Heretic Review (2024): Faith, Fear, and the Abyss of Control

What happens when faith is tested by terror? Heretic (2024) plunges us into a psychological battlefield where belief becomes both a weapon and a weakness. Directors Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, best known for their taut and suspenseful storytelling, deliver a chilling narrative of survival, faith, and the darkness within human nature. From the moment two young missionaries knock on Mr Reed's ominous door, the audience is hooked by a sense of impending dread. This isn’t just a thriller—it’s a haunting exploration of what faith means when it’s pushed to its breaking point.

Heretic (2024) Movie Poster

What if the very house you step into mirrors the shadows lurking in your soul? That’s the question this story dares to ask. We follow two missionaries, Emma (Sophie Thatcher) and Sarah (Chloe East), on what should be a normal day of knocking on doors. But when they step into the home of Mr Reed (Hugh Grant), things take a sinister turn. At first, Reed seems polite—perhaps too polite. Then, the façade begins to crack, revealing a man as twisted as the labyrinthine house they’re trapped in.

What begins as a seemingly innocent conversation about faith spirals into a deadly game of survival. Reed isn’t just testing their beliefs—he’s dismantling them. His ideology is chillingly clear: control is the ultimate truth, and the power to shape one's reality is what makes us gods of our existence. This twisted worldview manifests in his actions, as he toys with Emma and Sarah like a predator savouring its prey. The house, much like Reed’s psyche, becomes a prison of manipulation, designed to strip its victims of hope and agency.

Even more sinister is Reed’s basement—a dark, claustrophobic space that he uses to isolate and dominate his victims. The symbolism here is potent: the basement isn’t just a physical space, but a metaphorical descent into the subconscious, where fear and suppressed truths reside. For Reed, locking women in this space is his ultimate exertion of control, reducing them to mere objects in his warped narrative. For Emma and Sarah, the basement becomes the crucible in which their faith is either forged or shattered.

Hugh Grant as Mr Reed

Here’s where Heretics hits home—it’s not just about survival; it’s about what we hold onto when everything else is stripped away. Beck and Woods masterfully explore the resilience of faith when faced with pure, unrelenting evil. The film pushes its characters—and its audience—to ask uncomfortable questions. Is faith a shield, or can it be a blindfold? How do we find meaning in suffering, and can belief be both our saviour and our downfall?

Mr Reed’s ideology adds a disturbing layer to this exploration. His belief that humans are their gods is both seductive and horrifying, challenging Emma and Sarah’s reliance on a higher power. Reed’s philosophy isn’t just a rejection of their faith—it’s an assault on the very foundation of their identities. The tension between his worldview and theirs becomes the film’s psychological core, forcing both characters and the audience to grapple with the nature of belief itself.

Emma (Sophie Thatcher) and Sarah (Chloe East)

This is the kind of film that lingers in your mind, poking at your convictions long after the credits roll. Philosophical undertones ripple throughout, with nods to Nietzsche’s abyss and Dostoevsky’s moral quandaries. It’s a cerebral horror as much as it is visceral.

Sophie Thatcher is magnetic as Emma, delivering a performance that feels raw and utterly human. You can see the cracks forming as fear and conviction clash within her. Chloe East’s Sarah offers a quieter but no less impactful counterpart, her vulnerability and strength beautifully juxtaposed. Then there’s Hugh Grant, who completely reinvents himself as Mr Reed. He’s terrifying not because he shouts or rages, but because he doesn’t have to. Every line he delivers is laced with menace, making you hang onto his every word with a mix of dread and fascination. Reed’s charisma is as unsettling as his cruelty, making him one of the most memorable antagonists in recent cinema.

Let’s talk about the house because it’s practically a character in itself. Thanks to Chung Hoon Chung’s genius cinematography, every frame feels suffocating. Narrow hallways, dim lighting, and oppressive shadows trap not just Emma and Sarah, but the audience too. The camera work is intentionally disorienting, with lingering shots and sudden shifts that mirror the characters’ growing panic. You’re not just watching their ordeal—you’re living it.

The house’s design reflects Reed’s psyche—a labyrinth of secrets, control, and chaos. Every door leads to more questions, every shadow hides a threat. The use of tight framing and oppressive angles creates a visceral sense of entrapment, making the audience feel as though they, too, are caught in Reed’s web.

Emma & Sarah trapped in the basement

If you thought the visuals were unsettling, wait until you hear the sound design. Every creak, every whisper, every distant thud feels like it’s happening right next to you. Mica Levi’s minimalist score is the cherry on top, using dissonance and silence to keep your nerves on edge. The interplay between diegetic and non-diegetic sound blurs the lines between what’s real and imagined, dragging you deeper into the nightmare.

Heretics is more than a film—it’s an experience. It’s rare to find a thriller that balances psychological depth with edge-of-your-seat suspense, but this one nails it. By the time Emma and Sarah’s faith is tested to its absolute limits, you’ll feel like you’ve been through the wringer yourself. This is the kind of movie that doesn’t just entertain—it challenges, provokes, and stays with you long after you leave the cinema. If you’re looking for a thriller that gets under your skin and makes you think, Heretics is a must-watch.

Mr Reed invited two Mormon missionaries into his home

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Behind the Scenes: The Art of Claustrophobia

For all you filmmakers, film students, and cinephiles out there, let’s dive into how Heretics achieves its relentless tension. Chung Hoon Chung’s cinematography is a masterclass in creating claustrophobia. Tight framing, low angles, and obstructed views make every scene feel like the walls are closing in. Lighting is key here—shadows dominate, and even the faintest flicker of a bulb feels like a lifeline that could go out at any moment.

Beck and Woods are masters of pacing. They let the tension simmer, building it layer by layer until it’s almost unbearable. The sparse dialogue allows the visuals and sound to do the heavy lifting, creating an immersive experience that feels raw and immediate. It’s a reminder that sometimes, less really is more.

If you thought the visuals were unsettling, wait until you hear the sound design. Every creak, every whisper, every distant thud feels like it’s happening right next to you. The minimalist score is the cherry on top, using dissonance and silence to keep your nerves on edge. The interplay between diegetic and non-diegetic sound blurs the lines between what’s real and imagined, dragging you deeper into the nightmare.

If psychological thrillers are your cup of tea, you’ll love my reviews on 10 Cloverfield Lane and Blink Twice. Don’t forget to check them out!