What if one of Hugh Grant’s cherished rom-com figures—let’s say, William from *Notting Hill* or the prime minister in *Love Actually*—ensnared you in a house of horrors? That eerie concept isn’t far from what *Heretic*, the latest horror offering from writer-directors Scott Beck and Bryan Woods (*A Quiet Place*, *65*), presents.
Grant has taken on villainous roles in recent times, from the self-absorbed Phoenix Buchanan in *Paddington 2* to the crafty Forge in *Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves*. But *Heretic* pushes his dark persona to a spine-chilling new extreme. Here, Grant is both utterly unrecognizable—remarkably unsettling—and just as we’ve always loved him—witty and self-effacing. The outcome? A performance that generates relentless anxiety, even as the film’s religious horror feels somewhat shallow.
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### What is *Heretic* about?
Grant portrays Mr. Reed, a seemingly kind-hearted individual who invites two Mormon missionaries, Sister Paxton (*The Fabelmans*’ Chloe East) and Sister Barnes (*Yellowjackets*’ Sophie Thatcher), into his residence. The young women have had a challenging day—hauling their bicycles up steep steps, facing ridicule from local youths, and being caught in an approaching storm. So when Mr. Reed shows genuine interest in their faith, it feels like a much-needed victory.
Despite the mission’s guidelines against being alone with a man, Mr. Reed reassures them that his bashful wife is in the kitchen preparing a blueberry pie. That simple assurance is sufficient for Paxton and Barnes to enter.
However, once inside, the red flags start to accumulate. Mr. Reed seems to know an alarming amount about Mormonism—his well-loved, heavily annotated edition of the Book of Mormon serves as evidence. He poses probing questions about Joseph Smith and polygamy that could be brushed off as mere skepticism. But as he begins to delve into Barnes’ personal life—especially the death of her father—it becomes apparent that something far more malevolent is afoot.
Then comes the pivotal moment: the revelation that “Mrs. Reed” is merely a blueberry-scented fabrication. From that point onward, Paxton and Barnes find themselves ensnared in a waking nightmare.
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### A House of Horrors
The real terror unfolds in the rear section of Mr. Reed’s home, where he has constructed his own chapel. Two staircases—one labeled “belief,” the other “disbelief”—descend into shadow, setting the scene for a psychological struggle of faith.
Most of *Heretic* unfolds through intense dialogue, making it one of the most dialogue-driven horror films of recent years. (At Fantastic Fest, Beck and Woods characterized it as the inverse of *A Quiet Place*, which relied on silence for tension.) As Mr. Reed manipulates Paxton and Barnes, each interaction becomes more disquieting—not necessarily due to the theological discourse itself, but because of the claustrophobic way Beck and Woods capture the exchanges. Tight close-ups and the singular-location setting enhance the inescapable dread.
While *Heretic* frames itself as a narrative about religious horror, its theological conversations tend to remain rather superficial. Nevertheless, they are undeniably captivating.
For instance, consider a monologue from Grant—rendered like a sermon—linking religion, Monopoly, and Lana Del Rey. (Indeed, even a Jar Jar Binks impression makes an appearance, much to Grant’s enjoyment.) The notion that religion is simply another form of marketing isn’t particularly groundbreaking—you could uncover similar discussions in any atheist community. Yet, it’s Grant’s delivery, imbued with the smug confidence of a well-practiced debater, that adds to the unease.
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### The Real Horror of *Heretic*
In the end, *Heretic* is most frightening not due to its religious undertones, but because of a much more universal anxiety: the fear of being a woman alone with an unfamiliar man.
Mr. Reed is a nightmarish fusion of rom-com Hugh Grant and *Saw*’s John Kramer. He radiates charm, offering friendly smiles, stumbling over his words, and pretending to be awkward. He appears almost apologetic when he invites the Sisters into his chilling basement—when, in truth, he holds all the power.
This manipulation is intricately woven into the script. Mr. Reed consistently asserts that he isn’t coercing the Sisters into anything—despite the fact that he has confined them within his home. He accuses them of overreacting, belittling their entirely justified fears. And how can one argue with a man who refuses to recognize his own control?
East and Thatcher embody this dynamic superbly. Initially, their discomfort reveals itself in subtle manners—Barnes resolutely declines an offered drink, while Paxton nervously