The Killing of a Sacred Deer

The very first thing you see in The Killing of a Sacred Deer is a literal, pulsing human heart undergoing surgery. It’s graphic, clinical, and lasts just long enough to make you look away before forcing you to look back. I watched this for the first time while drinking a lukewarm seltzer that had lost all its fizz, and honestly, that flat, slightly bitter experience felt spiritually aligned with the movie’s vibe. It’s a film that refuses to sparkle. It just sits there, daring you to endure its company.

If you’ve seen Yorgos Lanthimos’s other work—like The Lobster (2015) or The Favourite (2018)—you know the drill. People don't talk like people. They talk like robots programmed by someone who has only ever read a dictionary but never met a human being. Yet, in this 2017 nightmare, that stilted delivery serves a terrifying purpose. It turns a suburban home into a sterile laboratory where a very messy, very ancient curse is being dissected.

The Manners of a Meat Grinder

The story follows Steven, a cardiovascular surgeon played by Colin Farrell (sporting a beard so thick it deserves its own SAG card). Steven has a "perfect" life: a beautiful wife, Anna (Nicole Kidman), and two kids who are almost too well-behaved. But Steven has a secret friend—a teenager named Martin, played by a then-up-and-coming Barry Keoghan.

At first, it looks like a mentorship or perhaps a weird guilt-driven friendship. But Martin is a parasite of the highest order. Barry Keoghan is absolutely skin-crawling here; he eats spaghetti with a rhythmic, wet intensity that made me want to go vegan. When he eventually reveals his true intent—that Steven must sacrifice one of his family members to "balance the scales" for a past surgical mistake—the movie shifts from a weird indie drama into a full-blown supernatural home invasion.

The brilliance of the performances lies in the restraint. Nicole Kidman is hauntingly cold, at one point offering herself up to her husband in a way that is meant to be provocative but feels more like a medical exam. The dialogue sounds like Siri trying to read a suicide note, and yet, the emotional stakes are agonizingly high. You’re watching a family slowly realize they are trapped in a Greek tragedy where the gods are indifferent and the rules are absolute.

A Budget of Pure Dread

What’s wild is that this was made for a measly $3 million. In an era where Disney spends that much on the CGI for a single superhero's cape, Lanthimos used his tiny budget to create a world that feels infinitely more oppressive. He didn't need explosions; he just needed a hospital in Cincinnati (where they actually filmed) and a camera that loves long, slow, Kubrickian zooms.

Apparently, the cast stayed in the same hotel during the shoot, and Farrell has mentioned in interviews how unsettling the atmosphere remained even off-camera. You can feel that tension. There’s no "movie magic" here to save you. Because it was an independent production, Lanthimos had total control. A major studio would have demanded a "jump scare" or a scene where a priest explains the curse. Lanthimos gives you neither. He just lets the kids’ legs stop working—a central plot point that is never medically explained—and lets the parents' desperation turn into something truly ugly.

It’s a perfect example of how the "Indie Gem" circuit of the late 2010s started reclaiming the thriller genre from the "slasher" tropes of the past. It’s "elevated horror" before that term became an annoying buzzword. It’s about the horror of choice, not the horror of a guy in a mask.

The Keoghan Factor

If you’re a fan of Barry Keoghan from his more recent turns in The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) or Saltburn (2023), you owe it to yourself to see where his "weird kid" energy was perfected. He manages to be polite and polite and polite until he’s suddenly the most dangerous person in the room. There’s a scene involving him and a plate of lemonade and a very specific threat that remains one of the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever sat through.

The film draws heavily from the Greek myth of Iphigenia—where a king must kill his daughter to appease a goddess—but it reimagines it in a world of luxury SUVs and private schools. It’s a reminder that no matter how much money or science we have, we’re still just hairless apes subject to the whims of fate. Or, in this case, the whims of a very creepy teenager with a grudge.

This isn't a "fun" movie, but it is an essential one for anyone who likes their cinema with a bit of a bite. It’s clinical, cruel, and deeply funny in a way that makes you feel bad for laughing. By the time the final scene in the diner rolls around, you’ll feel like you’ve been through a physical ordeal. It’s the kind of film that lingers in your brain like a low-grade fever, making you look at your own family and wonder: Who would I pick?