Bryan Woods and Scott Beck’s Heretic (2024) breaks boundaries, coalescing age-old religious debates into a genre-defying thriller by crafting a cerebral and unnervingly eloquent meditation on faith, manipulation, and the intellectual underpinnings of belief systems. Unlike similar films in the horror genre like the Conjuring series or The Nun series, which rely on grotesque visual and auditory scares to “show, not tell”— Heretic’s dense, dialogue-driven narrative demands complete attention. It isn’t a film for passive viewers, the words spoken often imply the opposite of their apparent meaning and fear arises not from the visible, but from the implied, obscured, and unspoken. This tension between form and content is central to the film’s unsettling nature.
The Triumph of Innocence over Intellect: An Examination of Faith and Manipulation in Heretic
Heretic adopts a pragmatic view of religion, neither affirming nor refuting its truth, but interrogating its influence on human behaviour.
Helmed by an enigmatic Hugh Grant, playing the scholarly yet sinister Mr. Reed is an exceptional casting choice, subverting his archetypal rom-com avatar from Love Actually or Bridget Jones’s Diary, weaponizing his familiar warmth into something far more menacing. Heretic at its core, stages a debate between organised religion, disbelief and faith, personified by Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant) and two Mormon missionaries, Sister Barnes (Sophie Thatcher) & Sister Paxton (Chloe East) respectively. Mormonism—a faith frequently criticized for its insular doctrines—becomes the backdrop for a broader exploration of choice as an illusion, manipulation of the vulnerable, and the institutional commodification of salvation.
Reed’s home, bathed in inviting amber lights, mirrors this deception, masking the lurking malice with an aesthetic of domestic comfort. As a theologist teetering on the edge of fanaticism with a disillusioned God complex, Mr. Reed is a paradox: profoundly erudite in religious doctrines yet devoid of any palpable faith. He is both a scholar and a predator, wielding his knowledge like a scalpel to dissect and undermine others’ beliefs, employing the very tools of manipulation he claims to despise in religious institutions.
His invitation to the sisters to take refuge from the storm and stop by for blueberry pie, framed as hospitality, is a trap designed to dismantle their convictions and subject them to his twisted philosophical experiment. Sister Paxton’s blind faith in goodness juxtaposed with Sister Barnes’ pragmatic scepticism—provide fertile ground for Reed to sadistically question, torture and destroy their belief systems. Reed’s argument—that choice precludes complaint—mirrors the psychological control often exerted by Mormonism’s impositions, even to the extent of regulating what undergarments they wear. Reed offers them the ultimate “religious experience”—an encounter with God, or so he claims. Heretic thus critiques the human desire for certainty, be it through religion, intellect, or authority figures like Reed himself. He also repeatedly assures Sister Paxton and Barnes of their freedom to leave his house whenever they want—an illusion akin to cultic manipulation, especially as both “Belief” and “Disbelief” doors in the film lead to the same entrapment where there’s no escape. Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher, drawing from their Mormon upbringing, imbue their performances with authentic tension.
The residence features an array of hidden passageways, along with various symbols of pagan and cult significance, complemented by multiple underground chambers. It evokes parallels with The Devil in Me, a video game by The Dark Pictures Anthology, where Grantham Du’Met meticulously reconstructs H.H. Holmes’ infamous murder castle into a maze of deadly traps, reducing his victims to carved wooden dolls in a sinister tableau of control and cruelty.
Reed’s critique of religion is scathing, framing it as a marketing machine peddling salvation to the desperate and the vulnerable. He likens Mormon missionaries to salespeople, hawking a product rather than offering spiritual guidance. Yet his disdain masks his hypocrisy: Reed becomes the ultimate salesman, pitching his nihilistic “truth” as the only authentic path to enlightenment. His messianic delusion—in the truest sense—renders him disturbingly similar to the religious leaders he derides. This inversion of roles becomes even more unsettling as Reed uses his charm to ensnare the sisters in an intellectual and moral web. His inquiries—seemingly benign questions about their pasts and motivations—strip away their defences, reducing them to vulnerable participants in his macabre game. Details like asking if they are okay with the metal in the walls or not bringing his wife out raise questions but not enough to disrupt the illusion. Reed’s assertion that religion is merely a repackaging of ideas—akin to iterations like Monopoly and The Landlord’s Game—draws attention to the cyclical nature of human ideologies. He likens religion’s evolution to copyright disputes in art, such as Radiohead’s “Creep” and Lana Del Rey’s “Get Free,” underscoring the idea that originality is elusive and that every rendition keeps “diluting the message and obscuring the original”. What makes Reed a compelling antagonist is his deviation from traditional depictions of serial killers. He is neither impulsive nor purely methodical but thrives on intellectual stimulation.
The sisters, lulled by his genteel demeanour and casual wit, let their guards down, unaware that their vulnerability is being catalogued and weaponized. The sisters’ predicament reflects the broader, gendered dynamic of fear and power. Throughout history, women have masked their discomfort with politeness, navigating potentially dangerous situations with smiles and compliance to avoid escalation. This socially ingrained submission, positioned as a means of survival, compels women to remain soft, kind, and endlessly accommodating, even in the face of aggression or violence. Yet, Heretic introduces a subversive narrative through the intellectual and instinctual resilience of women like Sister Barnes and Paxton. Initially, they rely on politeness to defuse tension, masking fear with a smile, but soon recognize the limits of such appeasement. The film critiques the reductive notion that women must always remain meek, passive, and eternally gracious, advocating instead for autonomy and assertiveness in navigating power dynamics.
Despite its deliberately measured pace, Heretic masterfully sustains a simmering sense of impending dread, walking a precarious line between restraint and unease. The film’s slow build lures viewers into a deceptive calm before plunging abruptly into a labyrinth of peril where faith is relentlessly tested. In its final moments, Heretic pulls off an unexpected and moving twist. Sister Paxton, despite her naivety, proves herself to be the more formidable opponent—her astute observation skill and belief in kindness emerge as her ultimate strength. In contrast to Reed, who seeks to control through fear and intellect, Paxton’s unwavering faith becomes her redemption. Her final act of prayer for Mr. Reed and herself, despite all odds, transcends the confines of his psychological maze, affirming that belief itself—whether in God, goodness, or human kindness—is the ultimate truth. In line with many A24 films that culminate in a dreamlike sequence, the narrative transitions to a pre-death vision or passage into the afterlife through Sister Paxton, whose faith subtly manifests in Sister Barnes’ act of divine retribution against Mr. Reed. The striking image of a biblical wooden slab, punctuated by three nails, coupled with a mystical butterfly in a shimmering, ethereal forest, mirrors Paxton’s conception of the afterlife. Whether this sequence is a mere product of death’s liminality or a genuine transcendental experience remains ambiguous; nevertheless, it reinforces faith and the moral weight of kindness.
Heretic adopts a pragmatic view of religion, neither affirming nor refuting its truth, but interrogating its influence on human behaviour. This approach eschews supernatural horror, grounding its exploration in the psychological and ideological manipulation religion can foster. It hence emerges as a film about the power of belief, not as a doctrinal construct, but as an internal, personal truth. It is a testament to the strength of faith, not in religious dogma, but in the kindness we offer, even to those who would seek to destroy us.
Sakshi is a Mass Communication & Filmmaking graduate from AJK MCRC Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi. Specialising in Photography, Art Direction & Cinematography, she also enjoys creative writing and journaling.
