Every culture has its boogeyman—or, in this case, boogeywoman. In Indonesia, that figure is the Kuntilanak, a female ghost with a laugh so bone-chilling it could make your grandmother’s rosary beads knot themselves. In Rizal Mantovani’s Kuntilanak (The Chanting, 2006), we don’t just get the folklore. We get the folklore shoved through a funhouse mirror, vomited out with maggots, and recited back at us in Javanese poetry. It’s absurd, it’s terrifying, and yes—it’s glorious.
This is the rare horror film that manages to respect its roots while simultaneously turning them into a carnival of blood, mirrors, and bad life decisions. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you took The Ring, smashed it into Evil Dead, and then sprinkled it with batik factory mysticism, congratulations: you’ve basically summoned this movie.
The Setup: Daddy Issues and Boarding House Blues
We meet Samantha (played by Julie Estelle, Indonesia’s answer to “final girl with perfect cheekbones”), who moves into a creepy old boarding house to escape her pervert stepfather. If you’re keeping track on your “Reasons Characters in Horror Movies Relocate to Haunted Buildings” bingo card, that’s a solid center square.
The landlady, Yanti, lays down the ground rules: don’t go upstairs, don’t mess with the mirror, and—most importantly—don’t recite durmo, the Javanese poem that summons the Kuntilanak. Naturally, Samantha breaks these rules faster than you can say, “Hey, maybe move into literally any other apartment.”
And that’s when things get fun.
The Kuntilanak: Indonesia’s OG Scream Queen
For those unfamiliar, the Kuntilanak is a ghostly figure from Malay-Indonesian folklore, often depicted as a woman with long hair, white robes, and a cry that sounds like the Devil got a karaoke machine. In this film, she’s also got the back half of a horse. That’s right, a ghost-centaur. Move over, vampires and zombies—you’ve officially been upstaged.
Mantovani treats the Kuntilanak not just as a monster but as a force of nature, lurking in mirrors, summoned by ancient verses, and capable of punishing anyone dumb enough to cross her path. She’s terrifying, but also weirdly relatable—like if your ex still haunted you, but through IKEA furniture.
The Kill Count: Poetic Justice, Heavy on the Maggots
This is where the film really shines: the deaths. Each one is more bizarre and grisly than the last, and all tied back to Samantha’s increasingly poor impulse control.
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Mawar, the nosy neighbor, threatens Sam—only to wind up decapitated by a falling electric fan. Let me repeat that: a fan kill. Ceiling appliances are no longer safe.
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Alfon, the creepy neighbor, gets haunted into a car accident. That’s what you get for harassing women in haunted boarding houses, buddy.
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Dinda, Sam’s best friend, tries to comfort her and instead gets shower-time slaughtered by the ghost. A PSA: never trust bathrooms in horror films, especially if you’re a secondary character.
And, of course, Samantha herself gets caught in a tug-of-war between destiny and demon, chanting durmo until she literally coughs up bugs. Shakespeare had “to be or not to be.” We get “to puke maggots or not to puke maggots.” Progress.
The Mangkoedjiwo Family: Batik, Black Magic, and Bad Parenting
One of the strangest delights of the film is its soap-operatic subplot about the Mangkoedjiwo family, a line of aristocrats who apparently run both a batik factory and a Kuntilanak franchise. Raden Ayu Sri Sukma (played with delicious menace by Alice Iskak) is the current matriarch, and she’s basically the Indonesian version of Cruella de Vil, if Cruella traded in dalmatian pelts for human souls.
Sri Sukma reveals that Samantha is destined to inherit the Kuntilanak, which raises the question: why does every horror protagonist suddenly get handed family property they don’t want? Inheritance is supposed to be about jewelry, not demonic pony-ghosts.
The Mirrors: Ikea, but Haunted
The scariest part of the film isn’t the ghost. It’s the fact that the Kuntilanak lives in mirrors. This is a problem because everyone has mirrors. Samantha discovers that the house has multiple identical ones, and breaking them is the only way to shut the ghost out. Cue lots of smashing glass, bloody knuckles, and the horrifying realization that even if you destroy three mirrors, you’ll definitely forget the fourth one.
Mirrors as portals are nothing new, but here they’re handled with flair: they become both a weapon and a curse. By the time Samantha is gleefully chanting durmo at her own mirror in the final scene, you realize she’s not the victim anymore. She’s the landlord of the spirit world—and rent is due.
Julie Estelle: From Scream Queen to Queen Bee
Julie Estelle carries this movie like a champ. She’s vulnerable, fierce, terrified, and occasionally possessed. You believe her descent from traumatized orphan to full-on ghost wrangler. When she starts to embrace the Kuntilanak’s power, there’s almost a hint of glee in her performance—like she’s enjoying the perks of supernatural horse-ghost ownership.
Honestly, by the end, you’re not even rooting for her to survive. You’re rooting for her to unleash the Kuntilanak at Starbucks just to see what happens.
The Ending: Evil Wins, and We’re Here for It
Unlike American horror films that often shoehorn in a “happy” ending, Kuntilanak gleefully embraces the darkness. Samantha keeps the mirror, starts chanting like a goth cheerleader, and smiles as apparitions swirl around her. Evil triumphs, and it’s fabulous.
This is where the film distinguishes itself from its Western cousins. Instead of exorcising the demon, Samantha basically becomes its boss. Imagine The Exorcist if Linda Blair finished by unionizing the demons. That’s the vibe.
The Verdict: Chant Along, If You Dare
Kuntilanak isn’t just a horror film—it’s a reminder that folklore is terrifying because it’s close to home. For Indonesian audiences, the Kuntilanak isn’t just a monster. She’s the thing you whisper about at night, the shadow in the banyan tree, the laughter you’re sure you heard outside your window. Mantovani respects that cultural weight, while also giving us plenty of camp, gore, and maggot-vomit to chew on.
Yes, the plot occasionally meanders. Yes, characters make dumb decisions (who wouldn’t run screaming after the first maggot-belch incident?). But as a package, Kuntilanak is one of the rare horror films that’s both genuinely creepy and wildly entertaining. It’s folklore with fangs. And hair. And, disturbingly, hooves.
So, next time you’re tempted to recite durmo in front of a mirror, don’t. Unless you’ve got maggot insurance and a very good hammer.
