There are horror movies that scare you, horror movies that make you think, and then there’s The Crucifixion — a film that makes you want to schedule a wellness retreat after realizing that even demonic possession can’t save a journalist’s career.
Directed by Xavier Gens (Frontier(s)) and written by the Hayes brothers of The Conjuring fame, The Crucifixion takes the infamous 2005 Tanacu exorcism and turns it into something equal parts theological thriller and Eurotrip nightmare. It’s spooky, weirdly funny, occasionally profound, and—miracle of miracles—not terrible. In fact, it’s the rare horror film that asks: What if skepticism was scarier than Satan?
Grab your rosary beads and an overpacked suitcase, because this movie is a one-way ticket to religious trauma with scenic Romanian countryside views.
The Premise: The Devil Made Her Do Investigative Journalism
Meet Nicole Rawlins (Sophie Cookson), a sharp-tongued New York journalist who’s lost her faith faster than a televangelist caught on hidden camera. She’s grieving her mother’s death, hates religion, and clearly missed the memo that horror reporters don’t get happy endings.
After a Romanian priest and several nuns are arrested for killing a young woman during an exorcism, Nicole smells a story. She convinces her editor to let her investigate, which is hilarious considering she looks like she’s never been east of Queens, let alone the Carpathian Mountains.
Once in Romania, Nicole starts interviewing locals, priests, and one very haunted nun named Sister Vaduva (Brittany Ashworth), who has “definitely hiding a demon in the barn” energy. Everyone warns Nicole not to dig too deep—because of course they do—but she’s a journalist in a horror movie, so naturally she wanders into crypts, touches cursed objects, and keeps saying, “I don’t believe in any of this” while surrounded by whispering children and flickering candles.
Faith, Fear, and a Really Bad Wi-Fi Connection
Xavier Gens shoots the Romanian countryside like it’s a postcard from Hell. Every monastery looks like it’s one hymn away from collapsing, and every villager stares at Nicole like she’s the human embodiment of bad luck.
The film uses its setting to brilliant effect. Romania here isn’t just a location—it’s a mood: foggy, superstitious, and perpetually ready for a goat sacrifice. You can practically smell the incense and generational trauma.
As Nicole pokes around, she meets Father Anton (Corneliu Ulici), the world’s most handsome priest. He’s kind, philosophical, and definitely violating some Vatican HR boundaries with how long he stares at her. Together, they debate theology while wandering through gothic ruins, which is just Catholic foreplay.
But before the romance subplot can develop into a Lifetime special called Hot Priest, Cold Demon, Nicole starts having nightmares. And not your garden-variety stress dreams—these are full-on possession previews. Her sheets twist, her lights flicker, and her subconscious really leans into the Exorcist aesthetic. It’s as if the demon Agares saw Insidious once and thought, “Yeah, I can top that.”
The Demon Who Knew Good PR
Ah, Agares. The infernal spirit of the hour. He’s supposedly one of Hell’s dukes—fluent in all languages, capable of causing earthquakes, and apparently great at gaslighting.
Unlike your typical jump-scare boogeyman, Agares works smarter, not harder. He doesn’t pop out of closets or crawl on ceilings; he whispers doubt, seduces faithless souls, and makes you see things that’ll have you questioning your prescription dosage.
The beauty of The Crucifixion is that it’s never entirely clear whether Nicole is being haunted by a demon, or just haunted by her own cynicism. When she starts seeing visions of the dead nun, is it supernatural? Or just guilt-induced acid reflux? Gens smartly plays it both ways, letting faith itself become the real battleground.
Of course, things escalate. Doors slam. Crosses tilt. Someone inevitably levitates. And Nicole, armed only with her recorder and crippling disbelief, finds herself face-to-face with spiritual warfare that doesn’t care about journalistic integrity.
Exorcism: It’s Not Just for Catholics Anymore
By the time Nicole herself becomes possessed (because you knew that was coming), The Crucifixion morphs into a full-blown exorcism showdown—holy water, Latin chants, and all. Father Anton shows up for the climactic ritual looking like he’s about to headline Coachella: exhausted, intense, and just a little too confident.
The possession scene is a masterclass in tension. Gens doesn’t rely on cheap jump scares—he lets the horror simmer. Sophie Cookson’s performance sells it; her transformation from cynical journalist to demonic vessel is genuinely unnerving. Her voice drops an octave, her eyes go full reptile, and suddenly it’s not clear whether she’s being exorcised or auditioning for The Voice: Hell Edition.
The exorcism itself feels refreshingly old-school—more The Exorcist than The Nun. The camera doesn’t cut away from the ugly moments: the sweat, the struggle, the physical exhaustion of fighting something invisible. When the demon finally leaves Nicole’s body, it feels less like a triumph and more like a hangover from spiritual warfare.
The Hayes Brothers: Scripting Sin Since 2004
It’s no surprise that Chad and Carey Hayes, the twin scribes behind The Conjuring, penned this one. The dialogue hums with their signature mix of sincerity and cheese. They have a knack for turning theological discussions into verbal sparring matches—half seminary debate, half Tinder date gone wrong.
But what elevates The Crucifixion above your standard “woman yells at devil” fare is how it wrestles with belief. Nicole’s skepticism isn’t just a plot device—it’s the movie’s emotional backbone. She’s not fighting the demon so much as she’s fighting herself, trying to fill the void her dead mother left behind.
And for once, the demon’s not just there to scare her—it’s there to mock her faithlessness. Which, honestly, is the kind of petty villainy I respect.
The Cast: Saints, Sinners, and Solid Performances
Sophie Cookson is terrific. She brings real depth to Nicole, making her more than just the token “female skeptic in peril.” She’s snarky, brave, and believably flawed. You root for her not because she’s perfect, but because she’s so stubbornly human.
Corneliu Ulici as Father Anton walks a fine line between saintly and seductive. He’s the kind of priest who makes you reconsider your life choices, your faith, and your relationship status.
Brittany Ashworth as Sister Vaduva deserves a special shout-out. She delivers her lines with the weary gravitas of someone who’s been living next to Hell’s chimney for too long. Every scene she’s in feels like a confession waiting to happen.
And then there’s Javier Botet, the man who plays more monsters than most people eat hot meals. His brief but haunting appearance as the “faceless man” is pure nightmare fuel—a living reminder that the scariest thing about evil is how human it can look.
Faith Restored (Sort Of)
By the film’s end, Nicole survives her possession, returns to New York, and writes her story—presumably titled “I Went to Romania and All I Got Was This Spiritual Enlightenment.” She’s regained her faith, and maybe her sanity, though it’s debatable which one was more dangerous to lose.
The Crucifixion leaves you with that rarest of horror movie emotions: cautious optimism. Evil exists, yes. But so does redemption—and it might just come from a demon trying to ruin your week.
Final Verdict: 8.5/10 — Holy Water, Stronger Than Starbucks
The Crucifixion is a moody, atmospheric, and surprisingly thoughtful slice of supernatural horror. It’s got just enough gore to keep genre fans happy, just enough theology to keep your Catholic guilt simmering, and just enough dark humor to keep it from turning into a sermon.
It’s not perfect—the pacing lags, the metaphors occasionally slap you harder than the demon does—but when it works, it really works.
So if you’re in the mood for a movie that combines The Exorcist, The Conjuring, and a Romanian travel ad narrated by Satan, The Crucifixion delivers. It’s spooky, stylish, and self-aware enough to wink while it’s scaring you.
Because sometimes, the only thing scarier than losing your soul…
is realizing it’s been fact-checked by a journalist.
