











































Africa Speaks?: Black Monsters 
and Revisionary History in 
Horror Films

In the Western eye, Africa is 
more an idea than a physical 

location. Discussion about the 
continent is riddled with historically 
mediated tropes, stereotypes, 
and misrepresentations. Cultural 
products, like fashion trends 
and literature, perpetuate the 
imagination of an Africa that does 
not truly exist. In Western culture 
of the late twentieth and early 
twenty-first centuries, film plays 
a crucial role in shaping people’s 
understanding of Africa. This paper 
analyzes three films set apart by 
at least a decade: The Night of the 
Sorcerers (1973), Panga (1991), and 
Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist 
(2005). Each film includes motifs 
of possession, curses, magic, and monsters. Moreover, each film is shaped by 
colonialism, for the terror stems from historical fears associated with expansion 
and an entrance into African spaces. My analysis follows a multi-layered structure. 
I begin with a discussion of the tropes that dominate the narratives and how each 
one is influenced by a colonial history. Afterward, I examine how the tropes interact 
with the genre of horror to create an essentialist “African” entity that is equated 
with ideas of darkness and monstrosity. Ultimately, this paper argues that the 
threat in these films is not the mere existence of darkness, but rather the possibility 
of contracting darkness. By virtue of engaging with the horror genre, these films 
other black bodies to the extremes of monstrosity. Accordingly, the films center 

ABSTRACT
This paper analyzes three films, The Night 
of the Sorcerers (1973), Panga (1991), and 
Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist (2005), 
within the context of postcolonial theory. 
I examine how the films interweave 
themes of possession, magic, and 
monsters with a legacy of colonialism, 
constructing terror interactions with 
raced bodies. This paper argues that 
the threat in these films is not the mere 
existence of blackness, but rather the 
possibility of contracting blackness. 
Moreover, these narratives affect a new 
reality, practicing a form of revisionary 
history that provides the other with 
a form (or at least the opportunity) of 
agency.

Arlette Hernandez, Washington and Lee University

1Digital Literature Review, vol. 4 (2017).     Ball State University. All Rights Reserved.
Please direct all requests for permission to photocopy or reproduce critical edition to dlr@bsu.edu.



on the idea of transformations, specifically the mutation of white human into black 
monster. This article ends with an analysis of African-based horror as a genre, 
asserting that, while such narratives are influenced by a particular history, they also 
affect a new reality. These films act as a battleground between the European and 
African voice, embodied by hero and monster respectively. Inevitably, the narratives 
practice a revisionary history that provides Africans with a form of (or at least the 
opportunity for) agency.
 To provide a very brief background, the Spanish horror film The Night 
of the Sorcerers begins with the 1910 murder of a female missionary worker by 
voodoo sorcerers in the (fake) West African country of Bumbasa. Subsequent 
female explorers are lured to the site of the original murder. Here, the voodoo 
sorcerers return as African zombies and transform the women into half-leopard, 
bikini-clad, lesbian vampires, who murder their male explorer counterparts. Panga 
unfolds the fate of a woman who interrupts a sacrificial ceremony near her home in 
South Africa to save the life of a goat. Her actions incur the wrath of the Nyonga 
“witchdoctor,” who summons “the vengeful spirit that lives in the sea” (Panga), 
Umoya Omube. While the malevolent forces in The Night of the Sorcerers and 
Panga are the Africans themselves, the religious overtones of Dominion make the 
African connection slightly subtler. The film follows a Catholic priest, who lost his 
faith during World War II after a traumatic incident of Nazi brutality. While on 
sabbatical in British East Africa, Father Merrin performs an archaeological dig and 
unleashes an ancient demon that he must exorcise by the end of the film.
 The two most prevalent tropes in these films are those of a savage and a 
primitive Africa. Africa as savage implies wildness, an existence where one is not 
restricted by social standards of morality and normality. Moreover, it is linked 
to ideas of primitivism and underdevelopment. Historically, this image has been 
constructed through a process of differentiation whereby the Westerner contrasts 
his own life and practices with those of African peoples. Such perceptions 
developed from the juxtaposition of vast natural landscapes and condensed urban 
settings or collectivistic social groups and individualistic societies. In other words, 
Western socio-political structures provided a framework for understanding what 
was “correct,” thereby privileging certain structures or behaviors and relegating to 
the margins those that did not correspond. In the nineteenth century, difference 
became immutable as science sought to explain such disparities. This mission 
resulted in evolutionist rhetoric, and figures like Lewis Henry Morgan “developed 
a widely used model [that] described three categories of peoples: savage, barbarian, 
and civilized,” using qualities of social development like “living in cities, using 
handwriting, and having organized states” as criteria (Keim 53). Evolutionism also 

2Arlette Hernandez



featured a racial undertone that fused together skin color, hierarchy, and culture. 
Scientific discourse perpetuated the notion that “superior races produced superior 
cultures, and naturally, the white race and white culture were superior” (Keim 54). 
Consequently, because of social structures and racial markers of difference, Africans 
were considered inferior, or “less evolved” (Keim 52), that is to say, primitive.
 Colonial discourse is the product of a process. Eurocentric viewpoints and 
systematic comparison construct and shape the idea of a savage and underdeveloped 
Africa. Such notions are then perpetuated, often through a dissemination of visual, 
auditory, and textual materials. In their examination of Victorian travel literature, 
anthropologists Dorothy Hammond and Alta Jablow examine the different 
misperceptions of Africa. They analyze a variety of sources from the colonial 
period which portray the author’s journey into the African continent, but the texts 
they cite often focus on ideas of “darkness” and how it consumes the continent 
(Hammond and Jablow 54). Europeans saw Africa as “hideous and grotesque,” as 
“a great beast,” or monster (60). Such monstrosity pervades every corner and upon 
entering the continent, “the traveller might [expect] a corpse to be hidden behind 
every bush” (60). Authors describe the continent’s inhabitants as the “lower breeds 
of mankind” (63), products of “a land teeming with horrors and guarded by the 
foul monsters of disease, of darkness and savagery” (61). Yet, while the African is “a 
barbarous man,” he also resembles “a child” (64). 
 All three horror films echo these misperceptions and deviant depictions. The 
Africans in The Night of the Sorcerers practice voodoo and cannibalism, two customs 
the West considers primitive and savage. Panga and Dominion feature scenes in 
which Africans participate in animal sacrifices, another “primitive” custom. In 
Dominion, Chuma, one of the few English-speaking African characters, asks 
Father Francis, a missionary working alongside Merrin, if he thinks the Turkana 
are savages because of the sacrifice. Francis replies by saying, “I think you are good 
people, lost in confusion” (Dominion), as if the people are enveloped by darkness 
that clouds their vision. Moreover, the African characters in these films are dressed 
in clothing the West considers “traditional,” also feeding into images of a savage 
and backwards Africa. Lastly, each film recycles Victorian constructs of dangerous 
landscapes and monstrous men. Whether it is through cannibalism, blood sacrifice, 
or demonic possession, the films depict African characters as others, as non-
humans capable of an evil unfamiliar and contradictory to the Western body.
 Africa is often trapped in the fetishizing gaze of the West, effectively 
sexualizing the continent. The trope of “sexy Africa,” in the already gendered genre 
of horror, catches the eye. A portion of the trope comes from “a more racist era 
when black Africans were considered more animalistic and sensual” (Keim 74). 

3Arlette Hernandez



Race was seen as a biological feature, and, at the time, it was thought that people 
“were different sexually because of their biology” (74). Yet, the trope is about more 
than sex appeal; it also makes assumptions about sexual behavior and orientation. 
In his book about gender and sexuality in Africa, historian Marc Epprecht argues 
that there exists a “hypothetical singular African sexuality, [which] includes. 
. .purported tendencies toward heterosexual promiscuity” (2). The rhetoric of 
promiscuous African sexuality is linked to a colonial understanding of Africans as 
backward and primitive, with Western opinion “oscillat[ing] between notions of the 
exotic, the noble, and the depraved savage” (Arnfred 7). 
 The trope of sexualized Africa is most glaring in The Night of the Sorcerers, 
where the women engage in what the West would deem deviant sexual behavior. 
African women are depicted as primitive sexual figures with uncovered breasts 
and a hunger for human flesh. They participate in cannibalism, an act of sexualized 
violence whereby two bodies are integrated, one entering—penetrating, if you 
will—the other. The white women are dressed conservatively until a whip exposes 
their breasts. Then, they undergo a ritual that Africanizes them, turning
them into half-naked, leopard-human hybrid beasts, ravenous for the (sexual) 
consumption of other females. This scene accomplishes two things. It aligns 
blackness with a particular kind of aberrant sexuality. Moreover, the scene posits 
blackness as the root of monstrosity. The film’s black characters corrupt the white 
explorers, provoking their transformation into lesbian vampires, into monsters.
 Sexuality is subtler in Panga and Dominion, where Africa does not 
necessarily turn the white characters into sexual deviants, but rather provides 
them with a safe space where they can express their sexuality. The wife in Panga 
uses Africa to construct a love story that adds sensuality to her marriage. She tells 
her husband that she will always love him, even when “Africa becomes the Dark 
Continent” because she’s always “been a sucker for the sinister and mysterious” 
(Panga).  Meanwhile, Father Merrin, who retreats to British East Africa during 
a crisis of faith, is given freedom on the continent to explore his sexuality, kissing 
a woman after years of celibacy. Nevertheless, in both of these instances, Africa is 
antagonized. For the wife in Panga, Africa is the big bad wolf her husband must 
fight, while in Dominion, Africa is the source of carnal temptation.
 During the nineteenth century, all three of these tropes were implemented 
in creating “the myth of the Dark Continent” (Keim 45). By this time, ideas about 
savagery and aberrant sexuality, as well as “racist and evolutionary doctrines in the 
social sciences . . . combined to give the [colonial] public a widely shared view of 
Africa that demanded imperialization on moral, religious, and scientific grounds” 
(Brantlinger 167-168). This framework of darkness and imperialism dominates the 

4Arlette Hernandez



narratives of our African-based horror narratives. In each film, the West justifies its 
presence in Africa through the pretext of help. The explorers in Night of the Sorcerers 
wish to spread awareness about the endangered species of West Africa, the family 
in Panga wants to bring prosperity to barren African territories, and the British in 
Dominion attempt to help Africa through medicine and political organization. Yet 
engagement with the rhetoric of aid assumes that (1) there is a problem and (2) 
it must and can be fixed. In both a literal and metaphorical sense, Africa contains 
a darkness that must be illuminated through Western light, or rather, Western 
superiority. 
 The Dark Continent myth is the immediate visualization of Africa possessed 
by a spectator, effectively establishing a pessimistic and one-dimensional identity. 
Darkness as identity operates in several ways. Firstly, it operates as an essence 
similar to Toni Morrison’s “Africanist presence,” a term that illustrates “the 
denotative and connotative blackness that African peoples have come to signify” 
(6). Morrison uses the term blackness both racially and metaphorically. Blackness 
is a literal marker used by the West to differentiate themselves from Africans (i.e. 
through skin color), but also as a signified, or a concept, with blackness evoking 
the notions of inferiority and negativity that underlie Western thought and 
association. As an Africanist presence, darkness shrouds the continent in blackness. 
That is, the continent is both a space occupied by black bodies but also a space 
ruled by degradation. Thus, to be African is to be intimately connected to the 
dark. In addition, within the structure of these genre films, darkness also acts as a 
malevolent force, or character, that drives the plot—a nemesis figure. Screenwriting 
professors Marc Blake and Sara Bailey put it best when they wrote, “At the heart of 
every horror movie is the monster” (57). For these three films, the black body, but 
more broadly, Africa and the Africanist presence, is the monster. As postcolonial 
scholar Achille Mbembe asserts, Africa is “deployed in the framework . . . of a 
meta-text about the animal—to be exact, about the beast” (1, emphasis original). 
 All three films simultaneously use Africa as a space and a character. Each 
is set in an African country but also represents the continent through essentialist 
characters that resonate with pre-existing tropes and misperceptions. Furthermore, 
the characters act as impaired bodies that personify the sinister and attack the 
West, striking “responses of fear and disgust in [its] viewers” (Smith 25). In Night 
of the Sorcerers, the voodoo zombies and the lesbian vampires embody darkness. 
They are presented as monsters that evoke fear in the Western characters. Similarly, 
the witchdoctor in Panga is a representation of darkness, but the most menacing 
presence is that of the vengeful spirit, Umoya Omube. Darkness in Dominion 
is not as distinctly African, for the main embodiment is an unknown demon 

5Arlette Hernandez



buried underground and constantly referred to as Satan. Still, through its physical 
immersion in an African landscape and its possession of an African vessel, the 
character of the demon can be read as a symbol of the continent and its darkness.
 In reading horror films through a lens of postcolonial theory, a dominant 
theme is that of contagion. Several horror narratives deal with a fear of 
contamination, for “the idea that an infected person will contaminate us is 
universal” (Blake and Bailey 53). In addition, during the colonial period, “Africa 
was seen as the worst of the world’s pathogenic spaces, a plague-ridden climate that 
prevented its people from rising above nature and developing a culture equivalent 
to that of Europe” (Bewell 194). These two ideas interact in the films, darkness and 
monstrosity striking unease in the viewer. Nevertheless, the real fear stems from 
the possibility of exposure to that presence. History and horror interact as darkness 
is turned into a disease, colonial fear reverberating throughout the films. Just as 
nineteenth century colonists feared they would acquire diseases from Africa, the 
Western characters in the films fear that they will be soiled by darkness. They fear 
contamination because infection spawns an altered state of being, whereby the West 
is victimized and then made monster. 
 When set on the African continent, popular Western-produced narratives 
of often employ the archetype of the white savior, a figure who redeems or rescues 
the othered. Yet, horror films subvert this role of the white savior. The Night of 
the Sorcerers presents Professor Jonathan Grant and his safari team as innocent 
explorers present only to conduct research in hopes of rescuing Africa’s animals. 
However, once the dark presence is provoked, the Westerners are hunted like 
prey—women seduced and men killed. Panga depicts its central characters as 
innocent. Elizabeth is an expecting mother, and her sister and brother-in-law are 
unknowing visitors of the continent. Still, in trying to uphold Eurocentric moral 
values, they rouse the vengeance of a dark Africanist presence, resulting in their 
murders. Innocence in Dominion is more complex because of the religious element. 
The monster is not purely African and harms both the Turkana and the British. 
Nevertheless, Father Merrin, an ex-priest traumatized by Nazi cruelty, respects 
the indigenous people and seeks nothing more than archaeological discoveries. 
However, in the process of doing good, he releases an African demon that inflicts 
harm on the Westerners. He and his peer Father Francis are the two main targets 
of Satan’s attacks. In each case, the white savior trope gives way to the white victim.
 To summarize what we have discussed up until this point, let us consider 
the structure of the horror film. Marc Blake and Sara Bailey identify the five main 
components of horror films as “unease, dread, terror, horror, and disgust” (45). The 
unease in these three films is built by historically mediated tropes that posit Africa 

6Arlette Hernandez



as aberrant. Dread then peaks at the discovery of a malevolent Africanist darkness. 
Horror is the depiction of death and massacre, while disgust comes from the 
realization of voyeurism. However, the climax of the story, the terror, comes from 
the idea of a white victim and, accordingly, the subversion of hegemonic order. As 
literature professor Kyle Bishop posits in an article about the cultural relevance 
of zombies, terror stems from “the prospect of a westerner becoming dominated, 
subjugated, and effectively ‘colonized’” (141). 
 The Africans who are preserved as voodoo zombies in The Night of the 
Sorcerers threaten the Europeans because they represent the possibility of a “sub-
subaltern class . . . [that] are literally silent, enslaved, and unable to connect with 
the dominant culture through any liminal space of discourse” (Bishop 141). 
By subaltern, I mean what famous literary theorist Gayatri Spivak defines as 
“everything that has limited or no access to the cultural imperialism . . .  — a space 
of difference” (qtd. in de Kock 45). The subaltern is not just the oppressed, but 
the culturally deprived and segregated. Yet, while the zombies in The Night of the 
Sorcerers induce terror because of their position as sub-subaltern, I would argue that 
the figure of the lesbian vampire is most frightening, for it is a Westerner who has 
been fully infected by the Africanist presence and reduced to the same subaltern 
status as the African. They are figures that have truly “gone native.” Though not in 
the same way, the sea spirit in Panga also threatens Western domination. Through 
murder and death, the creature possesses the power to completely eliminate 
hierarchy and overthrow the oppressor. Despite being subaltern, Umoya Omube, 
an entity with African origins, possesses uncontainable power, and this reality 
frightens the Western presence. The threat of possession in Dominion imperils 
Western ideas of godliness, security, and sanitation. The demon can insert itself into 
any human vessel, consequently polluting it with a darkness that is seen as inherent 
to the continent. Moreover, Satan possesses the ability to kill and extinguish 
hierarchy in the same way as Umoya Omube.
 Horror films grapple with the idea of conflict, often pitting the marginalized 
against the dominant. In her first book, entitled Men, Women, and Chainsaws, film 
professor Carol Clover reads this conflict as a central element of occult theory and 
horror, terming it the struggle between “White Science and Black Magic” (66). The 
plots of these three films usually involve some variation of a Western body entering 
the larger African space and attempting to impose its white science, but inevitably 
facing opposition from the other’s black magic. The rest of the film then serves 
as a battleground where one agent tries to control the narrative by directing the 
spotlight, or rather the camera lens, over to their embodied voice. 
 In the beginning, the camera emphasizes the European presence, privileging 

7Arlette Hernandez



Western language and dialogue. As the plot unfolds, the Africanist presence enters 
and attempts to speak, but they are quickly silenced. The Night of the Sorcerers is 
unique in that it begins with Africans. However, their presence is contingent on 
their relationship to the white female missionary who they convert. Moreover, the 
ritual is interrupted by a group of armed soldiers that invade and kill the Africans. 
After that first scene, the film focuses exclusively on the Westerners, dedicating ten 
minutes of screen time to an arrival that depicts actions inessential to the storyline. 
Screen time begins to shift between the Europeans and Africans, the alternations 
demonstrating a tug-of-war for voice and power. Each entity wants to be heard, 
but the Africans are never permitted to speak. The figures of the dominating 
civilization use their status as oppressors to fight and stay superior. In Panga and 
Dominion, Africans are allowed to speak, but only under certain conditions. There 
may only be one African character who speaks English, and those that speak the 
indigenous language are never given subtitles. Though both entities are fighting to 
be heard, the Africanist presence always falls behind.
 Tired of being silenced when pursuing traditional methods of 
communication, the subaltern turn toward other approaches. Violence and 
horror are subsequently militarized, converted into tools for garnering attention. 
The zombified Africans and Africanized white vampires engage in strategic 
essentialism, a concept promoted by Gayatri Spivak, which means “acting ‘as 
if ’ identities were stable for specific political reasons. For example, one might 
temporarily accept the category of ‘woman’ as a stable unity for the purpose of 
mobilizing women for political action” (Spivak qtd. in Ray 110). The African 
characters in The Night of the Sorcerers use their status as monsters to terrorize the 
West. Similarly, Umoya Omube is never given a voice. Instead, he is systematically 
erased and silenced, causing the vengeful spirit to adopt murder as a mouthpiece. 
Satan, in Dominion, is perhaps the chattiest of the Africanist presences, but all 
doubt his existence at the beginning of the film. As a result, he beats and murders 
characters, using violence to be heard and reify his existence. In militarizing 
violence and practicing strategic essentialism, the subaltern transform from 
invisible entities to grotesque representations that demand consideration.
 Deeply connected to this question of voice is the issue of agency, and in 
channeling voice, Africans gain a form of agency. Though produced by Europeans, 
African-based horror films allow for the practice of revisionary history. The Night 
of the Sorcerers, Dominion, and Panga, while filled with factual inaccuracies and 
misrepresentations, ultimately allow for a re-writing of the colonial narrative. In 
the traditional colonial narrative, Westerners enter African spaces, make claims 
of ownership, and set up systems of hierarchy that oppress the colonized. All too 

8Arlette Hernandez



often, the subaltern are erased and shown as passive recipients of such inferior 
positions. Yet, in these films, Africans are not completely dominated by the 
European presence. While they face conflict with and erasure by the West, they 
are also given the opportunity to fight back against invasion and make themselves 
known. Thus, the nemesis figure becomes crucial as monsters are mobilized by the 
Africanist presence to drive out the Western hegemons. The voodoo zombies take 
revenge against the Europeans that originally extinguished them, invading their 
sense of security in the same manner their own was once violated. Umoya Omube is 
summoned by the Nyonga witchdoctor to punish the Europeans who disrespected 
indigenous practice and culture. Satan wreaks havoc on all the characters regardless 
of their culture, but the British are more keenly affected. The symbolic and 
topographical origins of his character transform him into a figure that defends the 
land from European corruption.
 Respect plays an important role in the revisionary histories of these films. In 
traditional colonial narratives, indigenous cultures are frequently disrespected and 
wiped away. Yet, because they fear African darkness and the possibility of attack at 
the hands of the Africanist presence, these films also advocate for a toleration of 
African societies. The voodoo culture in The Night of the Sorcerers is not fragmented 
or deteriorated, but rather kept whole—so much so that it evokes fear. After 
Elizabeth interrupts the Nyonga sacrificial ceremony, her husband scolds her, telling 
her she cannot “trample over thousands of years of tradition” (Panga). Dominion’s 
Father Merrin treats the Turkana with respect and highlights the hypocrisy of other 
Western characters. When Father Francis points out there are bloodstains (likely 
from a sacrifice) in the altar to Satan, Merrin replies by saying, “Yes, it’s almost 
like a scene out of the inquisition” (Dominion), rejecting any conclusion Francis 
may be drawing about a “savage Africa.” The director, Paul Schrader, also avoids 
glorifying the British. He parallels the scene of arbitrary Nazi massacre in Holland 
to the pointless murder of a Turkana woman in British East Africa, indicating that 
monstrous behavior is not confined to any singular historical moment or culture. In 
constructing a revised history and subverted colonial narrative, these films reject the 
image of the passive African. Africans are portrayed as the offenders rather than 
the offended. Pessimistically, they are presented as monsters. Yet, as the monsters of 
horror films, Africans also reshape the role of oppressed people through bodies that 
actively reject hegemonic order.
 Pop culture artifacts, such as films, are often subject to inaccuracies because, 
in their efforts to entertain, they often flattens reality into a more easily digestible 
form. Yet nothing is as simply and wholly problematic as it seems. Are horror 
films the best generic medium through which to portray Africa? No. Are they 

9Arlette Hernandez



deeply problematic in the perpetuation of African unrealities? Yes. Do these facts 
completely devalue such films? No, of course not. Like any other cultural artifact, 
African-based horror films have their own strengths and drawbacks. They construct 
black bodies as monsters, perpetuating a legacy of Africa as the Dark Continent 
while also depicting it as an entity that should be feared. However, these same films 
also provide Africans with the opportunity to rewrite history and exert a form 
of agency, as violent as it may be. The key is not to find the perfect technique for 
portraying Africa. Rather, the point is to become deeply reflective about the items 
that surround us, those items that may appear innocent but, at their cores, are just 
as sinister if not more so than the monsters that litter bookstore shelves and Netflix 
queues.

10Arlette Hernandez



WORKS CITED

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Sexualities in Africa, edited by Signe Arnfred. Nordiska Afrikainstitutet, 
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Bewell, Alan. Romanticism and Colonial Disease. Johns Hopkins UP, 1999.

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Brantlinger, Patrick. “Victorians and Africans: The Genealogy of the Myth of the 
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Clover, Carol J. Men, Women, and Chainsaws: Gender in the Modern Horror Film. 
Princeton UP, 1992.

Dominion: Prequel to the Exorcist. Schrader, Paul, director, Warner Home Video, 
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Epprecht, Marc. Heterosexual Africa?: The History of an Idea from the Age of 
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Hammond, Dorothy and Alta Jablow.  “The Dawn of Empire: Mid-Century.” The 
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de Kock, Leon. “Interview with Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak: New Nation Writers 
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Literature, vol. 23, no. 3, 1992, pp. 29-47. 

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Mbembe, Achille. On the Postcolony. University of California Press, 2001.

Morrison, Toni. Playing in the Dark: Whiteness and the Literary Imagination. 
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Panga (Curse III: Blood Sacrifice). Barton, Sean, director, MGM, 1991.

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The Night of the Sorcerers (La Noche de los Brujos). de Ossorio, Armando, director, 
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Smith, Angela M. Hideous Progeny: Disability, Eugenics, and Classic Horror Cinema. 
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