Siccin / سِجِّين AKA Sijjin

5.9/10
Horror
2014
1h 38m
PG-13

a chilling Turkish supernatural horror film directed by Alper Mestçi that explores forbidden black magic, jinn possession, and the deadly consequences of obsession. Rooted in Islamic folklore, the film follows a woman whose use of dark rituals to reclaim forbidden love unleashes terror upon an innocent family.

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Horror

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Siccin (2014) unfolds in the shadowed spaces between faith and fear, drawing its terror not from spectacle but from belief deeply embedded in the unseen. Set in modern Turkey yet rooted in ancient Islamic folklore, the film begins quietly, almost deceptively, with Öznur, a lonely and emotionally fractured woman whose obsession with her cousin Kudret has grown beyond reason. Kudret is married to Nisa, a woman living a seemingly ordinary life with her husband and children, unaware that unseen forces are already circling her home. Öznur’s love is not romantic but consuming, shaped by envy, abandonment, and desperation. When conventional hope fails her, she turns to forbidden knowledge—black magic known as siccin, a ritual believed to summon jinn through verses of the Qur’an twisted for malicious intent. What follows is not an instant eruption of horror but a slow poisoning of reality, where the curse seeps into the cracks of everyday life.

As the ritual takes effect, Nisa’s body and mind begin to unravel. Strange illnesses plague her children, mirrors reflect things that should not be there, and the house itself seems to breathe with unseen presence. The film carefully blurs the line between psychological breakdown and supernatural invasion, forcing the viewer to question whether Nisa is losing her sanity or being methodically destroyed by forces older than humanity. Kudret, caught between denial and fear, seeks medical explanations, but science offers no refuge here. The camera lingers on domestic spaces—bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchens—turning safety into vulnerability. Prayers echo hollowly as unseen entities respond not with mercy but with malice. The jinn do not announce themselves; they observe, infiltrate, and claim.

The horror deepens as religious figures enter the story, revealing the terrifying cost of invoking what should never be called. Through exorcism attempts and spiritual confrontations, the film exposes a core theme: faith abused becomes weaponized, and belief without humility opens doors that cannot be closed. Öznur’s actions spiral beyond her control, as the entities she summoned begin demanding payment. The curse no longer distinguishes between target and source. The jinn manifest not as monsters but as distortions—voices behind walls, limbs bending wrong, faces frozen in terror. The tension builds relentlessly toward a revelation that strips away any illusion of victory. In Siccin, there is no triumph in vengeance, no redemption in obsession, only consequence.

The final act delivers its horror with brutal inevitability. Truths are revealed, loyalties collapse, and the price of tampering with divine boundaries becomes irreversible. The film closes not with relief but with dread, leaving the audience unsettled long after the screen fades to black. Siccin (2014) is not merely a horror movie; it is a cautionary tale steeped in cultural authenticity, exploring how envy, desire, and forbidden faith can summon nightmares far worse than loneliness. It stands as one of the most disturbing entries in Turkish horror cinema, proving that the most terrifying stories are the ones that insist they could be real.