The Exorcism of God (2022)

What makes The Exorcism of God stand out in a crowded possession subgenre is its audacity: it treats exorcism not as a haunted-house routine, but as a moral reckoning where faith, guilt, and power collide in ways that feel personal and perilously human. Alejandro Hidalgo brings a gritty, sun-baked Mexican setting and a crime-drama pulse to the horror, so the dread doesn’t just creep in from shadows—it seeps into everyday life, relationships, and the cost of being seen as a “saint.” Will Beinbrink anchors the film with a wounded, believable intensity, and the story keeps finding sharp turns that suggest the filmmakers actually thought through the consequences of their premise instead of coasting on genre reflexes. It’s not for the squeamish or the easily rattled—this one goes hard on disturbing imagery and intense scenes—but if you want an exorcism movie with conviction, atmosphere, and a few genuinely surprising choices, it’s an easy recommendation.

The Exorcism of God is clearly aiming for a weighty, faith-shaken exorcism thriller with moral fallout, small-town stakes, and a priest forced to confront the one evil he can’t outrun. The problem is the storytelling often leans on loud genre “moves” rather than earned dread, so the shocks can feel mechanical, and the plot choices get messy in ways that read more clumsy than provocative. It’s also a rough sit content-wise—sexual violence, sacrilege, and harm to children are used as major pressure points—so if you’re sensitive to that or tired of horror that flirts with misogynistic framing, this will likely feel ugly instead of cathartic. If you can tolerate heavy material and want a grim, pulpy religious-horror ride, there are committed performances and a few intense sequences, but don’t expect the film to stick the landing with much nuance.