This is an updated version of a review that was originally published in Bleeding Skull! A 1980s Trash-Horror Odyssey.
In 1976, the theatrical release of Snuff was promoted with this tagline: “Filmed in Brazil, where life is cheap!”
They had no idea.
Ritual of Death is a Brazilian horror movie that attempts to do things by the books. Literally. Brad and his friends are rehearsing for a play. The group discovers a hairy Egyptian book about ancient rituals. Their decision to interpret said rituals as theatrical performance art speaks for itself. Human smoke machines. Lots of nudity and puke and gore. People humping in a bloody bathtub with severed goat heads. Is the theater haunted, or is Brad really transforming into a medieval executioner with the sole purpose of disemboweling all humans?! The answer to this question—and many others—is unattainable, as each minute pushes the film that much further into fourth-dimensional absurdity.
Brazilian horror movies are defined by subversive imagery and outrageous shocks. And that’s all thanks to José Mojica Marins, better known as Coffin Joe. For nearly five decades, the late Marins tested the limits of good taste with his rageful scum-art manifestos. From The Bloody Exorcism of Coffin Joe—which featured actual footage of Marins’s eye surgery—to Strange Hostel Of Naked Pleasures—in which Coffin Joe is castrated after a battle with the devil (also played by Coffin Joe)—Marins’s movies set the precedence for gross-out innovation. Coffin Joe’s influence had a trickle down effect in Brazil, inspiring the experimental camp of Nosferatu On Brasil and the smut-soaked fog of Reincarnation of Sex.
Heavily influenced by Blood Feast, Evil Dead, and the work of Lucio Fulci, Ritual of Death is the first non-adult fantasia from Fauzi Mansur—Brazil’s preeminent porn-horror wildman of the 1980s. This is a stoned nightmare zone that renounces the artistic aspirations of Coffin Joe’s filmography in favor of undiluted sleaze. There’s no emotion, enthusiasm, or depth; Ritual of Death is simply an empty-headed goon. But not every movie has to be Possession. Ritual is a languid parade of drugged-out dubbing, awkward dialogue, and impressive practical effects. Faces ripped off! Day-glo slime! Ghost cars running over people until their intestines pop out! Sleazy, gloopy, and infused with a sense of dangerous fun, this movie feels like it was filmed through a haze of weed, Busch beer, and brain aneurysms. There is also a power ballad theme song called “Beyound Love.” Whenever I got bored, I acknowledged the existence of that song and felt inspired all over again.
Just remember: “This is a sacred ritual . . . but not good theater!”
