Believers
Horror movies that specialize in the subjects of voodoo and occult worship are usually quite the mixed bag. For every success like Bela Lugosiâs White Zombie or Wes Cravenâs Serpent And The Rainbow, there are scores of less successful or less noteworthy entries that more often than not invoke audiences into laughter rather than being frightened. This 1987 release can be considered one more in that category, even as its main redeeming feature is the attempt to correlate the demonic cult mentality with that of the (white) Illuminati / elitist rich and powerful who certainly seem to have made some kind of satanic pact in order to obtain their money and power. The film definitely had the required elements to ensure its success, including an A list leading man in Martin Sheen (a professed non horror fan who has never really done a film like this before or since), a prestige director in John Schlesinger (Oscar winner for Midnight Cowboy) and a top notch cast featuring a crackerjack plethora of character acting royalty all ready, willing and able to lay their talent on the line in service of a most ridiculous plot. The film begins horribly and ridiculously enough with the accidental death of Sheenâs wife in their suburban utopia via an electrocution in full view of their young son (Harley Cross) at the hands of a malfunctioning coffee maker all while fixing breakfast. This particular scene (which has no connection to the rest of the movie) comes across strangely not only because of the lingering way that we watch her convulse with closeups of her contorting face (with the son screaming constantly) but also because of Sheenâs hilariously overwrought reaction when he enters the room and discovers his wife being barbecued (he doesnât even try to help her or at least knock her safely away from the offending coffee maker, instead choosing to just stand there and overact to the point of absurdity). Indeed, the best moments of this film from an acting standpoint are in watching Martin Sheen flip out completely on people, whether itâs in spanking his son for misbehaving or for going ballistic while firing the housekeeper for misconduct. After the funeral, Sheen And Son relocate to New York City where we learn that his career is that of a highly respected police psychiatrist for The NYPD, helping officers to cope with the daily stress and anxiety of their jobs. One day the son discovers a small pile of dead animals in Central Park and pockets some kind of a mysterious trinket that he finds at the scene (itâs later explained that this specific act is what makes him âmarkedâ) while Sheen is called in to help out on a case that is a real doozy: an NYPD cop (Jimmy Smits on the cusp of his career then) who was investigating a series of child kidnappings and murders has now seemingly gone insane after having discovered the latest victim, claiming to anyone who will listen that âtheyâ are out to get him and that there is nobody who can stop âthemâ. Many critics at the time cited Smitsâ tortured performance here as being the best one in the movie, and itâs not hard to see why. Sheen talks to him at the looney bin before culling the information while working with another cop on the case played by Robert Loggia. Ultimately, he works his way into getting invited to a benefit gala being thrown by the richest man in the city (Harris Yulin, one of the best actors to ever live who will probably never be recognized as such) whom we learn started off in real estate and then diversified into many other things (i.e. âThe Trump Characterâ) and who upon meeting Sheen, seems to take a keen interest in having him join his organization. Also at this high class benefit is a mysterious black man (Malick Bowens) whom we are supposed to find frightening because the actor is obviously wearing cloudy looking, diluted contact lenses. It also turns out that this man is the key to the whole cult movement, apparently a high priest of some kind to the group who actually casts the necessary voodoo spells even as the more public figures like Yulin have all of the power and glory while keeping their magical friend under the radar. When the truth comes out, itâs even more horrifying (and moronic) than expected, as the elitist white people in the cult are convinced that in order to guarantee their money and success, they must willingly perform a ritual sacrifice (murder) on their own first born son and then they will have everything they could ever want in this world and thus be âone with the godsâ, leading to actual scenes where another cult member and old friend of Sheenâs (Lee Richardson) literally espouses on how carrying out such a painful, heartless act has since led to him and his wife (Elizabeth Wilson) now having a much better life than they ever could have imagined. Of course, this obviously means that the cult is looking at Sheen as their next member and would like nothing more than for him to stick a knife into his own son so that the world can be at his feet. If all of this sounds too ridiculous for words, thatâs because yes, it is, but Schlesinger for some reason maintains a somber tone and kills the pacing by padding the running time with endless bits of Sheen doing his harried single dad routine and also developing the romance between him and his sexy landlady (Helen Shaver) and it must be said that for a middle aged actress, Shaver was not afraid to go all out in the nudity department (including a glancing beaver shot) in order to depict the nature of her relationship with Sheen. But she too becomes a target mostly because of her nosy nature and the most interesting parallels are in how so many characters who are tight with Sheen seem to suffer painful fates due mostly to various curses while Sheen himself remains unscathed when really and truly he represents the biggest threat of them all to the cult and is the absolute LAST person whom they should ever try to cajole into being a member (being a practicing psychiatrist and all that). It all ends up with a ridiculous denouement at a old abandoned steel mill where (a drugged) Sheen is led out to do the honors on his boy (without ever having been shown to have either verbally agreed or to have so much as nodded his head approvingly at the proposition) while his only ârealâ friend that he has left (Richard Masur) who is also his lawyer that was introduced early in the film and then not seen again until the climax, has situated himself in the catacombs where Sheen (and the other cult members) can easily see him before Sheen is handed a large knife to slice his son open nice and wide (although again why they ever would have thought that someone who is already a middle aged widower would be at all keen to butchering the only thing he has left in this world is beyond me) which leads to Sheen slashing and slicing up the various cult members while Masur engages in target practice from his perch before we get to the âindividualâ death scenes for the key villains, the most ridiculous being Yulinâs billionaire barricading himself in an electrical room before Sheen uses a psychiatrist trick to get Yulin to wax nostalgic on his own dead son which causes him to look away (in an introspective moment!) and allow Sheen to set him up for the kill. Itâs possible that the movie could have gone deeper into the ways that certain wealthy people all but guarantee their safety from the clutches of law enforcement or wield their power to bring unfortunate fates to those whom they consider a threat but instead weâre subject to the occasional bits of nasty gore (apparently a curse can cause things like snakes and spiders to grow inside of you) and a whole heck of a lot of Martin Sheen keeping a straight face (except when he blows his top) while getting to the bottom of a case that is resolute in its hysterical absurdity, with only Smits keeping the fear real during his limited screen time. A lot is made about how the cultâs beliefs correlate with that of Catholicism, particularly in how they feel that their demonic figures of worship are the same as the Catholic ones except only theirs are in disguise, but it doesnât do much to increase oneâs awe and just bogs things down in needless exposition rather than focus on the inner workings of the cult itself (as usual portrayed as being boring regimental types who are keen on repetition). So when looking around for an occult horror movie thatâs a cut above the rest, you probably wonât find it here unless of course you happen to be a diehard fan of Martin SheenâŚ
5/10