Faith and horror collide in Mike Flanagan’s masterwork, Midnight Mass

Midnight Mass is the best thing Mike Flanagan has ever done. A searing, complete work at the intersections of faith and doubt, life and death, it’s genre storytelling at its most emotionally rich. Contemplative, dialogue-driven horror that paints its themes with a dark and heavy brush, Midnight Mass is utterly transfixing with its layered performances and shocking swerves. The entire cast is fantastic, but people will be talking about Hamish Linklater’s turn as Father Paul for a very long time. Minor spoilers ahead…

Straight or jagged, the lines from supernatural horror have always led most easily to religion. Fantastic and harrowing meditations on good and evil, life and death, right and wrong, the genre has long asked the very same questions traditionally associated with theology. Christian scripture in particular - with its wrathful Old Testament God and His cleansing plagues and purging fires - lends deeply to the terrifying, unnatural, and uncanny, providing the perfect fodder for modern horror.

Raised Catholic and having served as an altar boy in his youth, horror maestro Mike Flanagan relishes the human element within his storied body of work - one only needs to glance at his filmography to find the heart underneath the scares - but Midnight Mass marks his first, true exploration of religion and terror. And even after the banner streak of Gerald’s Game, The Haunting of Hill House, Doctor Sleep, and The Haunting of Bly Manor, Midnight Mass comes across as his most searing, complete work. A long-gestating passion project teased in Easter eggs hidden as early as 2016’s Hush, the series extrapolates Flanagan’s own feelings about faith, delving into the muck of morality and mortality, and how religion can be weaponized and warped into zealotry and extremism.

Hill House. Bly Manor. The Overlook Hotel. Locations in Flanagan projects have always been as crucial to the narratives as the characters within them. Midnight Mass is no different. Taking place in the gloomy, isolated town of Crockett Island, or “The Crock Pot,” the series paints its setting as a sad, desperate place. Economically decimated by an oil spill and accessible only by boat or ferry, the tiny fishing village easily falls under the sway of the charismatic, enigmatic Father Paul (Hamish Linklater, in a stunning performance of a lifetime). Replacing the frail, elderly, and ailing Monsignor Pruitt - who has returned to the mainland for medical attention (or has he?) - Father Paul brings fiery sermons, impassioned readings, and a compassionate ear. Almost all of Crockett Island is invigorated by the new priest, but when actual miracles start sprouting from the congregations, St. Patrick’s becomes a village-wide sensation.

“[*Midnight Mass* delves] deep into the muck of morality and mortality, and how religion can be weaponized and warped into zealotry and extremism.”

Midnight Mass has a deep, sprawling cast, but almost everyone gets their moment in the sun. The series - which mostly leaves hauntings and ghosts behind - might not be Flanagan’s most frightening, but the affecting monologues and the depth afforded to each of its characters is second to none; when the blood starts flowing and the bodies start piling up, your hearts will break. Midnight Mass installs a revolving door of fully-drawn characters defined by different levels of faith. Riley Flynn (Zach Gilford in a soulfully tormented performance) is Crockett Island’s prodigal son, a former altar boy returning to his home after a devastating accident sends him to prison for four years. Riddled with guilt and having forsaken God, Riley bristles against his devout parents (Henry Thomas, Kristin Lehman), but his particular brand of faithlessness attracts the attention of the mysterious Father Paul. Another outsider in “The Crock Pot” is the island’s lawman, Sheriff Hassan (an incredible Rahul Kohli), a widower who just so happens to be the town’s only Muslim - an out-of-towner grappling with his own faith and his son’s (Rahul Abburi) burgeoning curiosity in Christianity. When the miracles begin, it’s Riley and Sherriff Hassan who are tested most: If these miracles are truly works of God - from either the Christian Lord or Allah - then where were They when Riley fell asleep at the wheel? Where were They when the Sheriff’s wife was riddled with cancer?

The rest of Crockett Island’s denizens are just as fleshed out, a feat in and of itself considering the series’ relatively short episode count. There’s Erin Greene (Flanagan’s real-life wife and cinematic mainstay Kate Siegel), a sweet schoolteacher who shares a tender history with Riley; Sarah Gunning (Annabeth Gish), the island’s doctor and caretaker whose ailing mother is bestowed with the miraculous; and the town drunk Joe Collie (Robert Longstreet), who shares a tragic past with wheelchair-bound Leeza Scarborough (Annarah Cymone). Father Paul extends his tendrils into all of these lives, and it’s a testament to Hamish Linklater that his wayward priest doesn’t come across as malevolent. Paul wants to do good, do the Lord’s work, but it’s a terrifying misunderstanding when he believes his magnificent power comes from up above, when in fact its source is an unfathomable, primordial evil. If anything, the true antagonist of the narrative comes in the form of Bev Keene (Samantha Sloyan), Crockett Island’s de facto leader and scold. A fanatic Christian who wields the power of God in the worst ways possible, there isn’t a single verse in the Bible she cannot twist to her will. In an interview with Flanagan for Vanity Fair, he says of his new love-to-hate creation: “When you take a certain type of person and put God on their side in their mind, if you arm them that way, the things they’re capable of can surprise even them.”

“…the affecting monologues and the depth afforded to each of its characters is second to none; when the blood starts flowing and the bodies start piling up, your hearts will break.”

In a time when hard facts are treated as immaterial, citizens and followers are led astray by the selfish, and conspiracy theories dominate the airwaves, Midnight Mass feels particularly resonant. Flanagan’s narrative rides up to a dangerous line, but remains remarkably thoughtful; in 2021, it’s easy to demonize faith and devout Christianity with polemics and finger-wagging invective, but Midnight Mass never condescends; exploring both the restorative, healing power of faith and the dangerous fringes of religion with equal deftness, it’s a fully-formed work. And of course, those tuning in will be getting their sanguine fix of horror, but like most Flanagan projects, it’s the quieter, human moments that shine through. On paper, these long, signature monologues sound like a particular brand of awful treacle, but in the hands of talented performers such as Kate Siegel, Zach Gilford, and Rahul Kohli, they’re some of the most moving scenes of television in recent memory: Erin and Riley wax poetic about life after death in tearful rumination, Sheriff Hassan recalls his post-9/11 trauma as a Muslim officer in the NYPD; there isn’t a single performance that isn’t wrenching or lived-in.

In the end, Midnight Mass is a simple story. It’s about the rays of hope that shine through the destruction and desolation of a small town, a razing begat by grossly misplaced acts of faith. Framed by his own Christian upbringing, Mike Flanagan constructs a taut tightrope balanced in between dense examinations of faith and a traditional horror sub-genre. It might not reach the terrifying heights of his Hauntings or Doctor Sleep, but Midnight Mass feels the most impactful and complete of Flanagan’s works. Building up like a creeping nightmare that explodes into violence with grace notes of hope and optimism, this is a series that will stay with you long after the sun rises.