‘Pusaka’ (2024) Is ‘Evil Dead’s’ Long-Lost Javanese Cousin

By Lara Kramer  •  14 Apr 2025 in Features

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It takes guts—literally and creatively—for a film to throw itself into the horror genre with the kind of rabid commitment Pusaka (2024) does.

And not just any horror film. We’re talking about a blood-slick, nerve-fraying, sweat-drenched experience that unapologetically walks in the shadow of Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead—then sets the shadow on fire, summons something ancient from it, and lets that thing wreak absolute havoc.

Disclaimer: This article contains graphic imagery from Pusaka (2024) that some viewers may find disturbing—but don’t worry, we’re keeping the spoilers buried where they belong.

Directed by Rizal Mantovani—yes, that Rizal, the one who’s been seeding nightmares across the archipelago for decades—Pusaka takes a deeply rooted Indonesian sense of the supernatural and grafts it onto the gonzo energy of western-style gore horror. The result? Something that feels both familiar and completely feral.

A movie that doesn’t just ask you to suspend disbelief—it duct tapes your eyes open, slaps your popcorn out of your hands, and makes you feel every squelch, slice, and shriek.

At the core of Pusaka lies something sacred. No, not your typical haunted doll or Instagrammable ghost girl.

We’re talking about an actual pusaka—a cursed heirloom, a keris steeped in blood and ancestral rage. From the moment this object is unearthed (because of course someone touches the damn thing), the film hits the gas and doesn’t stop until it’s skidding through entrails and eldritch possession. Less of a slow burn, more of a napalm blast to the senses.

What makes Pusaka stand out isn’t just the gore (though, trust—it delivers in buckets). It’s how good the gore looks. This is the kind of practical effects work horror fans dream of: Flesh that tears like real flesh, blood that sprays with weight and purpose, organs that aren’t just for show but for shock.

It’s a symphony of splatter, choreographed with a director’s eye for aesthetic violence and cultural tension. It’s Raimi-meets-Reog—kinetic, carnivalesque, and gloriously cursed.

But don’t mistake this for schlock. Underneath the carnage is something genuinely unnerving. The horror isn’t just loud, it’s deep.

Pusaka taps into a national psyche that knows ancestral trauma isn’t metaphor—it’s real, and it lives in our bloodlines. The kind of horror that doesn’t fade when the credits roll because it speaks to something older than cinema. A whispered myth passed down, a warning dressed as a bedtime story, the kind of thing your nenek told you never to touch.

And it’s in the how that Mantovani flexes. The cinematography is razor sharp, with rich, shadow-soaked frames that feel damp and claustrophobic. Every hallway feels like it’s holding its breath. Every sound design choice—the guttural moans, the silence that stretches just a beat too long—is weaponised to keep you perched on the edge of your seat, regretting that second cup of coffee.

It’s also surprisingly self-aware. While Pusaka takes its lore seriously, it never loses its pulse as a horror ride. There’s a subtle streak of dark humour running beneath the crimson-soaked chaos, the kind that horror veterans will clock and appreciate—those knowing glances, the perfectly timed sound stingers, the “Oh no, don’t open that” moment that’s answered with, “Oops, I opened it and now we’re all doomed.”

If Raimi’s Evil Dead was about isolation and insanity, Pusaka is about legacy and consequence.

It swaps the cabin in the woods for something more rooted, more sacred, more horrifyingly ours. It’s a brutal, beautiful marriage of eastern spiritual horror and western-style excess—a cross-cultural nightmare that proves horror doesn’t need to pick sides when it can just slash them both open.

And it’s a loud reminder to the world: Southeast Asia isn’t just lurking in the horror periphery. It’s not just ghosts and grudges. We’ve got filmmakers with teeth.

Have a peek at the trailer here:

So if you’re tired of tiptoeing through PG-13 horror and want something with real bite—something that flays your nerves, drenches the screen in blood, and still has the spiritual weight of centuries behind it—Pusaka is the film you’ve been begging for.

Just don’t watch it alone. Or do, if you like crying in the dark. You’ve been warned.

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