Witchcraft, Ratings, and Regime Change
Cristian Ponce’s History of the Occult is what happens when a political thriller, a late-night talk show, and a satanic panic documentary all get tossed into the same cursed broadcast signal. Shot in moody black-and-white and framed as the final episode of a popular 1980s Argentine news program, it plays like 60 Minutes produced by a coven of witches and funded by paranoid Marxists. In the best way.
The premise is gloriously simple and deeply weird: one last live show, one bombshell expose, one possibly demonic corporate executive, and a government that may quite literally be in league with otherworldly beings. Democracy dies in darkness, sure—but in this movie, it also dies under studio lights and commercial breaks.
A TV Show at the Edge of Reality
The entire film orbits around 60 Minutos Antes de la Medianoche (“60 Minutes Before Midnight”), a late-night investigative program airing its final episode in 1987 Buenos Aires. The show has been cancelled after digging a little too deep into President Belasco’s economic policies, corruption, and rumored connections to black magic through a corporate behemoth called Kingdom Corporate. Wikipedia+1
This last broadcast is supposed to be the big one: the moment when the host and his team reveal how politics, capitalism, and the occult are all snuggling under the same blood-soaked blanket. In the studio sits Adrián Marcato, a high-ranking executive and alleged warlock. Off-site, the show’s producers and journalists are holed up in a safe house, frantically trying to complete their investigation before the clock hits midnight and Belasco’s big rally begins.
If you’ve ever watched a live news show and thought, “This feels like a ritual,” History of the Occult replies, “Correct—and what if it actually was?”
Black-and-White as a Weapon
Let’s get this out of the way: the film looks fantastic. The black-and-white cinematography isn’t just a stylistic nod—it’s a full-on aesthetic strategy. The image is grainy, high-contrast, and often claustrophobic, evoking the feel of an aging TV broadcast while slipping into behind-the-scenes material that feels more cinematic than “live.” Moria Reviews+1
The effect is immersive and disorienting. The studio lights glow too bright. Faces sink into shadows. Smoke, static, and darkness all seem to share the same texture. When color finally appears late in the film, it’s not a gimmick; it feels like the world itself glitching, as if someone changed the channel on reality.
This is a rare horror movie where simply looking at it feels like tuning into something you shouldn’t.
The Occult, But Make It Bureaucratic
What makes History of the Occult such a fun little brain-worm is how mundane its evil is. Kingdom Corporate isn’t some hidden cult in a cave; it’s a polished, powerful corporation whose warlocks wear suits and probably have HR policies.
Marcato and his associates have allegedly struck a deal with beings from another reality, using ritual and sacrifice to manipulate events, install Belasco in power, and reshape the country. Wikipedia+1 It’s essentially neoliberalism with extra steps and more tentacles.
The journalists’ investigation—centered on a mysterious notebook, ritual murders, and connections between politicians and the coven—suggests a universe where every talking head on TV might also be an acolyte in a blood ritual. Ponce weaponizes the paranoia of the era (and, frankly, ours) by asking: if power is already opaque, why wouldn’t it be supernatural?
Talking Heads, Tannis Root, and Temporal Nerves
The movie is heavy on dialogue, and that’s a feature, not a bug. Much of the tension comes from people talking on camera while other people panic off-camera. Long stretches of conversation about politics, reality, memory, and magic create a sense of intellectual dread: you’re not just scared of something; you’re scared you might understand it. Corazón & Mente // Heart & Mind+1
Meanwhile, the journalists in the safe house resort to a ritual using hallucinogenic tannis root—yes, straight out of Rosemary’s Baby—to try to pierce the veil and confirm whether Marcato’s claims are real. As visions of red lights, burned figures, and tentacled entities intrude, the line between investigation and invocation starts to blur.
It’s journalism as occult practice: if the truth is buried deep enough, maybe you do need a séance to verify your sources.
A Conspiracy Thriller for People Who Don’t Trust Channels Anymore
Structurally, the film plays like a real-time thriller: the last broadcast, the looming midnight rally, the race to obtain one final piece of evidence. But the closer we get to the truth, the less stable reality itself becomes. Characters lose track of memories, the number of children people have changes depending on who’s been “edited” out of existence, and timelines stutter like bad tape.
When the ultimate “artifact” turns out to be a smartphone—a piece of sleek future tech dropped into 1987 like a cursed spoiler—it lands as both a clever twist and a bleak joke. The coven is literally playing with time and information, editing reality like a broadcast. The device is proof that someone, somewhere, has been fast-forwarding humanity without our consent. Wikipedia+1
It’s like discovering that every rerun you’ve ever watched was quietly rewriting history in the background.
Performances: Believable Faces in an Unbelievable Situation
The cast—Germán Baudino as Marcato, Nadia Lozano as María, Agustín Recondo as Jorge, and Héctor Ostrofsky as Alfredo—deliver grounded, low-key performances that keep the film from drifting off into pure abstraction. Wikipedia+1
-
Baudino’s Marcato is particularly riveting: part haunted bureaucrat, part exhausted sorcerer, and part whistleblower who realized too late that the NDA he signed was with cosmic forces.
-
Lozano and Recondo, as the producers watching from the safe house, give the story its emotional spine—frightened, idealistic, and increasingly unsure whether they’re uncovering the truth or being used in some larger ritual.
Everyone plays it straight, which is crucial. When you’re dealing with alternate realities, covens, and supernatural corporate coups, the last thing you need is winking irony. The film provides the weird; the actors provide the weight.
Not Always Smooth, But Always Interesting
The film isn’t flawless. Some viewers will find it talky and occasionally confusing, especially as it leans into alternate realities and fragmented timelines. Even some Argentine critics have noted that the film’s ideas are sometimes more compelling than their final execution. Wikipedia+1
But honestly, “too many ideas” is one of the nicer problems a horror film can have. History of the Occult is dense, cryptic, and designed for rewatching—less a roller coaster, more a maze. If you prefer your horror simple and your conspiracies fully explained, you may feel like you tuned in halfway through a very strange season finale.
If, however, you enjoy having to connect dots while a warlock monologues about reality on live TV, you’re in good hands. Or claws. Whatever they’re using over at Kingdom Corporate.
Final Verdict: Must-See Midnight Broadcast
History of the Occult is a small film with big ambitions: a political thriller, a folk-horror story, and a meta-commentary on media all packed into 82 minutes of crackling black-and-white. It eschews jump scares in favor of creeping unease, conspiracy logic, and the terrifying notion that the people controlling your reality might be doing it with literal dark magic. Tromsø Internasjonale Filmfestival+1
It’s stylish, smart, and just cryptic enough to haunt you after the “broadcast” ends. If you’ve ever looked at your TV, your government, or your news feed and thought, “This feels cursed,” Ponce’s film calmly replies: Correct—and we’ve only scratched the sigil-covered surface.
Definitely worth tuning into—just don’t be surprised if, when the credits roll, you’re not entirely sure which reality you’re going back to.
