Communion (1989)

Communion is special because it treats alien contact not as a carnival of effects, but as an intimate, destabilizing experience that seeps into a marriage, a mind, and the quiet spaces of a home. Christopher Walken is riveting in a performance that makes you feel the push-pull between skepticism and terror, while Philippe Mora’s moody photography and unnerving soundtrack turn everyday rooms and wooded darkness into places you don’t quite trust anymore. The vibe is dreamlike, paranoid, and strangely sincere—more psychological thriller than creature-feature—inviting you to sit with “high strangeness” instead of explaining it away. It won’t satisfy viewers craving tidy answers or nonstop action, but if you like smart, off-kilter sci-fi horror that lingers like a half-remembered nightmare, it’s a fascinating ride.

Communion is clearly trying to turn Whitley Strieber’s abduction story into a serious, psychological unraveling—part domestic drama, part paranoia thriller—with Christopher Walken leaning hard into the “am I losing it?” tension. The problem is the film often undercuts its own dread by showing the aliens in a way that can feel blunt, even a bit tabloid, so what should be unsettling sometimes lands as unintentionally goofy. The pacing also wobbles between therapy-room introspection and creature-feature jolts, making it harder to stay emotionally invested in the family fallout. If you want subtle, suggestion-driven sci-fi horror, this may frustrate you, but if you’re curious about late-’80s alien imagery and can tolerate some clunky execution for a memorable Walken performance, it’s at least an oddball watch.