The opening story, “Waqt”, follows five friends who become cursed after defacing a religious site, each dying by apparent suicide one by one as prayer times pass throughout the day. It’s a simple yet thematically loaded cautionary tale that provides a stark commentary on guilt, faith and the inevitability of consequences - it is the epitome of 'F-around and find out'. Nuhash uses cultural nuances as a narrative weapon, and this works alongside more traditional spooky happenings - including a standout scene where a character has lunch with his mum, though she is no longer of this world.

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The second part, “Bhaggo Bhalo”, isn’t bad by any means, but this story feels more conventional compared to the others. It looks at fate and the idea of being careful what you wish for as Mosharraf Karim’s fortune teller ignores a taboo, gets an immediate taste of success, and pays the price. It’s still compelling enough, but just more straightforward when compared to the other stories.

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“Antara”, the third segment, is far more subtle but ultimately is the most haunting of the bunch. The title refers to the story's lead character, a young woman (Ahmed) stuck in a miserable marriage to an old writer. Utilising a time loop narrative and exploring memory loss, marital power dynamics, and the sad horror of identity dissolution, there’s a cloying dread dripping from every scene. It takes its time to get going initially, but this really is a chilling story with depressing implications.

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But it’s the final offering, “Beshura”, that stands out the most, at least in its originality and uniqueness. It’s basically a musical, and the opening scenes leave you in no doubt as to this point. It follows a girl, Shilpi (Maan), who was born tone-deaf in a village where a person's singing ability is equal to their worth. Turning to a witch (Ahsan) for undivine assistance, the story spirals into a strange, bonkers and ambitious satire and jab at patriarchal rituals as Shilpi aims to reclaim her voice, literally. It is absolutely the most ‘out there’ of the four and was a surprisingly bold way to end this series.

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The four shorts were originally designed as individual stories on Bangladeshi streaming service Chorki, similar to Pett Kata Shaw, and when viewed together, can feel slightly overwhelming. Clocking in at two and a half hours, Dui Shaw is a meaty watch in one go, and the story's lack of cohesion may impact some people’s viewings, so, like I did, maybe take five minutes between each one and enjoy them more as individual scary tales. Or watch them all together in one go, whatever floats your boat.

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Technically, Dui Shaw is also impressive. Xoaher Musavvir’s cinematography is delicious, shifting between realism and otherworldliness, and Avishek Bhattacharjee’s synth-infused score only complements the film further to enhance the unsettling atmosphere.

Dui Shaw is an overall strong entry into the canon of horror anthologies. Despite a few stumbles and pacing issues along the way, it remains gripping for the most part, but its ambition and commentary should definitely be admired. It's a flawed but fascinating anthology that provides a striking and rewarding payoff, and should (hopefully) see Humayun go on to even bigger things.