Kulyas 2: Zikr-i — Ayin Dark rites, razor-sharp craft — a Turkish-American jinn saga that actually scares
What a trip. Kulyas 2: Zikr-i Ayin is a lean, 92-minute shocker that starts intense and never lets you breathe. It’s the kind of genre piece that understands fear is a craft: clean, crisp sound; muscular editing; striking compositions; and scare design that’s timed like a metronome. On the resources they had, they made magic — and often, it looks and feels bigger than its budget.
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Helen (Seda BaÅŸayvaz), desperate to win back the man she loves, turns to a sorceress and performs forbidden rituals, unknowingly awakening an ancient Kulyas jinn curse tied to her own bloodline. As catastrophe follows him, Helen’s hunt for salvation leads to a dervish lodge in Kars, where she joins forces with Mustafa Hoca and Yavuz to confront the curse. The tale spans Istanbul, Kars, and the U.S., with roots reaching to 18th-century Ottoman lore. (That’s all you need before going in; the film rewards discovery, you gotta watch it.)
Yunus Åževik directs like a horror filmmaker who knows the grammar of tension. The film finds its rhythm early — an assertive opening that says “hold your chair” — and keeps the screws turning through tight scene construction and purposeful transitions. Jumps are earned, not spammed: the whooshes and stingers arrive exactly where they should, and then the soundtrack backs off to let dread rebuild. You feel a conductor at work.
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This is a gorgeous picture. Drone shots that actually tell story; controlled warm tones when the film wants to lull you; cold, textured frames when it wants to bruise. The camera language loves POV — especially Helen’s — and that choice is key: you don’t just watch her; you become her. Several set-pieces (the old house introduction; the cave sequence; the final stretch) are staged with confident geography and elegant shot flow. It’s polished, and often cinematic.
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Genre lives or dies on audio, and this track is professional: clean dialogue, tactile effects, and musical cues that carry weight without smothering the image. The film sprinkles Turkish/Arabic vocal textures in a way that feels organic to the world rather than ornamental. The scare mix is disciplined — “loud” only when dramaturgically necessary — which is why it keeps working for 90 minutes straight.
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Cuts are sharp and invisible when they need to be, expressive when they should be. The effects work leans practical where possible and integrates digital elements without pulling you out. Nothing rubbery, nothing that breaks the spell. The filmmakers show taste — they know when not to show.
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Everyone is solid, but Seda BaÅŸayvaz anchors the movie. She carries the camera’s weight in close-ups, sells the psychological descent, and keeps us emotionally locked even when the film leans into ritual and myth. It’s a committed turn that lets the craft land. The ensemble around her (the sorceress, Mustafa Hoca, Yavuz) plays grounded, never cartoonish, which is why the paranormal beats feel believable instead of camp.
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One of the film’s pleasures is how it travels. We move from the U.S. to Turkey — Istanbul and Kars — and the production uses location as character. The bar’s cultural dance sequence is simply beautiful; the dervish lodge imagery has texture; exteriors breathe. You can feel the cold in Kars, the stone, the history. For a co-production shot across two countries and dozens of locations, the cohesion is impressive — a true Turkey–USA collaboration that doesn’t feel stitched together.
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If you follow Turkish horror, you know the bar is high worldwide. This film belongs in that conversation: confident, rooted in regional myth, but photographed and paced for a global audience.
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Set-pieces that stay with you (no spoilers)
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The Old House — atmospheric, story-tethered dread; immaculate blocking.
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The Cave — “wow” imagery, meaningful light; the kind of sequence that earns its trailer shot.
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The Sacrifice — top-notch lighting and art direction; ritual that feels dangerous rather than decorative.
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The budget is used smartly. You see the money in locations, lighting, aerials, and time — time to plan shots, time to cut them clean. The result is a film that looks north of its means and plays like it. Box office in Türkiye reflects real audience interest, but regardless of grosses, what matters is the craft: this team stretched every lira and dollar.
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Kulyas 2: Zikr-i Ayin is paranormal horror done with conviction — myth and modernity braided through a heroine’s POV. It’s scary, it’s handsome, and it respects your attention span. Big props to the director Yunus Sevik and to Seda BaÅŸayvaz for a performance that keeps us in it from first frame to last.
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Verdict: A highly worthy, frightening sequel — and a showcase for Turkish-American genre filmmaking with export-ready polish. (Critics are already noticing.)
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Credits & release facts
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Director/Producer: Yunus Åževik
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Writer: Esma Åževik
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Cast: Seda BaÅŸayvaz (Helen), Can Yavuz (DerviÅŸ), Muharrem Fındıcak (Mustafa Hoca), Aynur Mutlucan (Büyücü), Cihan Yıldız (Halil), Charlie Akduman (Father/Reverend)
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Co-production: Turkey–USA; filmed across multiple U.S. and Turkish locations including Istanbul & Kars
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Release: Aug 8, 2025 (Turkey) — 92 minutes
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Disclaimer
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This review is an independent commentary by Darwin Reina for Rodartin Film Reviews. It was not sponsored, commissioned, or affiliated with the filmmakers or distributors. All opinions are my own.
Image/Poster Credits:
All stills and posters © 2025 Dras Film Pictures / Yunus Åževik (and respective rights holders). Used here under fair use for review and commentary. If publishing on Medium, place this credit directly beneath each image.
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