A Locust Moon and a Brain Fog
Chad Archibald’s The Heretics opens with promise—an occult suicide pact under a “locust moon,” a screaming girl, creepy masks that look like they were made from papier-mâché and regret. For a brief, flickering moment, it feels like we’re about to witness a hidden gem of Canadian horror—a pagan nightmare dipped in maple syrup and madness. Then, somewhere around the time the cult kills itself, the movie does too.
From there, The Heretics drags itself through ninety minutes of existential confusion, identity crises, and dialogue so wooden it could summon its own tree god. It wants to be The Witch, The Fly, and Rosemary’s Baby all at once, but it ends up as a discount Halloween costume of each—a cinematic Franken-demon stitched together from clichés and bad lighting.
Body Horror, Now With Extra Boredom
This movie advertises itself as body horror, but the only thing that really mutates is your patience. Nina Kiri plays Gloria, a woman who’s been possessed by a demon named Abaddon for five years, though you’d never guess it from her behavior. Mostly, she looks mildly annoyed, like she’s been waiting too long at the DMV. When her “transformation” begins, the movie wants us to be horrified. Instead, we’re treated to some halfhearted latex prosthetics and wings that look borrowed from a high school production of Angels in America.
The real horror isn’t what’s happening on screen—it’s realizing you still have forty minutes left and the demon hasn’t even shown up yet. For a film about possession, there’s remarkably little… possession. Just a lot of screaming, sweating, and scenes where characters talk about maybe doing something, but then don’t. It’s like The Exorcist if everyone forgot why they were there.
The Cabin That Time Forgot
The entire movie takes place in a cabin so dark and under-lit you start to suspect the cinematographer was afraid of his own flashlight. Characters wander around muttering about “the locust moon” and “the ritual” while you squint, trying to figure out which shadow blob is currently speaking. There’s a difference between atmospheric and invisible; The Hereticslives firmly in the latter.
And oh, the pacing. Every scene crawls along as if the film itself has been possessed by a demon of inertia. Characters deliver their lines with the same energy as a tired substitute teacher explaining algebra to an empty classroom. The soundtrack tries to inject tension, but it’s like pouring Red Bull into a corpse—lots of buzzing, no results.
Our Lady of Perpetual Screaming
Nina Kiri (of The Handmaid’s Tale fame) does her best with what she’s given, but what she’s given is a script that could make Shakespearean actors consider early retirement. Gloria’s arc—traumatized cult survivor to reluctant demon vessel—should be fascinating. Instead, it’s like watching a damp candle slowly lose its will to flicker. She cries, she shivers, she bleeds black goo. The movie keeps insisting she’s changing, but mostly she just looks like she’s fighting indigestion.
Ry Barrett as Thomas, her scarred kidnapper-turned-savior-turned-brother-of-a-cult-leader (yeah, it’s that kind of movie), spends most of his screen time either mumbling about sin or staring mournfully into middle distance. The film treats him as a tragic antihero, but his emotional range is roughly that of a burnt piece of toast.
Jorja Cadence as Gwendolyn—sorry, Joan—gets to chew some scenery in the third act, which is more than anyone else can say. She struts in like she’s auditioning for American Horror Story: Cottagecore Edition, snarls a few Satanic lines, and then gets promptly killed off. It’s like the movie suddenly remembered it needed a climax but couldn’t afford one.
Abaddon, The Demon of Disappointment
Let’s talk about Abaddon. Supposedly, this is the “Taker of Souls,” a demon so powerful it needs an entire cult to contain it. What we actually get is some light skin irritation and a raspy voice effect that sounds like someone gargling gravel. When Gloria finally “becomes” Abaddon, it’s not terrifying—it’s tragic. Not for the character, but for the audience.
This is the kind of transformation that should make you squirm, maybe even question your own humanity. Instead, it feels like watching a cosplayer whose glue didn’t set properly. Wings pop out, eyes cloud over, and you just sigh, “Ah, there it is. The climax.” Except it’s not a climax—it’s an overcooked metaphor about trauma and faith, delivered with all the subtlety of a goat sacrifice in a Walmart parking lot.
A Plot Twist That Trips Over Itself
The “big reveal” that Joan, Gloria’s supportive girlfriend, is actually the cult leader Gwendolyn would have been shocking—if the movie hadn’t telegraphed it from orbit. By the time it happens, you’re more surprised that anyone’s still alive than by the twist itself. And the sibling relationship between Thomas and Gwendolyn? It’s dumped into the story like a bucket of cold water, right before both characters die. It’s supposed to add depth. It just adds confusion.
Even the finale manages to disappoint. Gloria, fully demonized, kills Thomas and swears to drag him to hell. Cue credits. It’s abrupt, unsatisfying, and leaves you wondering if the editor gave up mid-cut to join a better cult.
Faith, Fire, and Forgetfulness
The Heretics wants to be a meditation on trauma, fanaticism, and redemption. It ends up being a meditation on repetition, dim lighting, and poor dialogue. Every idea in the film—religious obsession, demonic possession, gender dynamics—gets introduced and then abandoned faster than a horror franchise sequel. It’s as if the script was possessed by a demon of forgetfulness.
There’s potential here, buried somewhere under the ash and fake blood. The idea of a woman unknowingly incubating a demon for five years is fascinating. In better hands, it could have been a slow-burn masterpiece about faith curdling into madness. Instead, it’s the cinematic equivalent of a half-eaten communion wafer: dry, bland, and vaguely offensive.
The True Horror: Realizing You’ve Been Had
The scariest thing about The Heretics isn’t Abaddon, or the cult, or even the atrocious lighting—it’s the realization that you could have watched literally any other movie instead. The pacing makes Midsommar feel like Mad Max: Fury Road. The dialogue could be used by dentists as an anesthetic. And the supposed horror? Let’s just say my coffee machine has produced scarier noises.
By the time the credits roll, you’re not praying for salvation—you’re praying for an explanation. None comes. Only darkness. And not the good, moody kind—just the kind you get when the power goes out halfway through a bad movie and you decide to let it stay that way.
Final Verdict: Heresy of Cinema
If Hagazussa was horror as high art, The Heretics is horror as a forgotten homework assignment. It’s a film that believes if you whisper “Abaddon” enough times, people will think something profound is happening. Spoiler: it’s not.
Rating: 2 out of 10 sacrificial goats.
One point for Nina Kiri trying her best. One point for the masks in the opening scene. Everything else should have stayed buried under the locust moon.
