Rituals (1977) is a film that makes you question why anyone would ever willingly sign up for an outdoor adventure—especially when that adventure involves getting stalked and murdered by a psychotic war veteran with a penchant for World War II memorabilia and homicidal tendencies. Directed by Peter Carter, the film tries to fuse the classic wilderness thriller with some hard-hitting body horror. What it ends up delivering is a long, slow, painful march through an overcast wilderness with a few moments of suspense buried deep beneath a mountain of poorly executed ideas.
In theory, it’s a chilling premise: five doctors (yes, they’re all surgeons, because apparently, the film felt it needed to make every character more insufferable) embark on a weekend getaway in Northern Ontario, only to find themselves hunted by a disfigured hermit and his deranged brother. There’s intrigue about vengeance and secrets from their past, but mostly, there’s a whole lot of walking. So. Much. Walking.
The Plot: A Little Too Much Hiking, Not Enough Thrills
The plot of Rituals is essentially a drawn-out “man vs. nature” scenario with a twist. Five middle-aged doctors, who are so dull that you’d think they were written as a metaphor for the stagnant state of 1970s medical dramas, are trapped in the Canadian wilderness after their plane drops them off for a weekend retreat. It starts innocently enough—these five surgeons argue about whose specialty is the most important (because what’s better than listening to five men compare their inflated egos?), until one of them gets killed. This sets off a chain of increasingly ridiculous events, as they trek deeper into the woods and find themselves stalked by an unseen killer.
The plot unfolds slowly—painfully slowly—and it doesn’t take long for you to realize that nothing of interest is happening. The wilderness might be unforgiving, but the film’s pacing is even worse. The doctors are allegedly being killed one by one, but it’s hard to care because the movie spends more time on their constant bickering and walking than on actually developing any sense of suspense or terror.
The Characters: So Much Walking, So Little Personality
The doctors themselves are so unlikable and uninspiring that their impending demise feels more like a relief than a tragedy. Hal Holbrook plays Harry, a neurologist who is clearly trying to hold it together as he leads the group into the wilderness. Lawrence Dane’s Mitzi is a general surgeon who’s just a walking, talking stereotype of the grumpy, weary doctor who’s been through too many bad days. The other characters, including Martin (who’s got some trauma that he spills on the group like an unwanted therapy session) and Abel, exist solely as cannon fodder for the inevitable bloodshed, with absolutely no nuance or character development to make you care about their fates.
The dialogue between them is tedious. Their constant arguing about whose profession is more “intellectually demanding” could have been an interesting way to highlight their egos—but it’s more of a “who cares?” kind of moment. They are so unremarkable that you quickly find yourself hoping the killer will just get on with it and spare us the agony of watching these medical narcissists trip over each other in their pursuit of survival.
The Killer: A Disfigured Man Who Needs a Better Hobby
The antagonist of Rituals is Matthew Crowley, a disfigured war veteran who’s about as terrifying as your neighbor’s creepy uncle. His brother, Jesse, the blind hermit, provides some much-needed comic relief in the film, but sadly, that’s all he is—comic relief. There’s no real build-up to Matthew’s “big reveal”; he’s just some guy who shows up, shoots a few people, and gets stabby. There’s no depth to him as a character, and the film doesn’t explore his backstory enough to make him an interesting or relatable villain.
It’s clear that Rituals was trying to craft a villain that could strike fear into the hearts of the audience, but what we get instead is a dude who spends most of the film lurking around, yelling “Get off my land!” while randomly stabbing people in the neck. For a film that’s trying to be a slow-burn horror-thriller, the killer’s motivation seems almost secondary to the characters’ endless hiking and the weird melodrama they engage in as they slowly descend into panic.
The Horror: A Long March Through Mediocrity
When the horror finally hits, it’s too little too late. The suspense is non-existent, and the gore—while certainly intense—isn’t enough to make up for the unbearable snooze-fest leading up to it. There are some genuinely creepy moments when the characters discover gruesome signs of death, but they are so fleeting that they hardly have time to register before we’re back to more tedious walking, talking, and whining.
The horror feels secondary to the film’s obsession with depicting the wilderness as this unforgiving, God-forsaken land. But instead of feeling isolated and truly terrified by the vastness of nature, you just feel like you’re watching a bunch of people who’ve made bad life choices.
The Ending: A Literal and Figurative Flameout
The final moments of Rituals are meant to be an explosive conclusion to the slow-burn tension the film builds. But instead of a tense standoff between man and killer, what you get is a half-baked attempt at closure, featuring characters who suddenly grow some semblance of courage as the film limps to its predictable end. The denouement—if you can even call it that—includes a final confrontation that is as satisfying as watching someone awkwardly tie their shoes. It’s just… there. The final image of the film—one that’s supposed to be haunting—feels more like a throwaway shot to end the painful procession.
The Verdict: A Wilderness of Wasted Potential
Rituals is like a camping trip that sounds promising in theory but quickly devolves into a series of misadventures that make you want to stay home and binge-watch something else. The premise had potential—doctors, stuck in the wilderness, stalked by a psycho? Sounds like the makings of a good thriller, right? But instead of leaning into that potential, the film gets lost in its own meandering pacing, unlikable characters, and frustratingly bland horror. Even the gory moments—while noteworthy—don’t deliver the kind of punch that a film like this needs.
In the end, Rituals is a reminder that no matter how many doctors you get together in a wilderness setting, nothing can cure the ailment of a poorly executed plot. This film needed a better doctor in its script department. Instead, it limps along, like its hapless characters, all the way to its unsatisfying and forgettable conclusion. If you want to experience the wilderness with a sense of dread, do yourself a favor: skip Rituals, go hiking, and at least you’ll get the exercise.
