The true reason I liked it so much is that it’s a late-model Roberta Findlay film, and we all know how to make a scuzzy film. We want Satanic shenanigans, esoteric meanderings that make little to no sense, and much too many characters to keep track of in this one, so she knows her audience.

This is the type of film where a church lent their space for the filming, even enabling the team to sleep and remain warm, yet they still went ahead and shot a Black Mass there. That takes the kind of balls that results in total nonsense, the kind of cinematic smack that I inject directly into my eyes.

Father Thomas Seaton is a centuries-old priest with an entire cult of robed maniacs waiting to get together and chant stuff, but he’s also a multi-tasker because he has a handyman pushing a new kind of street drug on prostitutes, and then there’s this dude named George who is keeping his granddaughter a virgin so he can sacrifice her to his sweet Satan, but her boyfriend Bill keeps teasing him.

Sister Angela, a nun who pretends to despise God and infiltrates the cult, is also there. There is plenty of aerobics in between all of this battling between Heaven, Hell, and a puppet Satan.