Heretic film review: Hugh Grant horror more than holds its own

Whose was the original sin?

While Radiohead officially denied suing Lana Del Ray over alleged similarities between their classic track Creep and her Lust for Life song Get Free, their record label did confirm that copyright negotiations had taken place. In the zero-sum game that is ‘lawyers always win,’ it’s worth noting that Radiohead was, in fact, previously sued by Albert Hammond and Mike Hazelwood, the songwriters behind The Hollies’ hit The Air That I Breathe, resulting in an out-of-court settlement and a co-writing credit.

What any of this has got to do with a top-form Hugh Grant’s gleefully maniacal turn as a faith-baiting scumbag in A24’s latest creepily kooky horror movie, Heretic, is best left for you to discover in-cinema. As written and directed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, who delivered the Adam Driver-led space dino romp 65, the far-out film thrives on knowing as little about it as humanly possible.

But if I do spoil that it’s magnificently malignant, well then, sue me …

Heretic: you OK with metal walls?

In a dark mirror twist on much-loved musical The Book of Mormon – and, yes, it gets a direct call-out here – our would-be Final Girls are two sister missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Sophie Thatcher, who easily tied with Samantha Hanratty as the twin standouts of mysterious soccer teen cannibals show Yellowjackets in its ‘90s flashback sequences, plays Sister Barnes to Generation star Chloe East’s Sister Paxton.

Watch the Heretic trailer.

They’re a good-natured duo, devoted to the cause but also openly inquisitive, with that instant spark that all great horror movies must have. In double-quick time, the filmmakers craft a firm sense of who they are and what they care about, so we’re invested from the get-go.

In no way do Beck and Woods paint them negatively because of their beliefs – quite the opposite. A startling moment when a selfie with strangers takes a bullying turn leaves us squarely on the sisters’ side.

They’ve been sent up a literal mountain to an obviously ominous house dum-dum-dah because its owner, Mr Reed (Grant, in fine felonious form), has indicated that he wants to hear more about their church. But there’s something not quite right about his kindly welcome, giving us the heebie-jeebies in the way far-to-nice people often do.

First, this creepy-arse cottage could only look witchier if it were made of gingerbread. Second, Sisters Barnes and Paxton inform the too-twee-to-be-true Englishman – serving major fee-fi-fo-fum energy – of the Mormon rule that they can only talk to him with another woman present.

He alleges his wife is baking blueberry pie in the kitchen (OK, fair, I totally buy my stomach leading me into disaster) and they immediately abandon their good guidance.

The real humdinger comes when Mr Reed casually mentions that all the walls and doors of his home are made of steel and asks if they’re OK with this. Not only are they inexplicably fine with such an odd request/info dump, but they hardly blink and certainly do not turn on their heels and scarper down the hill like any sensible person in their situation.

This despite the impenetrable fortress abiding by the contemporary horror rule that all smartphones must be immobilised quick smart.

All of this is the stuff great horror movies are made of: the deliberately maddening game that necessitates otherwise sensible people (usually young women) abandoning their gut instincts so we can scream at the screen in disbelief.

Heretic: whither do we wander?

So why has Mr Reed summoned the sisters here, to this frightening old home where the lights are set on rapidly running out timers?

The real clue is in his study. At first, it looks homely, given the jump-scare warren of pitch-black corridors they must navigate to reach it. One glance around this hang-out and you’d think he was a jolly author pursuing a Booker Prize, or at least an airport best-seller.

But scan closer, and you’ll notice the room is laden with religious iconography across the spectrum of beliefs. Soon you’ll get why this review begins with a Radiohead vs Lana Del Ray segue and how the musicians are inexplicably linked to the boardgame Monopoly.

With the mask dropping and the sisters finally shitting a brick once Mr Reed informs them the way back is barred, the only way is through. Two doors lead out of the study, both heading deep into the bowels of the mountain. But what, exactly, is down there, and how will it test the very limits of their faith? Will Topher Grace’s Elder Kennedy finally figure out they’ve been gone too long and swing in to save them?

Have faith when I say Beck and Woods’ invigoratingly original film is one for true horror believers. Skin-crawlingly shot by Oldboy cinematographer Chung Chung-hoon and scored with sassy callbacks to the tunes up top by Chris Bacon (hopefully no lawsuit awaits), it prods at the unknowing dark, asking who we truly are and if we are alone.

It also offers up a remarkably insightful theological debate, tracing a strong bloodline of religiously themed spooky stories from The Omen, The Exorcist and Carrie, right up to Saint Maud and Longlegs, all while holding its own on the backs of a mighty trinity in Thatcher, East and Grant. Bow down.

Heretic opens in Australian cinemas on 28 November.

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