Legions is the rare horror film where the apocalypse might be stopped not by a chosen one, but by a tired Argentine shaman who looks like he’d rather be napping in front of a broken fan. Written and directed by Fabián Forte, this 2022 supernatural horror-comedy is part folk horror, part family drama, and part “what if One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest had more demons and mate?” It’s messy, heartfelt, and frequently unhinged—in a good way, like a relative who tells the worst possible stories at dinner but somehow makes everyone feel closer.
Germán de Silva stars as Antonio Poyju, a once-legendary sorcerer now locked away in a psychiatric hospital, where his claims about battling demons are treated with the same respect as your uncle’s cryptocurrency advice. When a very real demonic threat resurfaces in Argentina and sets its sights on his estranged daughter Helena (Lorena Vega), Antonio has to escape, reconnect with her, and convince the world that maybe the guy shouting about ancient evil in group therapy isn’t entirely off his meds after all. Wikipedia+1
A Folkloric End of the World (With Jokes)
Legions leans hard into Argentine folklore and indigenous spiritual traditions, but it does so with a grin and a splatter instead of solemn monologues. This isn’t austere, slow-burn horror where you stare at empty rooms for fifteen minutes. It’s a film where demons, shamans, and psychiatric patients collide in a tone that balances genuine stakes with gallows humor. Think The Evil Dead if it grew up in Misiones and occasionally remembered it has feelings. Heaven of Horror+1
The demonic threat is real, ancient, and terrifying in concept—but the movie is more interested in how humans react to that disaster. Instead of wallowing in despair, it goes for the absurdity of it all: the bureaucracy of the apocalypse, the indignity of being humanity’s last hope while wearing institutional pajamas, the comedy of trying to organize a mystical counterattack with people who can barely organize a group therapy circle.
The horror and humor don’t undercut each other; they bounce. One moment, you’re watching a disturbing ritual; the next, a character delivers a line so morbidly funny it feels like the script was co-written by a demon with timing.
Antonio Poyju: Shaman, Patient, Problem Solver (Sort Of)
Antonio is a terrific anchor for the story. Germán de Silva plays him not as a heroic, chiseled exorcist, but as a worn-out, grumpy mediator between worlds who happens to be trapped in a facility that doesn’t allow incense, knives, or apparently basic respect. He calls himself a mediator between worlds and comes from a sacred bloodline—but to the staff, he’s just another lunatic with a flair for storytelling. Film Blitz
The beauty of Antonio as a character is that he’s both absurd and deeply sincere. He’s convinced of his mission, utterly unapologetic about his past “homicide in the line of demon duty,” and somehow manages to be both saintly and a little bit of a rascal. De Silva gives him a sense of weary dignity; even when the film dips into slapstick or gore, Antonio never stops feeling like an old warrior dragged out of retirement for one last, deeply inconvenient battle.
In less capable hands, he’d be a cartoon. Here, he’s a tragicomic hero—a man we laugh with even as the film reminds us he’s been written off, misdiagnosed, and essentially buried alive in the very institution that should protect people from real monsters.
Helena, the Lost Heir to the Madness
Lorena Vega’s Helena is the film’s emotional pressure point. She’s Antonio’s daughter, born into the same mystical lineage, but now thoroughly removed from that spiritual past—urban, skeptical, and understandably uninterested in joining the family demon-fighting business. Her forgotten magical powers aren’t just a plot device; they’re tied to the generational tension at the core of the story. Wikipedia+1
Helena represents the modern Argentina that’s tried to move past old beliefs and traumas, only to discover that the monsters didn’t get the memo. Watching Antonio try to reconnect with her—emotionally and cosmically—is where Legions shows its heart. She’s not just a damsel in demonic distress; she’s a grown woman trying to process the fact that her estranged dad might actually have been telling the truth all along, which is frankly more horrifying than any possession.
The father-daughter arc gives the film a warmth that sneaks up on you. Beneath the blood, prosthetics, and screeching entities, this is a story about fractured families and cultural memory: what happens when a generation decides the old stories are embarrassing, only to find out they were the user manual for survival.
The Asylum: Group Therapy Meets Hellmouth
The psychiatric hospital setting is a stroke of cruel genius. On one hand, it’s a factory of dismissal, a place where Antonio’s warnings about demons are classed as delusions. On the other, it’s home to some of the film’s funniest moments. The other patients, far from being cheap punchlines, become a strangely endearing Greek chorus of misfits: frightened, odd, and oddly brave when things get infernal.
Their group sessions are equal parts support group and demonology seminar. When the demonic threat moves from theory to practice, this ragtag crowd becomes Antonio’s accidental army. It’s strangely uplifting: the very people society has written off as “crazy” are the ones willing to believe him soonest—and to stand by him when the real madness erupts.
There’s dark humor in the way the staff clings to rational explanations long past their expiration date. When supernatural chaos finally breaks through, the movie feels like it’s gently, savagely asking who the real lunatics are: the guy who believes in demons, or the professionals insisting nothing is wrong as the wallpaper starts bleeding.
Folk Horror, Mate, and Misiones
Legions isn’t generic “Latin horror”; it’s rooted in Argentina, in its landscapes, rhythms, and spiritual anxieties. The flashbacks filmed in Misiones Province—a lush, humid region that looks like it grew specifically to host rituals no tourist brochure will mention—give the film its folk horror backbone. Wikipedia+1
These jungle-set sequences contrast with the more clinical, institutional present, emphasizing how far Antonio and Helena have drifted from their origins. The rituals, chants, and imagery draw on local traditions rather than imported demonology, making the evil feel older and meaner than your usual off-the-shelf movie demon.
Even when the film dips into slapstick or exaggerated gore, that cultural foundation keeps it from floating away into pure parody. The laughs come with a side order of unease: this is a world where the old gods and monsters were never really exorcised, just politely ignored.
Blood, Gags, and DIY Apocalypse
Stylistically, Legions is a wild hybrid. It mixes practical effects, some wobbly CGI, and buckets of slapstick gore in a way that feels closer to a party than a funeral. Limbs bend wrong, bodies contort, and demons manifest with gleeful nastiness. When the effects go low-budget, they do so with such commitment that it becomes part of the charm rather than a flaw. Yes, the film occasionally runs a little long, and yes, not every gag or scare lands perfectly. But the sheer sincerity behind the chaos makes it hard to hold a grudge. This is a movie made by people who love horror enough to mash together folk terror, asylum comedy, and gooey set-pieces, trusting the audience to enjoy the ride even when it swerves.
There’s also an undercurrent of DIY resilience baked into the film’s production history—rewrites, pandemic delays, location shifts, and a largely local crew pulling things together across Buenos Aires and Misiones. You can feel that scrappy dedication on screen, like the movie itself had to fight off three budget demons just to exist.
Final Verdict: Wholesome, Horrible, and Weirdly Heartwarming
Legions is bloody, funny, and unexpectedly touching—a supernatural horror film where the big showdown isn’t just man versus demon, but father versus regret, tradition versus amnesia, and faith versus a world that keeps trying to medicate it away.
If you’re looking for squeaky-clean, prestige horror, this isn’t it. Legions is rough around the edges, loud, and occasionally chaotic. But if you want a film where a once-great shaman teams up with fellow psychiatric patients to protect a daughter who’s forgotten her own power, all while ancient evil tries to turn Argentina into its playground, this delivers in spades.
It’s folk horror with a pulse, comedy with claws, and a family drama wrapped in demonic entrails. And if the end of the world ever does show up, you might find yourself hoping Antonio Poyju is on call—straightjacket, bad reputation, and all.
