The Holy Mess
Some movies are bad because they don’t try. Others are bad because they try way too hard. And then there’s The Church, Michele Soavi’s Gothic migraine of a film, which manages to be both at the same time. Produced by Dario Argento, written by five people who all clearly hated each other, and shot in a church that probably still hasn’t been exorcised of this nonsense, it is the cinematic equivalent of attending a Catholic mass in Latin while high on NyQuil.
The premise is simple: a cathedral built on a mass grave seals away evil for centuries, until a modern-day librarian pokes at things best left alone. What could have been Demons 3 (and at least fun) instead becomes a two-hour sermon about how art films and horror films should not have babies.
Medieval Mayhem (or, “We Built This Church on Rock and Bodies”)
We open with Teutonic Knights massacring villagers accused of devil-worship, because in medieval times, genocide was considered an acceptable warm-up before lunch. They bury everyone in a pit, build a church over it, and the movie whispers, “This will definitely not backfire later.”
It’s a strong enough horror setup. But The Church immediately signals that instead of lean scares, we’re in for extended monologues, bad symbolism, and lighting choices that make everything look like an overfunded music video. You half expect Phil Collins to appear in the apse, singing about Sussudio while peasants are disemboweled.
Meet Evan: Librarian, Demon Snack, Terrible Date
Flash forward. Enter Evan, the new church librarian, played by Tomas Arana with all the charisma of a filing cabinet. He meets Lisa, an art restorer, and the two promptly start undressing each other over medieval parchments. Nothing says romance like whispering sweet nothings about Gothic frescoes.
Evan later goes snooping in the catacombs and finds the infamous “stone with seven eyes.” Naturally, he opens it, because horror movie characters are legally required to do the dumbest thing possible. A glowing void and phantom hands greet him. Minutes later, he’s ripping his own heart out and taking a bite like it’s a pomegranate at Whole Foods. That’s right: our main character is both useless and dead before the runtime even hits its stride. Great.
Possessed People, Pointless Subplots
Once the evil leaks out, the film devolves into a collection of half-baked vignettes:
-
The sacristan becomes possessed and kills himself with a jackhammer, which is honestly the most exciting thing in the movie.
-
Random tourists wander around the cathedral, get visions, then vanish from the narrative like unpaid extras who realized catering only served stale biscotti.
-
Asia Argento, at 13, plays Lotte, a character who exists mainly to remind you that her father Dario was producing this and had no shame about nepotism.
Everyone inside the church slowly goes insane or dies in baroque, confusing ways. People hallucinate, mirrors shatter, candles flicker, and by the third act, you’re not scared—you’re checking the clock and wondering if hell is just being forced to watch this again.
The Goat-Demon Rape Scene (Yes, Really)
Let’s pause for the movie’s most infamous “highlight”: Lisa, our art restorer, wanders into the catacombs, lies down on an altar, and is sexually assaulted by Evan, now fully transformed into a goat-headed demon.
This isn’t scary. This isn’t shocking. This is the cinematic equivalent of being trapped at a dinner party where your host insists on showing you his “edgy” art project that he swears is “about power.” It’s exploitation with zero thematic weight—except to remind you that Argento productions of the ’80s were allergic to the concept of restraint.
Father Gus: The Hero Nobody Asked For
Hugh Quarshie plays Father Gus, a priest who discovers the church’s history and is the only one left trying to save the day. Unfortunately, the script forgets to give him an actual personality. His big heroic arc consists of reading old scrolls, frowning, and then fiddling with the church’s secret “self-destruct mechanism.” Yes, apparently the medieval architect built a giant kill switch into the cathedral, because even in the 14th century, contractors assumed their clients might eventually want to blow the place up.
The Ending (a.k.a. The Longest Collapse in History)
Father Gus triggers the church’s implosion, because apparently that’s how you solve demonic infestations—just bulldoze the whole diocese. Everyone dies, except Asia Argento’s character, who wanders out alive and smiling enigmatically, as though she just remembered she has lines in Trauma coming up next year.
But wait—the final shot shows the cursed stone uncovered again, glowing ominously. Translation: “Yes, we wasted your time, and no, evil isn’t gone. Thanks for the ticket money, sucker.”
The Music: Keith Emerson vs. Philip Glass vs. Goblin Lite
The soundtrack is a fever dream of mismatched styles. You get three tracks from Keith Emerson, who apparently submitted music that sounded like “Carabinieri fanfare” (read: rejected parade music). Philip Glass wanders in with some haunting minimalist pieces, but they clash with Fabio Pignatelli’s leftover Goblin riffs. The end result is like a church organ, a synthesizer, and a marching band fighting for custody of your eardrums.
The Pacing: Gothic Sedative
The Church’s biggest sin isn’t blasphemy. It’s boredom. The film crawls at the pace of a snail wearing a cassock. Long stretches of people staring at frescoes. Endless shots of stained glass. It’s like someone tried to make a perfume commercial about damnation.
By the time anything resembling horror actually happens, you’re already numb. And when the gore does arrive—hearts eaten, heads crushed—it feels less shocking and more like a desperate attempt to wake you up.
Dark Humor Takeaways
-
Apparently, medieval architects installed self-destruct buttons in churches. Where was OSHA on that one?
-
Evan the librarian dies by eating his own heart—proof that working in a library really can be soul-crushing.
-
The bishop, instead of helping, decides to let everyone die to purge the world of sin. Congrats, he’s basically Catholic Thanos.
-
Asia Argento survives because nepotism is more powerful than demons.
-
The final message: Evil can never be destroyed, but boredom will definitely kill you first.
Final Thoughts
The Church wanted to be an operatic, sophisticated horror film. Instead, it’s a bloated art project where every good idea is smothered under slow pacing, incoherent plotting, and goat-sex symbolism nobody asked for. It could’ve been a fun Demons 3. Instead, it’s like attending a lecture about Gothic architecture while someone occasionally pelts you with pig intestines.
It’s beautiful at times, sure—the cinematography is lush, the set design grand—but all the baroque production design in the world can’t save a script that’s dumber than a bag of votive candles.
