Faith, Fear, and Fifty Shades of Beige
If Hollywood has taught us anything, it’s that there’s no problem that can’t be solved by sending a confused young man to Italy. Unfortunately, The Rite (2011) proves there’s also no movie that can’t be ruined by sending him there, too. Directed by Mikael Håfström and “inspired by true events” (which, in horror terms, usually means “some guy once sneezed near a crucifix”), The Rite is an exorcism movie that’s somehow possessed by the spirit of mediocrity.
It’s got everything a studio horror film needs: a disillusioned priest, a brooding skeptic, Latin chants, and Anthony Hopkins doing whatever the hell he wants. And yet, it still manages to make demonic possession feel like a slow Tuesday at Sunday school.
This isn’t The Exorcist. It’s not even The Exorcism of Emily Rose. No, The Rite is The PowerPoint of Exorcisms: competently structured, technically functional, and absolutely incapable of holding your attention.
The Plot: From Funeral Home to Vatican Home
Colin O’Donoghue plays Michael Kovak, a young man whose father (Rutger Hauer, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else) runs a funeral home so depressing it could make the Addams Family look like a TikTok dance troupe. Disillusioned with embalming corpses, Michael joins the seminary—not out of faith, but because it’s cheaper than college. It’s the most relatable motivation in the film.
Michael’s spiritual journey takes a turn when a nun-averse priest named Father Matthew (Toby Jones) accidentally causes a cyclist to get flattened by a van. This incident is somehow interpreted as divine calling rather than a lawsuit waiting to happen. Michael reluctantly absolves the dying woman, demonstrating that he has the right temperament for priesthood: emotionally dead inside, mildly helpful, and allergic to joy.
Seeing potential, Father Matthew sends Michael to Rome to study exorcism under Father Xavier (Ciarán Hinds), because apparently that’s what the Church does with all its interns who are too awkward to lead bingo night.
Enter the Vatican: Faith and Bureaucracy
Rome, of course, is where all cinematic exorcisms happen—it’s practically in the bylaws. There, Michael meets Angelina (Alice Braga), a journalist covering the exorcism course, because even the Devil deserves good press.
Michael’s skepticism makes him the perfect student to meet Father Lucas Trevant (Anthony Hopkins), an eccentric Welsh exorcist whose hobbies include feeding cats, mumbling in Latin, and psychologically tormenting his protégés. If Gandalf had gone through a goth phase, he’d be Father Lucas.
Hopkins, to his credit, acts circles around everyone else, possibly because he’s also acting against the script. His performance oscillates between Oscar-worthy gravitas and full-on “Hannibal Lecter goes to confession.” One moment he’s calmly blessing holy water; the next he’s spitting nails and yelling, “Do you believe in the Devil, boy?” with the energy of a man trying to win a pub argument.
The Possession: Girl Interrupted (and Then Spinning)
Father Lucas’s patient is a pregnant teenage girl named Rosaria (Marta Gastini), whose case is so over-the-top it makes The Exorcist look like a PSA for Advil. She coughs up nails, levitates, and speaks fluent English mid-exorcism—which, given Italy’s language standards, might actually be the most miraculous part.
Michael, our brooding skeptic, watches in horror and confusion. He doubts everything, despite the girl projectile vomiting ancient artifacts and literally naming his childhood traumas. It’s as though he’s thinking, “Sure, she’s channeling demons, but maybe she just needs therapy.”
When Rosaria dies tragically (after a sequence involving blood, miscarriage, and spiritual malpractice), Michael finally starts to question his lack of faith. Meanwhile, Father Lucas begins showing signs of possession himself—talking to walls, sweating dramatically, and hosting the kind of dinner parties that would make Martha Stewart faint.
The Exorcist Becomes the Exorcised
At this point, the film takes its one genuinely interesting idea—an exorcist possessed by the very demon he fought—and promptly buries it under 30 minutes of shouting, Latin, and shaky camerawork.
Michael, whose theological training apparently consisted of “see problem, yell louder,” decides to perform an exorcism himself. Angelina, the journalist, tags along, proving once again that curiosity is the leading cause of death in horror films.
As Father Lucas writhes and grins like a demonic Cheshire Cat, Anthony Hopkins chews through the scenery with feral delight. You can practically hear him thinking, “I’m going to make this movie memorable if it kills me—and maybe the sound department.”
Michael finally has his big moment of faith when he declares, “I believe in you, Baal!” which, grammatically, is not ideal for someone exorcising the demon Baal. But hey, details. Through sheer shouting and divine persistence, he drives the demon out, earning his priest stripes and a possible hernia in the process.
The Power of Hopkins Compels You (To Stay Awake)
If The Rite has a saving grace, it’s Anthony Hopkins. Even when the movie’s pacing drags like a confession line on Sunday morning, Hopkins is magnetic. He manages to elevate even the dumbest dialogue into Shakespearean torment.
When he’s possessed, it’s glorious chaos—half Oscar bait, half karaoke night at the Vatican. Watching him hiss scripture while crawling on the floor is both horrifying and oddly endearing, like your grandpa reenacting The Exorcist after too much communion wine.
Unfortunately, everyone else in the film acts as though they’re auditioning for the world’s most somber travel documentary. Colin O’Donoghue’s Michael has the emotional range of a damp hymn book, while Alice Braga’s Angelina spends most of her screen time squinting thoughtfully, as though trying to remember if she left the stove on in the Dominican Republic.
The Atmosphere: Gothic Beige
Visually, the film looks fine—if your idea of fine involves endless hallways, foggy alleys, and more candles than an entire Yankee Candle store. The color palette is pure “Vatican chic”: lots of browns, golds, and existential dread.
But where’s the fear? The tension? The creeping unease? Instead, The Rite gives us bureaucratic exorcism paperwork and extended theological debates that feel like deleted scenes from The Da Vinci Code. The Devil may be in the details, but this movie left him waiting in line.
Even the scares are polite. Crosses tilt gently. Shadows flutter. The music swells with the urgency of a church organist warming up. At no point do you feel terrified—just mildly inconvenienced, like your Uber took the scenic route through Hell.
The Ending: Praise Be, It’s Finally Over
After the big exorcism showdown, Michael returns to the U.S., now a fully committed priest. Angelina writes an article about his experience, presumably titled “Local Man Yells at Satan, Wins.” The film closes with Michael hearing confessions, smiling serenely, and radiating the smug glow of someone who just survived 112 minutes of holy nonsense.
It’s meant to be uplifting, but it lands somewhere between Hallmark movie and recruitment video for exorcism school.
The Verdict: Holy Snooze
In theory, The Rite should have been a terrifying exploration of faith and doubt. In practice, it’s a two-hour sermon on why horror movies shouldn’t be afraid of being scary.
It takes an intriguing real-life premise—Vatican-sanctioned exorcist training—and drowns it in clichés, monotone dialogue, and theological technobabble. It’s less spiritual warfare and more clerical paperwork with jump scares.
And yet… there’s something perversely entertaining about its incompetence. Watching Anthony Hopkins go from solemn to unhinged in the same breath is worth the price of admission alone. He’s like the Devil’s drama coach, reminding everyone that subtlety is for atheists.
Verdict: ★★☆☆☆
The Rite may be based on “true events,” but the real miracle is how it turns a story about demonic possession into a sleep aid. Call it The Exorcist for people who think Latin chanting is character development. Even Satan would’ve walked out halfway through.
