Resurrection (1980)

Resurrection is special because it treats the miraculous not as a gimmick, but as an intimate, bruisingly human experience—what happens to a person when grief cracks them open and the world starts demanding answers. Ellen Burstyn delivers one of those rare performances that feels lived-in rather than performed, carrying the film with quiet authority as wonder, doubt, and responsibility collide around her. The tone is earnest and emotionally resonant, more spiritual drama than flashy fantasy, and it invites you to sit with big questions about faith, skepticism, and the hunger for hope without preaching. If you prefer your supernatural stories neat, ironic, or action-driven, it may feel slow and sincere—but if you want a thoughtful, moving film that lingers like a difficult prayer, this is an underrated gem worth discovering.

Resurrection is clearly aiming for a sincere, spiritually tinged drama about grief turning into purpose, using a “miracle healer” premise to probe faith, doubt, and the burden of being needed. The problem is it often leans hard into melodrama and takes its time getting anywhere, with subplots that feel sketched in and character choices that can seem inconsistent rather than complex. If you’re expecting tight pacing, grounded emotional realism, or convincing romantic chemistry, this may come off as underwhelming and a bit forgettable. Still, if you’re patient with slow-burn, earnest 1980s prestige drama and you’re open to a faith-adjacent story that prioritizes feelings over logic, you may find it quietly affecting.