Independent micro-budget horror thrives best in the margins: in small domestic spaces, simple emotional stakes, a solid story, and the uneasy feeling that the ordinary can crumble under the slightest supernatural pressure. Cho – A Tale of Voodoo, directed by August Aguilar, written by Frank Aguilar, and produced through Strange Films Studios, is a little supernatural tale that fits this idea. The work is not a bombastic, effects-driven spectacle, nor does the filmmaker simply toss everything against the wall and let the audience figure it out. Instead, it’s a simple curse narrative rooted in guilt, family tension, and the suffocation of a couple whose comfortable life dissolves under a force they neither understand nor believe in until it is far too late.
The picture concerns a businessman (Kenny Klugewicz) recounting the unravelling of his marriage to a news reporter and the strange misfortunes that began to stalk them after he committed what he thought was a small moral misstep. The couple’s world is warm, believable, and touched with the realism of small routines, shared meals, casual laughter, and subtle insecurities. That grounding is crucial because once the horror begins to manifest, the film relies on the audience’s investment in these characters rather than on elaborate set pieces. Unexplained wounds, personality shifts, and bursts of irrational behaviour punctuate normally in ways that feel genuinely unsettling.
The curse isn’t simply an external force; it becomes a reflection of guilt and secrecy. This is best illustrated by the reveal of a woman whose distinct mark is covered by makeup. Independent horror often needs to choose where to spend its energy, and Cho – A Tale of Voodoo invests in mood and character rather than in rapid dialogue or jump scares. The result is a series of tense, effective sequences where the uncanny feels just out of frame, such as a man trying to impress two women in a karaoke bar with magic tricks.
“…a businessman recounting the unravelling of his marriage to a news reporter and the strange misfortunes that began to stalk them…”
The set-up is a classic confessional device: a rational, professional man attempting to make sense of something. This choice works well for the intimate tone. The narrative stays grounded even as supernatural elements creep in, allowing horror to grow from the cracks in everyday domestic life rather than from elaborate mythology. It’s less about jump scares and more about a creeping sense of violation, as if something unseen has slipped into the house and started rearranging the couple from the inside.
Cho- A Tale of Voodoo slips after a strong buildup of dread in its resolution. The conclusion arrives with a noticeable change in energy amd instead of escalating toward a crescendo of sorts, the film takes a subtle turn on the Penthouse patio. The mechanics of the curse are explained rather than dramatized, and the sense of momentum slows. This isn’t uncommon for small supernatural films, as conclusions are often the hardest part with limited resources. The final moments still offer the clarity that guilt has a price, curses are never clean, and the emotional scars left behind can be more haunting than the supernatural threat itself.
Visually the motion picture maintains a modest style. The film also benefits from atmospheric music at times, odd music that enhances the feeling. The actors all try and are pretty believable. In particular, most of the female roles have texture in several moments, even those that are briefly on screen. The females are cast as the “villains” and most of the male roles, including Cho, are preyed upon.
In the landscape of indie supernatural horror, Cho -A Tale of Voodoo stands as one that will satisfy fans of low-budget supernatural thrillers. The movie is a reminder that horror doesn’t require a grand scale to get under your skin. Sometimes all it takes is a whisper of guilt, a shadow that doesn’t belong.
"…will satisfy fans of low-budget supernatural thrillers."
