The Catholic School (2021)

The Catholic School is a bracing, ambitious drama that doesn’t just recreate a notorious crime—it peers into the polished corridors that helped make it possible, and that’s what makes it so unsettlingly compelling. Stefano Mordini builds a tense, claustrophobic atmosphere where privilege, faith, and adolescent masculinity curdle into something darker, and the young cast gives it its pulse: performances that feel lived-in rather than “performed,” capturing the bravado, confusion, and cruelty of boys becoming men. It’s a film with real scope, willing to wrestle with religion, parenting, sexuality, and the quiet permissions a society grants its “good families,” without turning into a lecture. Fair warning: it’s heavy, often uncomfortable, and not a casual watch—but if you want a serious, thought-provoking film that lingers long after the credits, this one earns your attention.

The Catholic School is clearly aiming to be more than a true-crime retelling, using the Circeo massacre to indict privilege, misogyny, and the suffocating moral armor of an elite Catholic boys’ world. The problem is it often feels like it’s reaching for a big thesis without the discipline to land it: the structure is scattered, the pacing drifts, and the writing keeps piling on themes until the point gets muddled. When the violence finally hits, it’s impactful, but the film’s through-line about what the school “caused” can feel frustratingly unfocused, leaving you with mood and outrage rather than clarity. If you want a tight, coherent social critique or a narratively satisfying drama, this may waste your time; if you’re patient with messy, impressionistic storytelling and interested in the atmosphere of a rotten system, you might find it worthwhile.