Transcription
The occult and the movies have a long, magical history. From secret rituals in shadowy forests to psychedelic quests for enlightenment, some films managed to get the occult surprisingly right, or at least deliver mind-blowing mystical imagery. Let's begin our journey.
The Devil Rides Out is a classic British occult thriller that treats ritual magic seriously. Think Hammer horror, but with authentic magic on full display. In a twist on his usual type casting, the legendary Christopher Lee plays the hero here, an aristocratic occult scholar determined to thwart a satanic cult. What makes this film stand out is its attention to occult detail. We see protective shock circles, invocations, and even astral assaults portrayed in a fairly authentic way for a 1960s film. Rather than cheesy hocus pocus, the magic duels here feel like a genuine battle of wills. It's wizard warfare decades before Harry Potter, but much darker in tone. Director Terrence Fisher and screenwriter Richard Matheson—yes, the *I Am Legend* author—made sure these rituals were as chilling as possible. This commitment to occult realism gives The Devil Rides Out an enduring power. It's often hailed as one of Hammer's very best films, and for good reason.
Next up, we shift gears dramatically. Simon, King of the Witches is a far-out American cult film that's equal parts satire, counterculture time capsule, and surprisingly sincere occult story. It might technically be an exploitation horror movie, but it plays more like a dark comedy or underground character study. The film follows Simon Sinestrari, a cynical ceremonial magician living literally underground in a storm drain in early 1970s Los Angeles. Simon isn't your stereotypical horror warlock. He's more like an oddball anti-hero striving for actual mystical power amid the late hippie-era chaos. Simon sells charms and potions to scrape by, performs rituals by moonlight, and even holds conversations with trees when he's alone. He's deadly serious about his craft. His grand ambition is to become a god through magic. Yet, the world around him is full of phonies, freaks, and doubters. The film has a blast contrasting Simon's earnest, by-the-book magic with the era's psychedelic wannabe witchery. Simon, King of the Witches has since become a cult classic—pun intended—for occultists and B-movie aficionados alike. It's arguably one of the most authentic depictions of an everyday practicing magician in cinema, not to mention a fascinating satire of America's 1970s occult explosion.
Jumping ahead to the 1990s, we get a film that mixes noir detective vibes with gruesome occult horror. Clive Barker's *Lord of Illusions* is an underappreciated gem that drags the classic private eye archetype into a conflict with very dark magic. Barker, the famed creator of *Hellraiser*, wrote and directed this himself, adapting one of his short stories, and the result is unique: part supernatural thriller, part gore-soaked horror, part commentary on the nature of magic, including both stage illusions and real sorcery. It's rare to see modern ceremonial magic depicted in film at all, and *Lord of Illusions* gives it to you with Barker's signature splatterpunk flair. The story follows Harry D'Amour, played by *Quantum Leap*'s Scott Bakula, a world-weary private investigator known for taking on occult cases. Harry gets pulled into protecting a famous Las Vegas illusionist, Philip Swan, who years ago was part of a cult led by a terrifying occultist named Nyx. In the present day, Nyx's fanatical disciples aim to resurrect their master, and Harry D'Amour finds himself smack in the middle of this literal cult comeback. What ensues is a mashup of hard-boiled investigation and fantasmagoric horror. The film's final act essentially becomes a wizard's duel between Harry, aided by what he's learned of magic, and the reborn Nyx, whose goal is to literally murder the world. It's intense stuff with Barker's trademark gore effects and demonic imagery cranked up to 11. *Lord of Illusions* might not be as well-known as Barker's *Hellraiser*, but in some ways, it's even more interesting, especially if you're into the occult. The movie creates a modern mythos of a cult leader with demonic charisma and otherworldly powers. Harry D'Amour is a character Barker has written about in multiple stories: basically, a man who can't escape the supernatural, no matter how hard he tries. Through Harry's skeptical eyes, we, as the audience, experience the shock of real magic intruding on the normal world. And through Nyx and Swan, we explore the seductive and dangerous sides of pursuing cult power. Plus, who can resist a movie with the tagline, "Trust nothing except your fear"?
Our fourth pick is a film that takes a slower, subtler approach to the occult: a bookish mystery steeped in European satanic lore. *The Ninth Gate*, directed by Roman Polanski, stars Johnny Depp as a rare book dealer drawn into a deadly hunt for an authentic demonic text. This movie trades jump scares for atmosphere and intellectual intrigue. It's a neo-noir occult thriller that asks you to settle in, light a few candles, and savor the unfolding puzzle. Johnny Depp plays Dean Corso, a cynical mercenary in the world of antique books. Corso is hired by a wealthy, obsessed collector named Boris Balkan, played by Frank Langella, to verify the authenticity of an extremely rare 17th-century book called *The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows*. Only three copies survive worldwide. Balkan, a hardcore occult scholar with maybe a few screws loose, wants Corso to compare his copy to the other two, find any differences, and uncover the book's secrets. *The Ninth Gate* is all about the seductive allure of forbidden knowledge. The occult elements here are centered on the enigmatic book and its series of arcane engravings. There are nods to real occult history, secret societies, the idea of grimoires that confer power, and collectors who will literally kill for such rarities. It's also steeped in literary atmosphere: dusty bookstores in Portugal. The film's director famously said he doesn't believe in the occult, yet he's a master at depicting characters who do. In *The Ninth Gate*, he gives us a modern-day quest for satanic power that feels chillingly grounded. No jump scares, no cheap tricks, just a slow descent into obsession.
Okay, four films down, three to go. And trust me, we've saved some heavy hitters for the end. Coming up, we have the folk horror classic that defined the genre; a bright and bloody modern masterpiece that had everyone talking in 2019; and the most surreal occult art film ever made. Seriously, it's wild.
So, by the way, if all this talk of spells, rituals, and occult knowledge has you curious about actual magic—the kind you can practice yourself—you'll definitely want to check out magic.me. magic.me is my online school for magic, meditation, and mysticism. We offer a huge range of courses that bring real esoteric wisdom straight to you in a clear, step-by-step way. Want to master chaos magic and reshape reality with your will? We have a course for that. Interested in the secrets of ceremonial magic and the Western Hermetic tradition? Come on in. Curious about astral projection, sigils, or even unlocking your creativity through magical techniques? It's all here. Taught by yours truly in streaming video lessons you can take at your own pace. Magic is the ultimate way to unleash your true self, kickstart your spiritual evolution. Head over to magic.me now for a bonafide legend of occult cinema: *The Wicker Man*.
Sometimes dubbed the "Citizen Kane" of horror, this 1973 British film is a masterpiece of pagan atmosphere. It's the quintessential folk horror tale, weaving together druidic rituals, old folk songs, and a detective story, all building up to one of the most famously shocking finales in movie history. If *The Devil Rides Out* showed ceremonial magic with a straight face, *The Wicker Man* shows paganism with a smile—a cheery, disarming smile that might just hide wicked intentions. The plot follows Sergeant Howie, a devoutly Christian Scottish policeman who travels to the remote island of Summerisle to investigate a report of a missing young girl. The occult elements in *The Wicker Man* are rooted in real folklore and neopagan practice, which gives the film a very different flavor from supernatural horror films of the time. Instead, we get an entire community living out a nature-worshipping religion, complete with fertility rites and reverence for the cycle of the seasons and their promise of rebirth. The rituals we see—like the Maypole dance, the offering of the harvest produce to the gods, the wearing of animal masks to represent spirits—are all inspired by recorded pagan customs, many from Sir James Frazer's *The Golden Bough* and other anthropological sources that the scriptwriters consulted. This grounding in genuine lore makes the movie incredibly immersive. You feel like Summerisle could be a real place with real pagan folk still carrying on these ancient ways. And crucially, the film doesn't portray the islanders as maniacs or monsters. To themselves, their actions are rational, even devout in their own nature-centric logic. That nuance is part of what makes the ending hit so hard. Because by the end, you've kind of seen both sides—the devout Christian versus the devout pagan—and the film lets that moral tension hang. By the time the climax arrives, the film has transformed into a full-blown allegory about religious sacrifice and faith. The 1973 film is thoughtful, bold, and haunting. It gets under your skin. There's no cheap shocks here; it earns every moment. *The Wicker Man* has influenced countless works since. For instance, you can clearly see its DNA in the movie *Midsommar*, coming up next. This is one occult film that transcends the horror genre and becomes something almost mythic. At the very least, you'll come away with some catchy pagan folk songs stuck in your head and perhaps a newfound weariness of remote, idyllic communities.
Film number six brings folk horror into the 21st century with a technical vengeance. *Midsommar*, directed by Ari Aster, was a breakout horror hit in 2019: a film that had mainstream audiences squirming, scholars analyzing runes, and horror fans either applauding or heatedly arguing. There's no doubt that it's an occult film through and through. In many ways, *Midsommar* is a direct spiritual descendant of *The Wicker Man*. Both involve outsiders encountering a pagan cult amid a seemingly pastoral festival. Yet Aster took the concept in new, bold directions. He famously described *Midsommar* as a breakup movie dressed in the clothes of a folk horror. And indeed, at its core, it's about grief, codependency, and letting go. But wrapped up in the rituals of a fictional pagan commune, it feels unsettlingly real. By the end, *Midsommar* delivers a catharsis that is equal parts triumphant and horrifying. The Harga religion itself is a hodgepodge drawn from various pagan sources. The name Harga comes from a tale about villagers dancing themselves to death under the devil's fiddle and echoes of other cultures' practices. For instance, the communal wailing when someone is in pain—the Harga all scream together to share the suffering—evokes themes of empathy found in some shamanic rituals. By blending all this together, *Midsommar* creates a highly convincing invented mythology. It feels like you're peeking into a tradition that could have existed for centuries. The film is bright, colorful, and often gorgeous to look at, even when you're watching something deeply disturbing. Flowers bloom and undulate; subtle visual effects make them pulse as if alive, a nod to the constant influence of psychedelics the characters are consuming. The brutality, when it comes, is shockingly explicit, and painted against a canvas of bright sky and cheerful decor, which makes it hit even harder. Florence Pugh's performance as Dani is the emotional anchor. Through her journey from anguish to ecstasy—albeit a deranged ecstasy by the end—we, the audience, undergo a kind of twisted catharsis as well. *Midsommar* is a fantastic modern occult film because it doesn't just use occult elements for flavor; it puts you through an occult experience. Much like Dani, you start as an outsider and gradually get indoctrinated into the Harga worldview until you almost understand the horrific choice she makes in the end. Love it or hate it, *Midsommar* became an instant touchstone of folk horror and proved that occult themes can still captivate huge audiences in the 21st century.
And now, for our final film, we venture beyond conventional narrative entirely. *The Holy Mountain* is not just a movie; it's an experience, an acid-laced audiovisual initiation into esoteric mysticism. Directed by the truly legendary Alejandro Jodorowsky, the Chilean-French surrealist, this 1973 film is often hailed as the ultimate occult film. It's overflowing with symbolic imagery drawn from tarot, alchemy, astrology, Kabbalah, Eastern philosophy—you name it. Every frame is dense with meaning and often startlingly bizarre beauty. Watching it is akin to a spiritual trip. *The Holy Mountain* is, at times, enlightening; at times, baffling; occasionally uncomfortable; but absolutely singular. There's literally nothing else quite like *The Holy Mountain* in all of cinema. The film throws savage commentary on religion and society at you right from the start. The thief encounters the alchemist, a mysterious occult adept played by Jodorowsky himself. The alchemist, who exudes power and calm, leads the thief through a process of spiritual purification, including a literal alchemical transmutation of the thief's excrement into gold. This is the kind of bold, on-the-nose metaphor that *The Holy Mountain* is full of. It's shocking, a bit funny, and profoundly alchemical all at once. Jodorowsky truly walked the talk during production. Studying under a Zen master and undergoing intense spiritual training, he even put the principal actors through a month-long regimen of meditation, yoga, and esoteric exercises to prepare for filming. That means that the film itself was made under quasi-ritual conditions. On screen, you'll spot references to tarot cards. The thief is associated with the Fool card explicitly, and the alchemist is akin to the Magician or Hierophant. Alchemical processes like *solve et coagula*—breakdown and recombination—are depicted in psychedelic montages, and numerology abounds. *The Holy Mountain* is full of disturbing imagery, including gore, sexuality, and sacrilegious tableaux. But nothing is there just for shock; it's all part of Jodorowsky's symbolic master plan. If you're serious about exploring occult themes in film, *The Holy Mountain* is required viewing. But make sure you're ready to surrender expectations and just let the experience wash over you. Jodorowsky essentially performs cinematic magic, transforming the consciousness of the viewer through symbols and story. And whether you ultimately "get it" or not, you won't forget the journey.
And there we have it: seven of the greatest occult movies ever, each with its own unique flavor of the esoteric. If you enjoyed this deep dive, remember to hit that like button and subscribe to the channel if you haven't already. Plus, you'll get notified when we conjure up our next video. And don't forget to check out magic.me, our school for magic, meditation, and mysticism, to start forging your own magical path in real life. The link's right below. Thank you so much for watching and coming on this journey with me.