Stigmata (1999)
Directed by Rupert Wainwright
Written by Tom Lazarus

Among the unpleasant trends that accompanied the turn of the millennium was the media-spun sense of impending doom—that somehow a random trick of the calendar could accurately foretell the end of the world as we know it. Despite the fact that this is a particularly Christian viewpoint, pretty much everyone across all races and religions got in on the act, spewing out this self-conscious sense that the sky was definitely falling.

One of the great barometers of this mass stupidity was the movies—starting with maybe Strange Days there was a rash of Y2K-related apocalyptic thrillers. Stigmata was the first of the last of these, and it f'ing sucks rocks.

The gist is that Frankie Paige (Patricia Arquette) is having these horrible attacks wherein she is afflicted with the various stigmata of Catholic lore—invisible nails driven through the wrists and feet, invisible whips lashing her back, invisible crown of thorns, etc. As her story leaks to the news, Father Andrew Kiernan (Gabriel Byrne) is sent by Cardinal Houseman (Jonathan Pryce) of the Vatican to investigate the possible miracle. But as usual with these stories, there's more to all of it than meets the eye. Ultimately, the reason Frankie is experiencing the stigmata threatens to bring down the Catholic Church.

Played off as a gothic horror film, Stigmata is painful to watch and for the most part extremely boring, yet another example of bad style over nonexistent substance. Right from the beginning we are assaulted with a series of extremely tight high-contrast close-ups, which drive home that there really isn't much to this story beyond the lame visuals.

For example, every single scene presents not one, but multiple close-ups of dripping water, accompanied by hugely magnified dripping water sound effects. Maybe I'm "out of the loop," but Old Man Crimedog don't get it.

What is the point? It's not atmospheric and it's not effective, it's just annoying. And I'd hazard that without all the dripping water, the film might easily (and thankfully) be 10 minutes shorter.

If the "normal" scenes are simply irritating, the scenes in which Frankie is "stigmata-ized" are far, far worse. They're supposed to be horrific, demonic nightmares intercut with her torture at the hands of unseen violators. There are I think four extended "stigmata" sequences in the film—each one nearly identical to the last, way too long, not scary, not effective, and difficult to follow. And the sad part is they don't even have a shrill chorus screaming "STIGMATA!" over and over each time for comic effect. That's what I would have done, anyway, just to salvage some entertainment value.

Stigmata completely fails as a horror film, in large part because of its loud, indulgent style. Yet on a deeper level, few people (other than little Catholic schoolgirls in those sexy plaid skirts) are still scared by things that go bump in the Bible. Even The Exorcist, which is obviously Stigmata's spiritual mommy, doesn't hold up to modern scrutiny.

It's clear to Old Man Crimedog that to make up for a serious lack of scariness, the filmmakers overcompensated by making every moment loud and unnerving in the worst possible way. The best, creepiest scene in the film occurs right after the first stigmata when Frankie is brought to emergency. The one quiet moment leads to one very intense scare which I won't give away, and a couple of unsettling, matter-of-fact shots of the bleeding wounds.

Old Man Crimedog have theory about making scary picture. It's important to present a story in the plainest, simplest manner and just let the scary things build. Old Man Crimedog think filmmakers need look at good scary movies, like The Shining or better yet, the understated, chilling brilliance of The Sixth Sense. Old Man Crimedog think filmmakers need good hard spanking. Now go pick a switch.

The acting in this film is completely irrelevant, as no one gets to have an actual moment without water dripping or doves flapping noisily past. The only interesting characters are supporting – Frankie's loyal best friend (Nia Long), and Father Kiernan's advisor/translator, Father Delmonico (Dick Latessa). Without these characters, whose roles are miniscule, it's otherwise impossible to care about the leads, their problems, their danger, or their potential for illicit romance. And sadly, Jonathan Pryce, despite carrying a near-guarantee of quality performance, rapidly degenerates into a parody of himself. The man needs a role worthy of his talent, and this ain't it.

Finally, much has been made of this film's so-called attack on the Catholic Church. Hardly. Despite a superficially satisfying message about the kingdom of God residing in oneself and all around (hammered over and over with a clumsy repetition of a few choice verses from the supposed "real" writings of Christ), the film's entire setup only serves to promote the classic gory Catholic imagery of the crucifixion. And its conclusion is vague enough to suggest that despite the religion-shattering importance of the message, the Church has suffered only a minor setback.

I suppose it's time to resurrect myself from this review, remove the thorny crown of having seen this rotten piece of wormwood, and drive the final spear into the side of Stigmata. Yuck!

Review by Crimedog