Hugh Grant Goes Full Villain in ‘Heretic’—But Who’s Really Terrified?

So much junk has already been written about the risky change of pace Hugh Grant exhibits in an overrated, undercooked fright flick called Heretic that it seems purposeless to contribute more. I’ll simply say he deserves applause, but the question is, “So what?” He’s a fine actor who should be able to switch from a charming romantic lead to a menacing, diabolical villain with superior ease, and the monster he plays in Heretic is not only skillfully freakish but not altogether without charm, either. It seems like a natural fit. The question: is it scary? In my opinion, the answer is a big, yawning “No way.” Shaving too fast with an old razor blade, I’ve had more scares than anything in Heretic from my bathroom mirror. 

Helmed by Scott Beck and Bryan Woods, the writing-directing-sometimes producing team responsible for B movies like Haunt and The Boogeyman, Heretic has been mistaken as a horror-genre innovator, but there’s nothing innovative about it. Instead of horror, Heretic exudes more of a long and tiresome ideological debate about the horror of religion combined with the horrors of bad movies. It could be called a whydunit as opposed to a whodunit. The premise begins with promise. Two lovely Mormon missionaries (Sophie Thatcher and Chloe East) on a mission to convert non-believers to salvation arrive at a creepy, imposing house (in the midst of fog, rain, and a coming snowstorm, natch). The creaking door is opened by a genial, smiling Mr. Reed (Hugh Grant, turning on his customary charm), who invites them in and offers them a slice of blueberry pie freshly baked by his wife, who never appears. But instead of pie, what Mr. Reed provides is a challenging debate about the role of religion through the ages. Whether the women are fundraising or simply hoping to find a friendly soulmate is left to the imagination, although the dark and gloomy manse soon becomes a testament to the host’s behavior and his perilous plans for unsuspecting visitors, many of whom turn out to be imprisoned in cages in underground dungeons below. Before you can say, “Girls in movie peril who saw Psycho should know better than to go out after dark”, the proceedings turn into a screamfest, and the charming Mr. Reed turns into a serial killer who verbally accompanies each of his murders with mumbo jumbo jabberwocky that begins with ominous questions like “How do you feel about polygamy?”

It should be no surprise when the girls discover the exit doors are locked, the blueberry pie is poison, and there’s no wife. As the snowstorm rages outside, the girls flee to the cellar where future victims await their turn for execution. “Why do you do this?” asks one of the misguided missionaries in one of the film’s unintentional comedy misfires. “The question,” answers Mr. Reed with a lethal grin, “is why do you all let me?” That’s the film’s only point—that there is no point.

Heretic has occasional moments of suspense, but nothing is grounded in any kind of logic, which pretty much leaves Hugh Grant to guide the wobbly, disorganized and pointless third act to its gruesome conclusion with maximum, eye-rolling, lip-licking glee. He’s the only reason to keep one eye on the screen and the other eye glued to the exit door. You can’t teach an old pro new tricks, and this is an actor who couldn’t turn off the charm even if directed to, which nobody does. Even when he cuts off a victim’s hand, one finger at a time, he seems jovial. Let’s hope that, having proven himself more than capable of handling gory nonsense, he will be offered a meatier role next time. In the disappointing greeting-card finale of Heretic, everything collapses into hearts, flowers and butterflies, but only one person is still alive. I won’t reveal who it is. I will only tell you that when Hugh Grant leaves the screen, it has an impact not unlike saying goodbye to Casper, the Friendly Ghost.