There Is No Evil is a deeply moving Iranian film that not only tells a poignant story but also sheds light on the painful history of state-sponsored executions in Iran. The film had to be smuggled out of the country, and while it may sound like a controversial or explicit topic, there's actually no nudity or sex scenes involved. Yet, the raw emotion and powerful message are impossible to ignore.
Asian thrillers have a unique way of lulling you into a sense of comfort before delivering twists that leave you breathless. By grounding horror and suspense in the relatable, these stories turn ordinary moments into nightmares, making the unexpected even scarier. For those who love exploring the dark side of human nature, here are 10 must-watch Asian thrillers on Netflix that will have you hooked from the first episode.
Did you know that some of Hollywood’s most beloved films—like Inception, Reservoir Dogs, and The Lion King—were actually inspired by (or outright copied from) Asian films? We’re not talking about official remakes with proper licensing and credit. These are cases where Hollywood took themes, stories, and even entire scenes and passed them off as their own. Here are 10 Hollywood films that bear striking similarities to Asian originals.
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Published April 10, 2025
Recommendations & Reviews
The Lunchbox: A Story of Missed Connections, Second Chances, and the Right Wrong Train
The Lunchbox (2013) isn’t your typical love story. In fact, I’d argue it’s not a love story at all—it’s a pre-love story, the kind that shows how two people, broken in different ways, can find comfort in each other’s company without necessarily ending up together.
Set in bustling Mumbai, this gem of a film stars the late, great Irrfan Khan as Saajan, a widower counting the days to his retirement
Nimrat Kaur plays Ila, a housewife trying to reignite the passion in her marriage. Her plan?
Send lovingly cooked lunches to her husband at work. But fate—or rather, a rare Mumbai lunchbox delivery mix-up—intervenes, and the lunchbox lands on Saajan’s desk instead.
The Comfort of Strangers
What follows isn’t a grand romance. It's a quiet exchange of handwritten letters, tucked between chapatis and curry, where both begin to peel back the layers of their lives. Ila talks about her loneliness. Saajan shares memories of his late wife. Their bond grows, not out of attraction, but familiarity and understanding.
They are decades apart in age, yet somehow, they're on the same emotional page. Both are stuck—Saajan in the shadow of a love he lost, and Ila in the memory of a love that no longer exists. Their connection becomes a way to breathe again, to remember what it’s like to be seen.
The Woman Upstairs
An unexpected hero in Ila’s journey is someone we never actually see. Her upstairs neighbor—an elderly woman caring for her comatose husband—is the voice of reason and warmth throughout the film. She could have easily told Ila to stop daydreaming and focus on her failing marriage. But instead, she encourages her.
She tells her to write back. She teaches her new recipes. She nudges her to keep going.
Why? Because she loves Ila. She knows that if Ila stays in her current life, she’ll slowly wither. So she quietly, but persistently, pushes her toward something new. Her wisdom and care feel maternal, hopeful, and totally unexpected in a conservative setup.
The Wrong Train, the Right Destination
One of the film’s most powerful lines comes from Shaikh, the man being trained to take over Saajan’s job:
“Sometimes the wrong train takes you to the right station.”
That lunchbox mix-up? The wrong train.
The connection between two strangers? The right station.
This idea is more than just a poetic line—it’s a gentle reminder for all of us. Lost your job? Got dumped? Life took an unexpected turn? Maybe it's not the end. Maybe it's just a different route to the place you were always meant to reach. The detour might just be the destination.
When Letting Go Is the Greatest Love of All
Near the film’s end, there's a moment when we think Saajan might finally take a leap.
He even suggests meeting Ila. But then he backs off. He tells her he’s too old, too used up. “Nobody buys yesterday’s ticket,” he says.
It’s not a rejection—it’s an act of generosity.
Saajan knew Ila wasn’t truly in love with him. She was drawn to what he represented: kindness, loyalty, the kind of love she longed for. He could have tried to start over with her. But instead, he gave her something far more powerful—freedom. He stepped aside so she could find a future unburdened by his past.
How many of us can do that? Let go of something beautiful, not because we don’t want it, but because we know someone else deserves better?
Not All Tragic Lives Need to Be Lived Tragically
Both Ila and Saajan were at crossroads. One was ready to give up, the other ready to fight. But in their quiet correspondence, they reminded each other of something crucial: It’s never too late to choose differently.
In the end, we don’t get a fairy-tale ending. And that’s what makes The Lunchbox so real, so unforgettable. It doesn’t promise love. It promises something deeper—understanding, closure, and the possibility of new beginnings.
Maybe the train you’re on isn’t the one you planned to board. But hey, you just might like where it’s headed.