Immaculate (2024)

A taste of potential, but ultimately flavorless

I don’t want to write this review. I went into Immaculate with so much excitement. Here’s a horror film with themes of faith, a mystery, and that thrilling promise of darkness in the lush Italian countryside. I thought, This is my film. But after watching it—and after watching the conversation with producer Will Greenfield—I’m frustrated. Immaculate could’ve been a profound look at faith, autonomy, and the power dynamics in religious spaces, but it misses that mark almost every time.

Let’s start with the good, because there is good. The casting is superb. Sydney Sweeney, in the lead as Cecilia, is toned down to an approachable, almost “everywoman” look, resisting the urge to make her the otherworldly saintly figure. Her performance, restrained and meek, works for the character, though it’s often too restrained by the script. Benedetta Porcaroli as Sister Gwen steals the show, striking that rare balance of lively without tipping into comic relief. Giulia Heathfield Di Renzi brings a quietly simmering fury to Sister Isabelle that really comes to life in a chilling bath scene, where I fully believed she might drown Cecilia on the spot. I also have to give credit to the movie’s incredible use of sound to represent pain; a high-pitched whine during Cecilia’s labor contractions is a stark, visceral portrayal of overwhelming physical suffering.

So, there’s promise. But that’s the problem: Immaculate has all these isolated elements that could have built a masterpiece, if only it were willing to take a stand on something, anything. The sound design, for example, would’ve been even more powerful if the film had established it as a “language” of pain earlier on, a way to subtly deepen the audience’s connection to Cecilia’s ordeal. But the film never pushes beyond surface-level choices, leaving clever techniques half-baked and ideas underdeveloped.

When it comes to religious horror, the bar is set high, and Immaculate doesn’t attempt to clear it. Viewed (and made?) in post-Roe v. Wade America, the story has all the context it needs to dive into issues around faith, autonomy, and the limitations imposed on women by religious dogma. But instead, it opts for an easy, forgettable plot with an obligatory procession of jump scares. By taking the safest, least offensive route, Immaculate manages to leave almost no impression at all.

What makes this so frustrating is that Immaculate had a real opportunity to say something about women’s roles in the Church, the cultural weight of the Virgin Mary archetype, or even the haunting power dynamics that exist in such spaces. But the film’s version of “subtlety”—which Greenfield praised in the Q&A—is anything but subtle. The imagery is as blunt as a brass cross to the head. We get it: the insemination table is shaped like a cross, Gwen’s tongue is cut out because she spoke forbidden words, and Cecilia is meant to resemble the Virgin Mary. It’s not subtle, it’s heavy-handed, and it lacks any fresh perspective or depth.

Speaking of perspective, the ending—a critical point of discussion at the Fargo Film Festival Q&A—aims to be ambiguous but doesn’t earn it. The audience is supposed to wonder if Cecilia’s baby is the Second Coming or the Antichrist, but this possibility feels like it was thrown in at the last minute. Nowhere in the film is the idea of the baby’s ambiguous nature explored or hinted at in any meaningful way. Without that setup, the ending feels less like a profound question and more like an afterthought. Even something as basic as a malformed fetus with horns or hooves would’ve been an easy (if a bit cheap) way to bring up the question of divine versus diabolical.

Beyond this, the film gives us almost nothing of Cecilia’s own perspective on her pregnancy. Does she feel blessed, terrified, or even betrayed? We don’t know. This isn’t Sweeney’s fault—she plays meek and vulnerable well—but the script gives her nothing to work with. The film mistakes her meekness for complete passivity, expecting audiences to be moved by her silence without giving us any real sense of her inner life. If I, a devout nun, found myself pregnant without intercourse, I’d be having some intense feelings and thoughts. But Cecilia’s mind remains a mystery, and her muted reaction to the very idea of a “virgin birth” makes her feel like a blank slate rather than a complex character.

So, what’s Immaculate’s answer to my ultimate question: What does this add to the zeitgeist? Apparently, nothing. The film is beautifully shot, the costume design is great, but it’s ultimately a string of half-formed ideas connected by uninspired scares. It doesn’t bring anything new to the religious horror genre or give us a fresh lens on faith, motherhood, or sacrifice. And while it clearly aims to be “subtle,” that so-called subtlety boils down to bland storytelling and an unwillingness to risk offending anyone.

Can I sink my teeth into it? Immaculate is a communion wafer—dry, tasteless, and forgettable. You’re left wondering if you even got the Body of Christ, and wishing you’d drunk MUCH deeper from the communion wine.