Guy Pearce tries his best, but not even his committed performance can rescue Killing Faith from killing itself. The ether-huffing physician escorting a death-touch child across plague-ravaged 1849 Arizona deserves better material… and so do audiences.
Writer-director Ned Crowley mistakes glacial pacing for profundity, stretching minimal ideas across 108 excruciating minutes that feel like 180. The film plods through pointless episodic encounters with weird Western characters, pretending depth while delivering tedium.
What’s the point? Is the cursed child disease, possession, or colonial metaphor? Crowley never commits, hiding incoherence behind ambiguity.
Bill Pullman finally appears at the 74-minute mark – far too late and far too little. The ambiguous ending offers no payoff for the punishing slog. Pretty desert cinematography can’t compensate for watching a snail complete a marathon while characters mumble about faith and evil. Crowley aims for Cormac McCarthy but delivers pretentious, purposeless endurance cinema.
Even at 4/10, that’s generous.
