Shaman Review: Possessed by Potential, Haunted by Clichés

Some stories work best as campfire tales—compact, nightmarish nuggets that deliver their punch and disappear into the dark. Shaman, directed by Antonio Negret and written by his brother Daniel, feels like one of those stories, stretched thin trying to fill a 93-minute feature when it would’ve thrived as part of a supernatural anthology. The film operates in fits and spurts, delivering genuine scares between long stretches of uneven pacing and questionable creative choices. 

Set in rural Ecuador’s Chimborazo region, the film follows missionary couple Joel (Daniel Gillies, Coming Home in the Dark) and Candice (Sara Canning, Dark Match) as they bring Catholicism—and canned soup—to a remote indigenous village. Their curious son Elliott (Jett Klyne, The Marvels) naturally wanders into a forbidden cave and returns with something sinister attached. When local shaman (Humberto Morales) insists the boy requires indigenous healing rather than Catholic exorcism, a clash of belief systems begins battling for Elliott’s soul.

Shaman reaches its strongest and most intriguing moments when exploring this theological tug-of-war. Daniel Negret’s script understands how to develop complex characters caught between competing worldviews, particularly in Candice’s journey from blind faith toward desperate uncertainty. In posing strangely compelling questions about spiritual arrogance and cultural colonialism, the film forces its audiences to confront their own assumptions about whose beliefs deserve respect. These themes give the horror genuine weight…when it works.

Daniel Andrade‘s gorgeous cinematography captures both Ecuador’s lush landscapes and the oppressive gloom of candlelit interiors with equal skill. Shot on location in Chimborazo, the film’s visual authenticity creates a convincing sense of place that grounds the supernatural elements.  I’m not sure if it was cost-effective to shoot where they did, but the often ominous location gives Shaman much of its overall mood. Devra Salas‘s costume design avoids cultural caricature, while Ben Bornstein‘s practical makeup effects deliver several appropriately unsettling moments—though clunky CGI unfortunately weedles its way in and offsets them in the final act.

The performances prove frustratingly uneven. Canning delivers strong work when the script allows but gets saddled with increasingly bizarre character choices that undermine her conviction. Gillies feels inert as the guilt-ridden former addict, barely registering in the family dynamic.  An early scene of intimacy between the two inexplicably turns rough, a peculiar shifting of roles meant to demonstrate that Canning is the alpha…at least under the sheets.  It’s a wrinkle the script never bothers to revisit so we wonder why it’s included at all. 

I liked the arc given to Mercy Lema, who begins the film getting baptized in a mountain stream.  A she joins the church in worship, the villager takes the teachings literally, something that comes back to bite Candice later on.  The real standout is Morales, whose shaman emerges as the film’s most compelling presence despite minimal dialogue—every gesture of ritual is captivating and keeps you engaged. Alejandro Fajardo begins promisingly as the alcoholic priest caught between cultures, but his arc dissolves into broad theatrics by the finale. 

The film’s most significant missed opportunity lies in perspective. While the Ecuadorian setting offers cultural authenticity rarely explored onscreen, Shaman focuses on the American interlopers instead of the indigenous community they disrupt. A version told entirely from the villagers’ viewpoint might’ve been more daring and unsettling, diving deeper into the spiritual traditions being threatened rather than treating them as exotic window dressing.

As Shaman progresses toward its climax, its cultural novelty fades into a standard possession movie with shamanic rites replacing Catholic ones. It’s then you realize you’ve been watching another exorcism film all along. The final act follows familiar beats—the only difference being shamans rather than priests conducting the spiritual warfare. These sequences lean heavily on shock value over genuine suspense, abandoning the nuanced cultural exploration that made earlier scenes simmer.

Shaman represents decently produced but ultimately forgettable horror that lacks the urgency to stand out in possession cinema’s crowded landscape. While it deserves credit for spotlighting Ecuadorian spiritual traditions and raising interesting questions about religious colonialism, it doesn’t push far enough in any direction to make a lasting impact. The film needed either bigger, more intense horror or subtler, character-driven scares. Instead, it lands in a frustrating middle ground where good intentions and solid craft can’t overcome a lack of narrative focus.