In 2019, Brazilian filmmaker Petra Costa earned widespread acclaim for her Oscar-nominated documentary The Edge of Democracy. A gripping, personal, and political exposé, the film chronicled Brazil’s democratic unraveling through the fall of its leftist Workers’ Party, culminating in the impeachment of President Dilma Rousseff and the incarceration of her predecessor, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. Costa’s lens captured not only the collapse of political ideals but also the intimate toll it took on her own family, who had deep historical ties to Brazil’s fight for democracy. At its core, The Edge of Democracy unfolded like a high-stakes political thriller, complete with scandals, wiretapped conversations, and a dizzying fall from grace.
Now, with her latest documentary Apocalypse in the Tropics, Costa returns with an even more ominous follow-up — one that trades scandal for ideology, political intrigue for spiritual warfare. If her previous film charted the breakdown of Brazil’s democratic institutions, this new work examines the forces that have been quietly, and sometimes not so quietly, undermining them from within. And in a chilling twist, religion — particularly the rise of evangelical Christianity — plays a central role in the destabilization.
While The Edge of Democracy centered on Costa’s personal story — her family’s journey from rebellion against the military dictatorship to uneasy proximity with the new political elite — Apocalypse in the Tropics detaches from the personal to scrutinize broader forces reshaping Brazil’s political identity. The film investigates the increasingly powerful evangelical movement and its alignment with the far-right, particularly during the rise and reign of former President Jair Bolsonaro. Costa takes a journalistic and reflective approach, asking not just how Brazil lost its way politically, but how the very soul of the nation — once driven by secular democratic ideals — became entangled in a vision of apocalyptic righteousness.
From the very beginning, Apocalypse in the Tropics makes its unsettling tone clear. While The Edge of Democracy was structured like a procedural drama, this film unfolds like a horror story. Costa uses haunting visual metaphors, such as Medieval paintings inspired by the Book of Revelation, to depict the descent of Brazil into ideological extremism. These images, once confined to ancient religious texts, are intercut with modern footage: masses praying in tongues, government buildings being stormed, and evangelical pastors delivering fiery sermons. The effect is jarring. We’re no longer watching a democracy stumble; we’re witnessing its potential sacrifice on the altar of spiritual warfare.
Central to this narrative is Silas Malafaia, a prominent evangelical pastor and Bolsonaro ally. Charismatic, media-savvy, and unabashedly political, Malafaia epitomizes the new breed of spiritual leaders who wield enormous influence not just over congregations, but over national policy. Costa tracks his rise with a clinical eye, revealing how pastors like him have transformed the pulpit into a platform for right-wing political agendas. In their sermons, abortion, gender ideology, and traditional family values take precedence over economic policy or social welfare. For these religious gatekeepers, politics is a means to a greater, often darker end.
What makes Costa’s examination particularly compelling is her outsider stance. Though Brazilian by birth, she does not come from an evangelical background. Her family’s past is rooted in leftist resistance, intellectualism, and secularism. This separation allows her to approach the subject of faith with both empathy and critical distance. She doesn’t mock or belittle the beliefs of evangelical Christians; rather, she peels back the layers of theology, history, and influence to understand how faith became a potent political weapon.
In doing so, Apocalypse in the Tropics raises profound questions about the role of religion in modern democracies. Costa explores how certain interpretations of Christianity — particularly those that dwell on apocalypse, prophecy, and spiritual warfare — have created a breeding ground for authoritarianism. In this worldview, compromise is betrayal, dissent is demonic, and leaders like Bolsonaro are seen not just as politicians, but as chosen instruments of divine will. The film suggests that this fusion of political and religious fervor doesn’t merely threaten the democratic process; it actively seeks to dismantle it.
One of the film’s most disturbing insights is the idea that chaos is not a byproduct of this movement but part of its goal. By encouraging social and political instability, hardline evangelicals hope to accelerate what they believe is the coming apocalypse — a moment when the faithful will be rewarded, and all others judged. This eschatological lens recasts political struggles not as negotiations between opposing views, but as spiritual battles between good and evil. In this environment, democracy, with its messiness and plurality, becomes an obstacle rather than a solution.
Costa’s documentary also digs into the historical roots of Brazil’s evangelical movement, tracing its explosive growth to external influences, including missionary work supported by the CIA during the Cold War. In its bid to curb the rise of Marxist-leaning liberation theology — a Christian movement emphasizing social justice and the poor — the United States supported evangelical missions that emphasized individual salvation and conservative social values. This strategy, while politically expedient at the time, helped lay the groundwork for the current dominance of evangelical ideology in Brazilian politics.
Through archival footage, candid interviews, and thoughtful narration, Costa paints a picture of a country grappling with a crisis of identity. Brazil’s once-vibrant democracy, born out of resistance to dictatorship and forged through hard-fought reforms, now finds itself vulnerable to manipulation by unelected religious elites. These figures, though not on the ballot, wield enormous power over voters, dictating not just how they vote but how they think about the very nature of the state.
The film also touches on the impact of COVID-19, which devastated Brazil more severely than many other countries. Costa shows how Bolsonaro’s administration, driven by a toxic mix of denialism and religious fatalism, bungled the pandemic response. In some evangelical circles, the virus was dismissed as a test of faith, a punishment for sin, or a sign of the end times. The result was a staggering loss of life, a demoralized public, and yet another blow to the country’s already fragile democratic fabric.
Apocalypse in the Tropics is not without its critiques of Bolsonaro himself. The former president is portrayed as a populist figurehead — incompetent in governance but brilliant in spectacle. Costa includes moments of absurdity from his presidency: bizarre press conferences, reckless remarks, and his wife’s theatrical displays of spiritual devotion. But the film’s focus remains squarely on the infrastructure that enabled Bolsonaro’s rise and continues to outlive him: the evangelical-political alliance.
Stylistically, Costa continues to evolve as a filmmaker. Where Elena, her deeply personal debut, wove together diary-like narration, dreamlike visuals, and archival fragments to explore grief and memory, Apocalypse in the Tropics uses a colder, more urgent aesthetic. Her poetic voice is still present, but it now serves as a warning rather than a lament. The intimacy of her previous films gives way to a broader, more analytical tone — a necessary shift given the film’s scope.
Despite its specific focus on Brazil, Apocalypse in the Tropics offers a mirror for other democracies facing similar threats. In the United States, Costa’s analysis will strike a chord with those witnessing the growing power of Christian nationalism and its influence on policy, elections, and public discourse. Her film invites viewers to consider how religious belief, when weaponized, can upend the democratic process and justify authoritarian impulses.
There is something chillingly universal in the documentary’s message. The erosion of democracy is rarely swift or overt; it often begins with charismatic leaders, moral crusades, and calls for a return to traditional values. It’s bolstered by a media ecosystem that thrives on fear, by institutions that fail to check power, and by citizens too distracted or disillusioned to resist. Costa reminds us that democracy is not just a system of governance — it is a shared belief in the rule of law, the importance of dissent, and the dignity of every voice. When those beliefs are undermined by a higher, unquestioned authority — whether it’s a deity, a prophet, or a president — democracy falters.
In the final scenes of Apocalypse in the Tropics, Costa offers no easy answers. The film does not end with redemption or resolution, but with a sense of foreboding. As images of religious ecstasy blend with footage of political violence, the message becomes clear: this is not just a Brazilian problem. It is a warning for the world.Petra Costa’s Apocalypse in the Tropics is a searing, poetic, and profoundly disturbing work. By daring to examine the uncomfortable intersections of faith and politics, she delivers one of the most important documentaries of our time — a film that forces us to ask how far we’re willing to let belief override reason, and whether democracy can survive the storms of spiritual warfare. It’s not just a story of one nation’s fall from grace. It’s a global alarm bell ringing across every corner of the modern world.
