Welcome to Xanaz — Population: Creepy, Clay, and Confusing
Every so often, a film comes along that dares to test the limits of patience, vision, and animation… and then snaps all three in half. The Apostle (or O Apóstolo, if you’re feeling fancy) is one such cinematic endurance trial. It’s a stop-motion Spanish horror film about faith, greed, and the eternal struggle to stay awake.
Directed by Fernando Cortizo in his feature debut, The Apostle is a gothic, folklore-laced journey through Galicia — a place where every villager looks like they were sculpted out of candle wax during a power outage. It’s dark, moody, and so drenched in Catholic guilt that even the puppets look like they’re about to confess to something.
The movie wants to be a spooky masterpiece of atmosphere and allegory. What it ends up being is Wallace and Gromit Go to Hell.
The Premise: Thou Shalt Not Steal… or Animate So Slowly
We begin with two escaped convicts, Ramon and Xavier, whose first crime isn’t breaking out of prison — it’s entering this plot. Xavier, the dumber of the pair, accidentally re-enters the prison (yes, really), leaving Ramon to head to the mysterious village of Xanaz to retrieve a stash of stolen jewels.
What Ramon finds instead is a community of unsettling clay people who smile like they’ve been sniffing embalming fluid. The locals insist he rest, drink some “hot milk,” and stop asking questions — which, in horror movie terms, translates to “please enjoy your slow descent into damnation.”
Soon Ramon realizes that everyone in Xanaz has the same hobby: trapping visitors and feeding them to a ghostly death parade known as The Holy Company. It’s kind of like The Ring, except it involves more incense and worse pacing.
Stop-Motion That Moves Like It’s on Strike
Let’s talk about the animation — or what passes for it. Stop-motion is supposed to have texture, charm, and a sense of craftsmanship. Here, it has all the liveliness of a taxidermy exhibit. Every movement feels like it took six weeks to film and another three months to regret.
The characters shuffle around like arthritic mannequins, their faces frozen in expressions that scream, “Please, end my suffering.” The lighting is perpetually dim, as if the cinematographer filmed the entire movie through a used coffee filter.
Even the lip-syncing feels possessed — words slip out half a second before mouths open, creating an uncanny valley so deep it should qualify as a UNESCO heritage site.
If Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride was a ballet of death, The Apostle is a funeral march in slow motion — complete with mourners who can’t blink.
A Horror Story for People Who Fear Narratives
The film markets itself as a “fantasy horror,” but let’s be honest: the only thing horrifying here is how long it takes to get anywhere. The Apostle treats pacing the way the villagers treat visitors — with hostility and narcotics.
We spend endless minutes watching Ramon wander through foggy streets, stare at furniture, and occasionally look confused about which scene he’s in. At one point, a cat disappears. At another, a priest offers him dinner. There are long pauses between dialogue, as if the characters are waiting for divine inspiration to finish their sentences.
And just when you think something exciting might happen — bam! Another five-minute conversation about milk or religion.
The Plot Twist: It’s Catholic Guilt All the Way Down
Eventually, we learn that the village is cursed because centuries ago, the locals burned a plague victim alive (as one does in medieval Spain). In retaliation, he cursed them to eternal torment at the hands of the Holy Company — a spectral parade of damned souls led by whoever’s unlucky enough to hold the magic cross.
It’s an intriguing idea on paper, but on screen, it’s like watching a theology lecture delivered by puppets with lockjaw.
By the final act, Ramon becomes the unwilling leader of the ghostly procession, guiding souls to their deaths while trying not to look too bored about it. He must pass the curse on to someone else before it kills him. Thankfully, the plot spares us suspense by telegraphing the ending from several kilometers away: the corrupt Archpriest ends up cursed instead.
Yes, the movie’s moral is literally “don’t be greedy, or ghosts will make you work night shifts.”
The Voice Cast: Famous Names, Flat Delivery
The film boasts an impressive lineup of Spanish talent — Luis Tosar, Geraldine Chaplin, and the late Paul Naschy in his final role. Unfortunately, their performances are trapped under the same suffocating blanket of lethargy as the animation.
Everyone speaks in the same hushed, doom-laden monotone, as if afraid to wake the production crew from their nap. Chaplin delivers her lines like she’s narrating a cursed bedtime story. Tosar sounds like he’s recording from inside a confessional booth.
Even the ghosts seem tired of haunting.
Religion, Greed, and the Art of Preaching to Nobody
The Apostle clearly wants to be a spiritual allegory — a poetic reflection on redemption, sin, and the human soul. But it handles these ideas with all the subtlety of a church organ falling down a flight of stairs.
The villagers, trapped in eternal damnation, serve as metaphors for hypocrisy and greed. Ramon, the thief, becomes a reluctant savior. The Archpriest represents corruption. And the audience represents penance — because sitting through this film feels like paying for your past sins.
Every scene oozes heavy-handed symbolism, from the cursed cross to the endless candlelight. By the halfway mark, you’re not sure if you’re watching a movie or stuck in Sunday mass with extra puppets.
A Feast for the Eyes (If You’re into Murky Grays)
Visually, the film deserves credit for ambition. The set designs are intricate, evoking decaying cathedrals and misty forests. Unfortunately, everything is so dark and colorless that it’s hard to tell whether you’re looking at Gothic art or a malfunctioning screen.
Every frame looks like it’s been dipped in dishwater. Shadows crawl across walls, fog smothers entire sequences, and not even the fires of Hell manage to cast proper lighting. It’s a movie that confuses “moody atmosphere” with “we forgot to pay the electric bill.”
The Ending: Deliver Us From Boredom
In the end, Ramon escapes the curse, leaves his stolen jewels behind, and presumably wanders off to a better film. The Archpriest inherits the Holy Company and disappears — possibly to haunt audiences who sat through this.
It’s meant to be a bittersweet finale about redemption and divine justice. But by that point, you’re just relieved the credits are rolling, like a prisoner hearing the cell door finally open.
The Real Horror: It’s “Critically Acclaimed”
Critics in Spain apparently hailed The Apostle as a masterpiece of stop-motion craftsmanship. Which suggests either the bar for “masterpiece” is buried somewhere in Xanaz, or everyone was hypnotized by the fog machine.
To be fair, the movie is an impressive technical effort for a small team. But technical skill does not equal entertainment. You can appreciate the artistry while still wishing someone had exorcised the pacing demons.
It’s a film that demands admiration — not enjoyment. Like a taxidermied saint, it’s beautiful in theory but creepy in practice.
Final Judgment: A Pious Exercise in Patience
The Apostle could have been a haunting, poetic tale of guilt and redemption. Instead, it’s a beautifully crafted slog that mistakes atmosphere for story and confusion for depth. It’s a movie where every frame whispers, “Repent… for your time is wasted.”
The animation is eerie, the themes overcooked, and the pacing purgatorial. Watching it feels like doing penance with a rosary made of Play-Doh.
If you’re into religious allegories, haunted villages, and puppets that move like they’re experiencing spiritual doubt, this might be your calling. For everyone else: go with God — and something with caffeine.
Verdict: ★★☆☆☆
The Apostle is a miracle of endurance — not for the characters, but for the audience. It’s haunting, ambitious, and about as lively as a confessional on a Tuesday. Holy animation, Batman, this corpse could’ve stayed buried.
