If you’ve ever watched a standard exorcism movie and thought, “This really needs more midlife crisis, Catholic guilt, and a priest who 100% should be in therapy, not in ministry,” then The Day of the Lord is here for you—swinging a Bible in one hand and severe emotional damage in the other.
It’s a grim, talky, small-scale horror film that somehow feels like a hangout movie—if your hangout involved demonic possession, unresolved sexual tension, and torture in a shitty apartment. And honestly? It works.
Menéndez: Exorcist, Convict, World’s Worst Life Coach
Our hero—if we can call him that—is Menéndez, a former Catholic priest who did the one thing priests in horror movies are absolutely never supposed to do: he failed the exorcism. The kid died, Menéndez went to prison, and now he’s out, retired, and living in the exact kind of gloomy, claustrophobic flat where bad decisions go to ferment.
He is:
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Crusty
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Guilt-ridden
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Sleep-deprived
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And spiritually hanging by a thread that’s been chewed on by rats
He’s haunted by visions of the dead boy and the boy’s mother, Marisa, for whom he clearly had (and still has) feelings. Which is already a lot. But instead of healing, therapy, or perhaps a remote cabin with no phone service, Menéndez spends his days pacing around, muttering into a disconnected phone as if he’s on a direct line with God.
To the film’s credit, it never winks at that detail. It just lets you slowly realize, “Oh. Oh, he’s not okay. Great. We’re going to do an exorcism with this guy in charge. Perfect.”
Enter Raquel: Demon, Teenager, or Just Extremely Online?
The plot kicks into gear when Sebas, Menéndez’s old prison buddy, shows up with a very reasonable request:
“Hey man, I know that last exorcism you did killed a child and ruined your life, but could you maybe give it another shot? This time on my daughter?”
Sebas is convinced his daughter Raquel is possessed. Menéndez, who has “absolutely should say no to this” written all over his aura, eventually says yes. Because of course he does. If bad choices earned frequent flyer miles, this man would be in orbit.
Raquel shows up and is immediately the chaotic ingredient the movie needs. She’s:
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Rebellious
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Mouthy
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Flirty in a way that feels deliberately provocative
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Either possessed by a demon or by the spirit of every “Don’t tell me what to do, old man” teen girl ever
Her dynamic with Menéndez is beautifully uncomfortable. She teases him, mocks him, challenges his faith, his self-control, and his sanity—and you’re never quite sure how much of it is her, and how much is the thing inside her.
He, in turn, keeps teetering between:
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“Respect the sacrament, my child”
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“I am dangerously close to losing it”
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And “this is above my spiritual pay grade”
It’s not your usual “pure girl vs evil demon” setup. It’s more like a psychological knife fight, supervised by a man who can barely hold onto his own soul, let alone save hers.
The Exorcism: Less Holy Water, More War Crime
When Menéndez finally decides Raquel is possessed, he and Sebas launch into one of the most morally murky exorcisms you’ll see in recent horror.
This is not the noble ritual of The Exorcist. This is two broken men trying to beat a confession out of evil, and looking disturbingly comfortable with the “beat” part.
They:
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Tie Raquel to a bed
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Taunt and torture her
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Use “questionable methods” that would absolutely get you defrocked, arrested, and probably banned from several countries
For a good chunk of the movie, you’re stuck in this apartment watching what looks uncomfortably like abuse that may or may not be justified by the supernatural. Raquel screams, cries, rages, mocks them—and the film leans hard into the ambiguity:
Is this a demon?
Is this trauma?
Is this a delusional ex-priest projecting his guilt onto a teenager?
Then, just when Sebas breaks and apologizes to his daughter… the demon finally shows its hand.
And by “shows its hand,” I mean:
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Casually overpowers them
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Ties the men up
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And then sexually assaults Sebas, because this demon has read the “How to Emotionally Ruin Your Host Family” handbook cover to cover.
It’s horrific and deeply unpleasant—and that’s the point. This isn’t a noble spiritual battle. It’s a mess. Everyone here is already damaged; the demon’s just rearranging the pieces.
Déjà Vu from Hell
Once Menéndez escapes and they manage to restrain Raquel again, the exorcism goes from “morally questionable” to “rage-fueled rematch with cosmic trauma.”
They push harder. The demon breaks through fully. And Menéndez realizes with dawning horror (and, you can tell, a tiny bit of “oh of course”) that this is the same demon that wrecked his life all those years ago in Marisa’s son.
This is not just a random haunting. It’s personal.
He fights the demon in its physical form—low-budget but effective, more about mood than CGI—and finally drives it away with a makeshift cross like a Catholic MacGyver who’s one breakdown away from never getting out of bed again.
Sebas and Raquel survive. They leave bloody but grateful. Menéndez has finally done it. He’s redeemed himself. He’s—
Yeah, no. Not so fast.
God on the Line (…Sort Of)
One of the best, most quietly brutal twists in the movie is the phone.
Throughout the film, Menéndez has been having these one-sided conversations on his landline. He speaks into it as if talking to God, reporting his doubts, fears, anger, progress. It’s intense, desperate stuff.
After the exorcism, covered in blood but triumphant, he “calls” again, telling the unseen presence about his victory. He smiles. He looks peaceful for the first time. You almost believe, for a second, that he really was guided, that God stuck with him through the mess.
Then the camera calmly shows you:
The phone is unplugged.
He’s been talking to no one the whole time.
Unless, of course… he hasn’t.
Because as he smiles at nothing, a nun-like figure floats into the background—a warped, spectral thing drifting through the room toward him. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t panic. He just smiles.
It’s a perfect, nasty little ending that suggests multiple options, none of them comforting:
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He’s crazy and the demon has been cosplaying as divine guidance
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He’s been talking to something—but it wasn’t God
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Or he knew all along, and this was less redemption and more a long, bloody job interview
Either way, the “Menéndez: Part 1” title suddenly feels very literal.
Why It Works (and Why It’s Weirdly Fun)
The Day of the Lord is not a scare-a-minute roller coaster. It’s:
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Talky
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Claustrophobic
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Morally grimy
But that’s exactly why it works.
What you get instead of jump scares is:
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A broken priest arguing with his faith and his conscience
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A possessed (?) girl who acts like every adult’s nightmare of Gen-Z chaos with a demon filter slapped on
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A father so desperate to save his daughter he hands her over to a man whose last attempt ended in a corpse
The dark humor is baked into the bleakness:
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A priest demanding a second chance at exorcism like it’s a failed work project and not, you know, manslaughter
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Two men torturing a girl while trying to convince themselves they’re doing God’s work
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A demon who waits patiently until they’re sorry and then goes, “Great, now that the emotional stakes are nice and high, time to ruin you.”
And beneath the blasphemy and blood, there’s a surprisingly sharp core: it’s a story about guilt, faith, and what happens when you go looking for absolution in all the wrong horrors.
If you like your possession movies with:
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Less holy water and more existential crisis
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Minimal visual effects but maximum moral ambiguity
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A lead character who is simultaneously tragic, pathetic, and weirdly badass
…then The Day of the Lord is absolutely worth a watch.
Just maybe don’t try to call God afterward on a landline. You might not like who picks up.
