The Pope’s Exorcist review – demonslayer-in-chief Russell Crowe has devil of a job – The Guardian
Hustled out over Easter, Julius Avery’s papal potboiler derives brisk if well-trodden hokum from the writings of Father Gabriele Amorth, the Vatican’s demonslayer-in-chief between 1986 and 2016. The movie’s Amorth is a wry outdated professional, discovering the levity in a devilishly tough day job; not unhelpfully, he’s performed by Russell Crowe, alternating gruff Italian and Italianate English, and presumably eyeing the prospect of a late-career franchise-slash-retirement plan. Crowe is by far the movie’s strongest swimsuit, pre-empting (a few of) our gigglier responses and mitigating towards (a few of) the fabric’s flimsiness. We nonetheless have film stars, even when the images thrown up round them are getting smaller, staler and sillier.
Crowe’s Amorth is pulled away from Dan Brown-ish Vatican politicking to attend a dismal San Sebastián abbey being renovated by single dad or mum Julia (Alex Essoe). Right here, issues are going bump within the evening, mainly Julia’s son Henry (Peter DeSouza-Feighoney), possessed by a pesky demon who scratches “GOD IS NOT HERE” on his host’s chest, like an “I’m with stoopid”-style T-shirt slogan. Solely Father Gabriele is a worthy sufficient opponent for this entity: propelling an earnest native cleric (Daniel Zovatto) throughout an adjoining hall, Henry’s demon bellows: “Mistaken fucking priest!” – with the voice of Finchy from The Workplace, for further chuckles. The following growl-off is like The Exorcist redone as a TikTok video.
Regardless of the presence of Franco Nero, enlisted for a number of days’ frowning as a non-specific pope, there’s zero remaining hint of theological seriousness, even after the demon-baiting is paused to permit genial Gabriele to unearth the abbey’s long-buried secret. Dim lighting solely partly obscures the secondhand possession-movie imagery, however a minimum of Avery retains every part shifting, which elevates this above these sluggish Conjuring movies. Racing in the direction of its splattery finale, it nearly qualifies as full of life schlock, and is probably going your one likelihood to see Crowe in flowing robes piloting a Vespa to the strains of Religion No Extra.
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