does not fully exploit the potential of the apartment setting. Corridors, staircases, and confined spaces can be visually unsettling when framed cleverly. Here, they are presented in a largely routine manner. The lighting does not create layered shadows. The colour palette shifts abruptly rather than gradually shaping mood.
Editing is particularly problematic. Rapid cuts are used excessively in an attempt to simulate intensity. Instead of enhancing tension, this approach fragments the viewing experience. The background music is loud, sometimes unnecessarily so. Rather than building atmosphere, it announces fear in advance, which reduces its impact.
Overall, the technical departments deliver work that is serviceable but not inspired.
Final Thoughts, Sincerity Without Craft
I do not doubt the sincerity of the team behind Fourth Floor. It is evident that effort has been invested. Making a horror film is not easy, especially within constraints. However, sincerity alone cannot replace solid writing, coherent character arcs, and imaginative staging.
The metaphor that comes to my mind is architectural. If the foundation, basement, and retaining walls of a building are weak, no amount of decorative paint can stabilise it. Fourth Floor suffers from structural weaknesses in its screenplay. As a result, the entire narrative feels fragile, as though it might collapse at the slightest scrutiny.
I wanted to be surprised. I wanted to feel unsettled. Instead, I found myself predicting plot points and questioning character motivations. Horror demands creativity and presence of mind in execution. Without those elements, even a promising premise struggles to survive.
For its effort but limited impact, I would rate Fourth Floor 2/5.
