by Mia Butter // Feb. 27, 2026
Gore, slapstick, political commentary and impromptu dance all find their way into Indonesian director Joko Anwar’s new feature film, ‘Ghost in the Cell’ (Hantu Dalam Penjara). Anwar’s 12th film, but by no means his first horror film, ‘Ghost in the Cell’ recently premiered at the 76th annual Berlinale film festival in the Forum section. While it could have arguably been featured in the Panorama section, this genre-bending production was not ill-placed, insofar as the Forum section “stand[s] for reflections on the medium of film, socio-artistic discourse and a particular sense for the aesthetic.”
Joko Anwar: ‘Ghost in the Cell,’ film still, feat. Abimana Arysatya, Morgan Oey, Mike Lucock, ensemble // Copyright Come and See Pictures
The film primarily takes place in Labuan Angsana, a fictional prison labelled one of Indonesia’s worst. Our protagonists reside in cell block C: for thieves, conmen and murderers. Other blocks, for politicians and celebrities, such as cell block K, afford inmates with luxury cells, freedom to leave as they please and cellphones. But a tyrannical warden engages in ruthless corporal punishment in block C and the protagonist of the film, Anggoro, stands up to the warden, challenging his brutal reign. When the leader of an enemy gang is violently murdered, Anggoro’s crew become suspect number one, especially as they’ve taken a new inmate, Dimas—whose arrival coincides with the onset of the murders—under their wing. Hearing screams, the inmates rush to the scene, only to find the victim’s body dismembered and impaled on a shower head, the water running out of his mouth. The murderer henceforth becomes an artist, of sorts, rearranging the corpses into installations.
The gory first third of the film leaves the viewer begging for some comic relief, and wondering how much of this should have remained an “inner thought.” As the film progresses, however, so does the disarming slapstick and cheap laughs that have the audience roaring. It soon became clear that this would be an odd but unique cinematic experience.
Joko Anwar: ‘Ghost in the Cell,’ film still, feat. Endy Arfian // Copyright Come and See Pictures
While the terrifying murders are happening, an inmate suffering from excruciating headaches rolls off his bunk one morning feeling spritely, with a newfound power to see auras. His fellow inmates doubt his clairvoyance, until it becomes clear that the color of a person’s aura can predict their chances of getting murdered. They band together, even uniting across enemy lines, and discover that the way to diffuse a dangerous red or “murky” aura, caused by frustration or rage, is to engage in art or prayer. Conveniently, the prison has a prayer room as well as a recreational arts room, run by a dancer and inmate named Novilham.
This is where things truly begin to get weird. Although the inmates discover that art is their savior, they only ever engage in haphazard dance moves when their auras turn red, and immediately stop once their aura-reading friend gives them the green light that they’re safe. Their actions read less as a new approach to life than as a temporary solution to ward off the murderous ghost. The “true” artist in the film is the aforementioned Novilham, who leads dance classes for the inmates. As Novi now provides an invaluable service, his dance class is full of flailing inmates dancing for their lives. He becomes frustrated with the inmates’ two left feet, and ushers them out to calm himself down with a solo number. The only queer character in the film, Novi has a tender scene in which he weeps as he dances in high-heels on the stone floors. The music, the sound of his shoes and his tears are a welcome change of pace for the film. The presence of a queer character in the film was an important choice on Anwar’s part, as in 2016, the Indonesian Broadcasting Commission banned the depiction of LGBTQ+ characters, starkly censoring Indonesian media.
Joko Anwar: ‘Ghost in the Cell,’ film still, feat. Yoga Pratama, Danang Suryonegoro, Abimana Aryasatya, Lukman Sardi, Mike Lucock // Copyright Come and See Pictures
The genre-bending nature of this film works mostly because it feels honest and uncompromised, like when a murder scene cuts to a fight scene that engages in slapstick, slo-mo pratfalls. Through side-notes and exaggerated characters, themes such as Indonesia’s corruption, deforestation and pluralistic religious climate are touched on, but not totally fleshed out. Commentaries on the state of Indonesia in the film, among prisoners who don’t see much of a future after release, also bring this point home, as Anwar explains in his director’s statement: “placing the story inside a prison allowed me to explore another form of confinement, one created by a system that punishes the vulnerable while shielding the corrupt.”
While certain plot lines are left at loose ends, the film is ultimately impressive and disarming. It leans into the slapstick comedy meets contemporary horror with a refreshing silliness that enhances its charm. Despite Wim Wenders’ statement at the opening press conference of the Berlinale, that filmmakers are “the counterweight of politics, the opposite of politics,” Anwar’s ‘Ghost in the Cell’ should be counted among the significant number of fantastic political films on view at the festival.
