Lúcio Reis Filho
The Devil Queen (A Rainha Diaba, 1974) stands as a unique piece of counterculture, penned by Fontoura and Plínio Marcos and brought to life during one of the bloodiest phases of the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964-1985). Praised by critics upon release, the production was hailed in the Brazilian press as a “pop gay Black film” and celebrated as one of the most significant cinematic events of 1974, even snagging an invitation to the Cannes Film Festival. Initially, the movie slipped right under the radar of the military dictatorship’s censors. However, getting the nod from the world’s most prestigious institution triggered a sudden panic within the authoritarian regime. Paranoid about the country’s international image, the censors quickly slapped the film with labels like “excessively gay” and “unfit” to represent Brazil abroad, fearing it would deeply damage the nation’s reputation.
Finally getting the royal treatment it deserves, The Devil Queen has been masterfully restored in 4K from the original 35mm negatives preserved at the Brazilian National Archive, alongside audio files meticulously recovered by the Audiovisual Technical Center (CTAv). After drawing rave reviews at the 2023 Berlinale, the film returned home later that year to screen at the Ouro Preto Film Festival in Minas Gerais. Now, international audiences get their chance to experience this queer masterpiece as it hits the US circuit this summer, debuting June 19, 2026, in New York City.
The Devil Queen’s stellar sound design stands out right from the jump. The opening credits theme by Brazilian singer-songwriter José Fortuna seamlessly transitions into diegetic music in the very first scene, dropping us straight into the brothel where much of the story unfolds. Crafted by Guilherme Vaz, the film’s progressive score draws heavily from thriller tropes, blending rhythmic basslines with jazz, synth, and American funk. It effortlessly shifts from MPB (Brazilian popular music) to the classic 70s rock ‘n’ roll that was taking over the country at the time, interspersed with sharp snippets of contemporary radio broadcasts. Wrapping it all together, the constant hum of cars and city traffic perfectly crafts that gritty urban atmosphere key to any great thriller.
The brothel is packed with eccentric characters—men who turn out to be local favela gangsters, each running a specific turf and drug den in Rio’s bohemian Lapa neighborhood. At the top of the food chain sits the very figure they are waiting for: the crime lord known as the Devil Queen, a flamboyant kingpin played by Brazilian actor Milton Gonçalves.
An absolute icon of Brazilian cinema and drama, Gonçalves commands the screen. Rocking platform heels, he embodies a femme queen always clad in gloriously colorful outfits and accessories inspired by Afro-Brazilian culture. His eyes, painted with electric-blue or green eyeshadow, frequently break the fourth wall, locking gazes directly with the audience.
By day, the Devil Queen rules his underlings with an iron fist. By night, the brothel transforms into a vibrant sanctuary for eccentric misfits, hosting lavish, excess-fueled balls packed with drag queens, pimps, sex workers, and queer folks of all stripes. Outside this fantasy world, however, the city streets witness a ruthless power struggle for her crown.
The rebellion is sparked by the treacherous Catitu (Nelson Xavier), the Devil Queen’s former right-hand man. Gathering a crew of syndicates around him, this cunning character uses his venomous tongue to convince them that they shouldn’t tolerate having “a queer for a boss” and should instead split the profits among themselves. Above all, Catitu cynically embodies the dominant machismo and rigid masculinity that refuses to bow to queerness.
Among the mutineers is the up-and-coming Bereco (Stepan Nercessian), a handsome, long-haired young man with a hair-trigger temper who sides with Catitu. Eager to prove his worth and show everyone he’s a fearless, tough guy, Bereco is desperate to climb the ranks of the criminal underworld. He is locked in a volatile, ride-or-die romance with cabaret star Isa (Odete Lara)—prefiguring a sharp, razor’s-edge relationship dynamic reminiscent of Sid and Nancy. Their bond sharpens the contrast between the couple’s decadent private life and the glamorous illusion of stardom, all fueled by the lucrative promise of drug trafficking.
The naive yet driven Bereco is the ultimate eye candy—making him the perfect bait for the lustful Devil Queen—and a mere tool in Catitu’s hands, serving as a battering ram in the impending gang war. Catitu has promised him the world in this new criminal order, a bloody succession that plays out through raw mob fights and high-octane hit-and-run sequences, standard fare for any great thriller.
In the meantime, the ever-watchful Devil Queen lives up to the Machiavellian playbook as he clings to power by any means necessary, ready to defend his throne as the “dope master.” Orchestrating a calculated counterattack, he rallies his queer court in a fierce reenactment of the sexual revolution and the fight for LGBTQIA+ liberation that was sweeping the globe during the early 1970s counterculture era. Here, the return of the repressed comes loud and clear.
The maximalist, richly decorated sets mix pop imagery with distinctively Brazilian elements. Saturation runs high, dominated by shades of green and pink that mirror local cabaret culture and the vibrant colors embedded in the country’s popular imagination. Aesthetically, there’s a massive connection to the Blaxploitation genre—those iconic gritty thrillers led by Black actors that championed the social and cultural realities of urban Black communities in the US. In a country like Brazil, which is plagued by its own deep-seated structural racism, the film feels even more vital and urgent by putting a predominantly Black cast and a Black lead, front and center.
Dropping right in the cultural sweet spot between the international releases of Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (1972) and Brian De Palma’s Scarface (1983), The Devil Queen brought a fierce, transgressive queer thriller to Brazilian screens. Freely inspired by the real life of the career criminal and drag performer Madame Satã—an unapologetically out Black gay man who ruled the streets of Rio de Janeiro in the 1930s—this pop-fantasy experiment directed by Antonio Carlos da Fontoura is a certified pulp gem. Packed with kitsch aesthetics, over-the-top camp, vibrant colors, and deep symbolism, The Devil Queen stands as one of those unique genre-bending hybrids, much like its contemporary and equally transgressive counterpart, The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975). And just like that cult classic, this Brazilian masterpiece seems to be actively inspiring a whole new generation of filmmakers at home. “I see you shiver with anticipation.”
