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For all of its God-talk, The Reaping is just the kind of "faith-based film" we don't need. What hath The Passion of The Christ wrought? With only a few notable exceptions, it hath wrought a plague of exploitative, superficial, theologically confused, audience-abusing movies like Constantine and this big-budget howler.

Idris Elba as Ben; very large bugs as themselves

The Reaping was originally pitched to the Christian market as being "biblically based." If that meant there are ten plagues in the book of Exodus and ten plagues in this film, well, OK, that's correct. But shouldn't we ask for something better? There is nothing here worthy of praise, save for some frightfully convincing effects. (The bloody river has more detail and personality than the characters. Locusts buzz up a perfect storm. And Winter ascends a stairway of David Lynchian proportions.)

Christian moviegoers hungry for challenging movies can support more thought-provoking efforts like Amazing Grace. Horror movies can offer substantial explorations of spiritual questions. Scott Derrickson had the right idea with The Exorcism of Emily Rose—a film in which horror-flick conventions helped coax mainstream audiences toward serious questions about the reality of spiritual warfare.

But The Reaping is shameless in the way it exploits real-world realities for cheap entertainment. They even stoop so low as to bring the current crisis in Sudan into the picture—not to make us more aware of the atrocities happening there, but so we can feel bad for some Americans who learned their lesson about intervening. (This repeats the prime offense of The Last King of Scotland: a movie about Idi Amin's cruelty, in which the audience is not so much concerned about mass-murder as they are about whether or not the white guy can get away with an extramarital affair.)

What not do to when the director says, 'Cut'

But wait—this movie stars two-time Oscar-winner Hilary Swank. Doesn't that make it worth seeing? Swank doesn't embarrass herself—she doesn't have a chance. The frantic editing eliminates anything resembling a performance. The characters enjoy moments more than scenes. This style has become common in the horror genre, perhaps to help distract audiences from gaping plot holes.

Swank's supporting cast fares even worse. As a handsome Haven widower, David Morrissey sounds impressively like a young Liam Neeson—but this feature won't improve his resume. (His last project was Basic Instinct 2.) Idris Elba's character doesn't get much chance to demonstrate his Christian faith—but aren't his cross jewelry and his cross tattoos impressive? Poor Stephen Rea is trapped in the loneliest, most ridiculous role of his career, spouting "ancient prophecies" that make The DaVinci Code sound plausible by comparison.

AnnaSophia Robb is the film's most memorable presence. She was creepy enough to distract me with visions of a franchise in which she and the hordes of creepy kids from other horror movies join forces and become a team of tiny crime-fighters who, focusing their menacing gazes and sinister whispers, scare the bad guys to death.

What does it all mean? Besides the obvious lessons of "Satanic cults are bad," "faith is good," and "It's wrong to murder small children," it's hard to say. Those determined to justify the film may argue that it's a story about a culture that devalues children; or find profundity in Winter's crisis of faith. But Hopkins' style disrupts any coherent thought.

And we aren't led to fear the wrath of God; the spectacle of one plague inclines us to lean forward in anticipation of the next, so that the finale is like the climax of a Fourth of July display. When frogs fell from the sky in Magnolia, we cared because the film was filled with interesting characters. Here, they're just another juicy jolt—and by that point, the plagues have become wearying. When Ben exclaims, "There's still three plagues to go! We gotta get outta here!", most viewers will have already come to that same conclusion, and much earlier.

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