The Ritual

There is a specific gravity to Al Pacino’s voice these days—a gravelly, weathered resonance that sounds like it’s been dragged through several miles of desert and a few packs of unfiltered cigarettes. When he pulls on the Roman collar to play Father Theophilus Riesinger in The Ritual, he isn't just playing a priest; he’s playing a man who has looked into the basement of the universe and didn’t like what was looking back. It’s the kind of performance that reminds me why we still show up for the legends, even in an era where digital de-aging and franchise fatigue often threaten to swallow the "human" element of the movies whole. I watched this in a theater where the air conditioning was set to "Arctic Tundra," and honestly, the literal shivering only added to the film's oppressive, clucking dread.

The Weight of the Collar

In our current cinematic landscape, where horror often oscillates between "elevated" metaphors for grief and the loud, clattering jump-scares of the Conjuring-verse, The Ritual (2025) attempts a tricky middle ground. Directed by David Midell, who previously gave us the gut-wrenching The Killing of Kenneth Chamberlain, this isn't your standard "spinning head and pea soup" affair. It’s a claustrophobic character study disguised as a supernatural thriller. We follow Father Joseph Steiger, played by Dan Stevens with that twitchy, blue-eyed intensity he does so well, as a man whose faith is hanging by a thread thinner than a cheap hotel towel.

Steiger is paired with Al Pacino’s Riesinger to tackle the case of Emma Schmidt (Abigail Cowen). If the name Emma Schmidt rings a bell for the true-crime junkies or paranormal buffs reading this, it’s because the film is loosely based on a real-world 1928 exorcism case from Earling, Iowa. By moving the timeline to the present (or the very near future), David Midell creates a friction between ancient rites and modern skepticism. The movie treats the ritual itself not as a magic show, but as a grueling, 12-round heavyweight boxing match where the soul is the prize and the referee has already left the building.

Practical Screams and Digital Silences

What I appreciated most about the craft here was the restraint. In an age where every third horror movie feels like it was rendered entirely on a server farm, the production team (shoutout to Enrico Natale) clearly prioritized physical presence. When things start going south in the convent—overseen by a steely, barely-blinking Patricia Heaton as the Mother Superior—the scares feel tactile. The sound design by Joseph Trapanese is a masterclass in auditory discomfort; it’s less about the "boom" and more about the wet, rhythmic thudding behind a locked door that shouldn't be making any noise at all.

Abigail Cowen deserves a massive amount of credit here. Playing a "possessed" character is a thankless task that usually involves a lot of screaming and contortionism, but she brings a tragic, flickering humanity to Emma. You aren't just scared of her; you're scared for her. This focus on the human cost of the supernatural is where the "Drama" in the "Horror/Drama" genre tag really earns its keep. It reminds me of how William Friedkin approached The Exorcist—not as a monster movie, but as a movie about the mystery of faith where a monster happens to show up. Patrick Fabian, whom many of us still miss from his Better Call Saul days, shows up as Bishop Edwards, providing that perfect "corporate church" energy that makes you realize the bureaucracy can be just as scary as the demons.

The Reality of the Ritual

Apparently, the production was quite a heavy lift behind the scenes. Al Pacino, ever the student of the craft, reportedly spent hours talking to actual theologians to nail the specific cadence of the exorcism prayers. There’s a rumor from the set that the atmosphere got so intense during the filming of the final act that Ashley Greene, who plays Sister Rose, had to take frequent breaks just to remind herself she was on a movie set and not actually witnessing a spiritual collapse.

In terms of the 2025 context, The Ritual feels like a reaction to the "Post-Truth" era. It’s a film about the desperate need to believe in something when everything else—institutions, technology, history—seems to be failing. It doesn't quite reach the heights of the 1973 classic it clearly admires, and the third act leans a bit too hard into the "dark hallway" tropes we’ve seen a thousand times, but the performances carry it across the finish line. It’s a movie that understands that the scariest thing isn't a demon; it’s the silence of a God who might not be listening.

The Ritual is a sturdy, well-acted entry into the exorcism subgenre that succeeds because it cares more about its characters than its body count. While it doesn't reinvent the wheel, it polishes it until you can see your own terrified reflection in the hubcap. If you’re looking for a film that prioritizes atmosphere over cheap thrills, this is your Sunday night sermon. Just maybe don't watch it alone if you live in an old house with creaky floorboards.