Death Has No Master (2026) Fantastic Fest Review

There is no shortage of conversations surrounding colonialism, ownership, and the ways the past continues to shape the present. Sometimes that history is buried beneath generations of silence, while other times it is sitting in plain sight like in a home, on a piece of land. That history is at the center of writer-director Jorge Thielen Armand’s latest feature, Death Has No Master.

The film follows Caro (Asia Argento), who returns to Venezuela following the death of her father with plans to sell the family’s cacao plantation. What should be a relatively simple return home quickly becomes complicated when she discovers that Sonia, a former employee of the family, and her son Maiko are still living on the property. Sonia has no intention of leaving, and as Caro attempts to reclaim what she believes belongs to her, the conflict becomes less about a house and more about the history attached to the land. The longer Caro remains, the more the plantation begins to expose the violence, exploitation and colonial legacy that has been passed down with it.

Armand wastes little time establishing that this is not simply a story about a woman fighting to get her childhood home back. The opening imagery immediately places the plantation within a much larger history, and the decaying mansion becomes almost a character of its own. Surrounded by dense greenery and isolated from everything around it, the property feels like a physical representation of the family’s history—beautiful from a distance, but rotting underneath. The film's slow-burn approach works particularly well here, allowing the tension between Caro and Sonia to build while making it increasingly difficult to determine who actually has the right to call this place home.

Dogreika Tovar is a standout as Sonia. There is a quiet strength to her performance that makes every interaction with Caro feel like a power struggle, even when neither woman is saying much. Argento's Caro is intentionally difficult to understand at times, and as her connection to the plantation becomes more complicated, the film begins to blur the line between inherited trauma and inherited violence. Some of the film's more surreal elements don't always land with the same effectiveness. Caro's visions and memories hint at a much deeper history, but the film doesn't always give those moments enough room to develop before moving on.

Death Has No Master is at its strongest when it allows the plantation and its history to speak for themselves. Armand has created something atmospheric, unsettling and deeply uncomfortable, using horror and psychological thriller elements to explore what happens when people attempt to claim ownership over something that was built through the suffering of others. But the film's deliberate pacing can also work against it. 

Still, there is something compelling about a horror film that understands the real monster doesn't have to be supernatural. Sometimes it is the history buried beneath the floorboards, the family name attached to the land, or the belief that legal ownership automatically makes something yours. Death Has No Master doesn't always know exactly where to take all of its ideas, but Jorge Thielen Armand creates a haunting portrait of colonialism, inherited violence and the consequences of refusing to confront what came before.