The Wrath of God (2022)

The Wrath of God has the kind of sleek, insinuating pull that makes you lean closer, not because it’s loud, but because it’s sure there’s something rotten underneath the surface. Sebastián Schindel turns a simple question—are these tragedies engineered by a man with too much power, or are they the cruel coincidences we dress up as meaning?—into a tense, elegant thriller, helped by sharp, moody visuals that make everyday spaces feel faintly accusatory. Macarena Achaga carries Luciana’s mounting dread with conviction, while Diego Peretti’s novelist is a study in unsettling composure, and the film keeps its intrigue alive by letting doubt creep in at every turn. It does wade into heavy subject matter and a lingering atmosphere of anxiety, so it’s not a comfort watch, but if you like dramas that double as moral riddles, this one sticks with you.

The Wrath of God wants to be a slick, literary-tinged thriller about power, guilt, and whether a celebrated writer can “author” real-life tragedy—and that’s a solid hook. The problem is it often feels more self-serious than suspenseful, with pacing that drags and characters who stay thin when you need them to feel messy and real. The mystery doesn’t build to a truly satisfying payoff, and the ending/reveal may land as more forced than shocking if you’re expecting a sharp twist. Still, the performances and moody atmosphere can keep you watching if you like slow-burn psychological dramas and don’t mind some narrative gaps and heavy themes like suicide and harassment context.