A film crew arrives in a remote Kurdish village waiting for an old woman to die so they can document her funeral, treating the inhabitants as ethnographic specimens rather than people. Kiarostami inverts the predator-village dynamic into something quieter but morally identical: the outsider who maps a place only to extract from it.

Maldoror filmed the Angolan independence struggle as a chain of villages and shantytowns passing word of one missing man until the news ignites collective resistance. Like Bacurau, the geography of solidarity is rural and horizontal, and the colonizer's apparatus of disappearance is met by a community that refuses to forget its own.

Four episodic visions of a Caribbean nation under foreign extraction culminate in peasant revolt photographed with vertiginous handheld lyricism. The shared grammar with Bacurau is the rural body politic awakening to its own image as something the powerful had assumed was theirs to consume.

A snowbound Westfjords town is severed from the outside world while a foreign industrial scheme festers beneath its civic surface. The series shares Bacurau's structural insight that isolation is never natural — it is engineered by capital that wants the periphery deniable.

A lakeside community on the South Island shelters predators among its tourists, drifters, and patriarchs, and the local women must improvise a defense the law will not provide. Campion treats the periphery as Mendonça Filho does — a place where the state's writ thins and communal violence becomes the only available jurisprudence.

Mir's epic poem traces the cane-cutters of the Caribbean as a single body whose land has been stolen syllable by syllable. Like Bacurau's villagers, the dispossessed here are not victims but a chorus reclaiming the right to name the soil they bleed into.

A village in Shandong distills its identity into liquor, lineage, and finally guerrilla resistance against Japanese invaders crossing its sorghum fields. The novel's argument that a place's stories ferment into the will to fight mirrors Bacurau's museum of relics that turns out to be an arsenal.

Tabu Ley's rumba orchestrations smuggled satirical critiques of Mobutu's authenticity campaigns inside dance music broadcast to the rural interior. The strategy parallels Bacurau's quilombola memory — survival by encoding resistance into the texture of everyday cultural pleasure.

Khalife set Mahmoud Darwish's poems of erased villages to oud and choir, transforming cartographic loss into liturgy. Like Bacurau's defiant town sign, his songs insist that a place denied on official maps remains audible in the throats of those who refuse to leave.

While the manga is Japanese, the Vietnamese-language adaptation reframes Ginko's wandering through afflicted hamlets as a meditation on rural communities living with invisible forces the modern world refuses to acknowledge. Each village he leaves resembles Bacurau in miniature: a place whose threats and remedies belong to a knowledge system the city dismisses as folklore.