Heretic (2024)

The One True Religion (Stop Me If You've Heard This One)

or

A Reading from the Book of Iterations...(And Voltaire Never Said It)

Two Mormon missionaries, Sister Barnes and Sister Paxton (Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East) are doing door-to-door evangelizing for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (LDS) on a not-too-weather-friendly day in Colorado, in Heretic, the new film from the team that gave you 65 (and wrote A Quiet Place). A storm's a-comin'. But, despite that, they take their bicycles for a requested "knock-knock" from an inquiry made by a Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant) at his out-of-the-way house in the woods. After some wait as he comes to the door, he welcomes them eagerly, assuring them that his wife (who is very shy) is in the back, baking. Reassured that there will be a female present during their visitation, the two young women enter the house and accept the hospitality...even after he casually informs them that the walls and ceilings have metal in them (that's no problem, is it? Oh, good, good). He then takes their coats like a good host and goes behind a door to fetch the Mrs. It is then that the two women remember that they have the key to their bicycle lock in one of those coats. They're going to have to get it back if they intend to leave. With their suspicions heightened due to a couple of other things, they try to make a cellphone call...they can't (metal, you know) and they find that the front door cannot be opened...know matter how hard they try (and one has to admit, they don't try very hard as they never consider destruction of property...lawsuits, I guess). But, the long and the short of it is...they're trapped. And they can't leave except through the largess of Mr. Reed, who has disappeared deeper into the house. Interestingly, one thing they don't do...is pray.

Maybe they should have.

I don't like horror movies as a rule (despite the seeming obsession with them during Hallowe'en month). I do think they're valuable in instances, certainly in film. It's where a lot of young directors learn their craft in how to levitate people out of their seats in popcorn explosions (think Carnival of Souls or Night of the Living Dead). Even great directors will dabble in instances of horror. I just stay away from them as a rule because so many of them of late, especially during my formative movie-watching years, are (literally) hack-jobs. The slasher-movie craze left me cold after the first John Carpenter Halloween, and those series devolved into repetitive gore-fests with indestructible purveyors that kept coming back sequel after sequel after sequel (nothing new in the horror genre—how many Frankenstein, Dracula and Wolfman movies did Universal crank out?).But, the main reason I don't watch them of late is that so many are based on the element of cruelty...and casual cruelty where the moral compass has gone astray. Frankly, if I wanted to watch that, I could watch the news.

But, getting back to Sister Barnes and Sister Paxton, clearly they are in a dangerous situation. They are stuck in a house with Mr. Reed—there's no sign of this "Mrs. Reed"—and even though he's curious and quite amiable (in that Hugh Grant "twitchy" way), it becomes quite clear that he doesn't need much evangelizing. He claims to be a theology student, and even has a well-annotated Book of Mormon on his shelf. And he explains that he's always wanted "a" religion in his life, but he couldn't settle for second-best (equating it with favorite fast-food franchises in a discussion with the Sisters), that he was on a life-long quest to find The One True Religion to devote to. He peppers them with questions about LDS and their beliefs and how their life-experiences fit into a belief system that's a bit late "in the game" and had its share of waffling on tenets.

But, the discussion becomes deeper the deeper they get into the house. By this time, the ruse that there's a "Mrs. Reed" is way-past accepting, just as Reed is way-past accepting that Sisters B and P (as he calls them) are not above being dishonest in their words as well. There's no cellphone call they feign accepting—cell service doesn't work—and they can't call out (even though an elder (Topher Grace) knows that they're out on a call and to whom) and the front door is on a timer and it won't unlock until the morning. He tells them they can leave at any time...but they have to go through the back door. And there are two doors in the room: which of them goes to the back door he's not saying.

But, first he has a little speech (of course he does). And it's all about "iterations" and how the Big Three Religions can be compared to the game of Monopoly or (more towards the Sister's younger spheres of culture) the case of a song that might be "inspired" by earlier songs. The Big Three Religions have as their basis previous theologies, and Protestantism, Calvinism, LDS, Scientology (what have you) are all further iterations of The Big Three. It's as if the latest prophet should start his religion with "Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before." But, they don't...because they have "the one true religion." And Reed isn't interested in copies.

But, there's the matter of those two doors—both lead to dark stairs leading downwards—neither of them seeming too appealing, and Mr. Reed has already demonstrated that he's not the most honest of people, and the Sisters, if they want to leave the house (he says), must choose between them if they do want to leave (and they truly do). And he ups the ante by marking them "Belief" or "Disbelief". Which of the doors will they choose?

But, before you think this will be an examination of Faith and its repercussions, one should recall that it's a horror film. A rather icky, grisly one, and one that takes a step or two back from the post-feminism horrors like Silence of the Lambs or even, say, Ready Or Not, and for all the intriguing aspects of the theological arguments, the film slides relentlessly downhill once those doors are opened. And however much some of the talking brings up some salient points (and a couple of attribution gaffs) it never builds on them or resonates through them, but turns into a simple gore-fest.

 

Slate Magazine calls Heretic "mansplaining as horror," which is a good line (and to be expected as the film is about religion where, outside of the world of Dune, women are tolerated, not elevated), but, unfortunately, that mansplaining is the best part of the movie (a lot of it due to Hugh Grant's performance, building on past roles as "man-monsters"). Once we start entering the house's sub-floor the movie never rises to the same level as those opening 45 minutes. The writer-directors Scott Beck and Bryan Woods make movies that have wonderful first acts—great concepts that can "sell" a movie to studios—but they fall apart and start regurgitating on cruise-control for the remainder of the film. There're no epiphanies or revelations at the end.* Nothing's earned. They just stop. 

But, movies should be more than their elevator pitches. I have faith that someday Beck and Woods will get that. But, for now, they're stuck in the basement.

* The film has two good lines of dialogue at the end, but to show you what a big blood-soaked nothing burger the movie becomes, it could have been said an hour earlier and it would have made as much of an impact then as in its current place.

65

Saturday, here, is traditionally "Take Out the Trash" Day; it doesn't matter if it's old trash or new trash. It's still trash.

Nice Planet to Visit...But I Wouldn't Want to Live There

or

Stuck Between a Rock (Falling) and a Tar Pit

 

65 ("from the writers of A Quiet Place") is a good idea for a movie. But a bad movie. Oh, it does its job efficiently, providing the beats we've come to expect, the tropes, all of the recycled cliches—of the horror, sci-fi, and reluctant guardian variety—even a couple of Spielberg call-backs (as tribute, or just because they're "expected" in a dino-movie?) 

 

But, it never becomes inspired. It never does anything newish. It has that initial bright shining idea bulb that gets progressively duller until it finally fizzles out and then, at the tail-end, re-iterates the premise to remind us that it was a good idea. But, by that time, even that good idea has become hum-drum and (dare I say it?) pedestrian.

 

Which is too bad, because it's got Adam Driver in it, and he's doing something new.

 

And he's the only one who is.

It is 65 million years ago, "titles" tell us."Prior to the advent of man...in the infinity of space...other civilizations explored the heavens." Good premise (if the inclusion of "man" being merely us sounds a little speciest...and sexist). It's a long time ago in a galaxy far, far way. Commander Mills (Driver) is spending time with his nuclear family on their planet as he's about to go on a mission—that will last two years—ferrying an exploratory group to some far-flung part of the Universe. It's not a mission he wants to undertake, but he's doing it for economic reasons. His daughter (Chloe Coleman) is very sick and his wages will pay for her medical expenses. But, he'll be gone for years (if all goes well), and he's spending as much time with his family as he can before he leaves.

Note to self: plan your route.

Well, there wouldn't be a movie if it all went well, and Driver's ship gets caught in an unexpected asteroid field en route, which batters his ship and forces an emergency landing on a planet that just happens to be in the neighborhood—amazingly fortuitous when your commuter route is in light-years. The ship breaks up, killing the vast majority of his passengers (save one, but that's for later) and his command section is miles away from where the "escape pod" with any sort of rocket thrust has landed. He puts out a distress signal, checks the air, and does some recon of his camping site.

You know the drill—it's described in the movie's posters. He's on Earth of 65 million years ago, during the Cretaceous period—if you don't know the particulars, that puts you in the same boat as him. Let's just say that things are a little rough, what with tar-pits and hot-springs, the sometimes unexpected explosive geysers, quick-sand, bad bugs and badder lizard-things, including trex's. All very hungry, as if they haven't been fed in weeks. The movie goes by the dramatic rule of "Chekhov's Gun"—if you see something in the movie, it's assured that it's going to be used (which is fine and all, but it eliminates any anticipation of surprise. One could bring a score-card, write down one sees and then just check them off as they're utilized for drama.

Not exactly watching each others' backs!

 

That includes all the dangerous flora and fauna of Olde Earth, but also Mills' sick daughter, and the charge that he takes on—the lone crash survivor named Koa (Ariana Greenblatt), who (of course) reminds Mills of his own daughter, and forms a grumpy "you watch my back/I'll watch yours" relationship, despite their speaking different languages and the traditional old guy/punk kid relationship that is tried and true to the "reluctant family" story-line of so many films. But, they're the only game in town; that's certainly what the dino's see them as—game, I mean.

But, at least it gives Adam Driver a chance to morph out of his "geek" role that we've grown accustomed to and into a more-standard somewhat grudging pater-familias along the lines of the Alan Ladds and latter roles of the John Waynes and Clint Eastwoods, trying to survive while also dragging a kid along to make him a more charitable protagonist. It's the "Lone Wolf and Cub" trope among the dinosaurs, and that's an elevator pitch that can be done within half a floor. Maybe even before the door closes.

All this is to reinforce that 65 is nothing new and nothing that hasn't been seen before in different packages—just not done as well. I was thinking that even a dumb movie like Robinson Crusoe on Mars, although short on science and long on special effects that depend on the viewer's charity, is still entertaining and intriguing, whether your a kid at a matinee (as I was when I saw it) or an oldster (as I am now) who can still find it charming. 65 is not charming. Nor is it innovative in any sense. The only sense of wonder it instills is you wonder if the film-makers could milk the same water-downed formula until there is no nutritional value whatsoever.