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Heretic 2024 Story
Two young girls, blossoming in their youth, step into a stranger’s home to spread their religious message. If this headline appeared in the media, it would instantly ignite a firestorm, sparking debates that would leave even the most composed netizens in an uproar. The film, aspiring to become a modern classic, initially wraps itself in the familiar shell of a deranged man imprisoning women. On the surface, it resembles a beautiful cabin isolated in a snowy landscape—appearing pristine and otherworldly but as fragile as a miniature house in a snow globe. Yet, the film boasts one truly remarkable long take: the blonde girl stabs Grant, frantically escaping from the basement and crawling back upstairs. As the camera rises, the sequence seamlessly transitions into a maze-like tabletop model of a house, where a miniature figure flees frantically. Just as the figure darts toward a door, the scene cuts back to reality, with the girl opening an actual door—hands down, the most standout shot in the film.
Religious horror movies are nothing new. From The Exorcist, where demonic torment twists heads and minds, to The Wicker Man (1973), where a determined investigator becomes the ultimate sacrifice. There’s Double Vision, exploring the fine line between transcendence and insanity; The Wailing, an unsettling descent into chaos; and Incantation, a film that leaves viewers muttering “bad luck” as the credits roll. These films succeed because they exploit a viewer’s natural inclination to immerse themselves in the protagonist’s perspective—manipulating the characters while simultaneously shaking the audience’s faith and beliefs. Among religious thrillers, Christianity has long dominated the genre, yet this film takes a niche path: Mormonism. Its portrayal is rare in cinematic history, but fortunately, the director approaches it with wisdom, symbolizing the essence of faith through visible yet intangible butterflies. Without this artistic touch, the film could have easily slid into the trap of becoming mere religious propaganda.
The story follows two Mormon girls tasked with door-to-door proselytizing, spreading their faith to those curious about the doctrine. From the moment a man flips the blonde girl’s skirt on the street, it’s clear that society views their mission with more ridicule and mockery than genuine curiosity or scholarly intrigue. Even the blonde girl herself seems to regurgitate the doctrine like a robot, parroting words without understanding their meaning. This lack of conviction sets her apart as a symbol of doubt—a crucial element of the narrative. It’s also why the seemingly stronger, smarter, and more analytical brunette ultimately meets the same fate as Grant in a tragic standoff.
Grant, the deranged antagonist, articulates ideas that appeal to those fascinated by mysticism and ancient belief systems. He challenges the singularity of religion by displaying twelve portraits in his study, each depicting gods from different faiths born on December 25th. His critiques echo the similarities between religious narratives—parallels seen in the universally recorded Great Flood, for instance. While his use of Monopoly’s history to hint at the evolution of religions feels clever, the argument itself lacks philosophical weight. These dialogue-heavy, pseudo-intellectual exchanges serve as highlights of the film’s script, but they cannot compensate for the weak execution of its core suspenseful elements: imprisonment, escape, and pursuit. Grant himself questions, “Why do you all make me do this?” I found myself echoing his words to the protagonists: Why did the two girls repeatedly descend into the basement? Why did it take until the film’s climax for even the most basic resistance? And why didn’t they fight harder when the opportunity to arm themselves arose?
Religion’s power lies in control. It thrives on exploiting human suffering, offering divine signs to instill fear and awe. After all, religion is a construct created by people. While I can believe in the noble intentions of classic religious texts—guiding lost souls and comforting the weary—it’s far harder to trust that an entire organized system remains virtuous and worthy of reverence through and through.
If Grant’s character, played by the lead actor, wasn’t shrouded in layers of manipulative philosophical rhetoric during his debates with the two girls, he would be reduced to nothing more than a cliché predator with a basement full of cages. Those cages—holding fewer than ten previously imprisoned missionary girls—serve his warped agenda: to convince them that all religions are false and that control is the only reality. Tragically, the film’s ending reduces its meticulously placed details to mere farce: the hellish painting on the wall, the notebook documenting the girls’ timelines, and the two doors symbolizing belief versus disbelief—all of them unravel into meaningless props. What a shame.
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