Why a Third Act Problem Is a First Act Problem - Heretic Analysis

2024 was a solid year for horror films, with standout successes and impressive box office numbers. Unfortunately, it was also plagued by weak third acts, with films like Longlegs, Sting, and The Substance falling short in the final stretch. Regrettably, Heretic joins that list.

While this A24 screenplay delivers plenty of highs, it’s far from flawless. There’s an old adage: a weak Act Three often stems from issues in Act One. In Heretic, this plays out in real time. Act One focuses so heavily on crafting intrigue and withholding key details that by Act Three, we’re still unpacking new information and setups.

Today, we’ll break down what worked, what didn’t, and what will be causing screenwriter nightmares for years to come. 

A quick note: SPOILER ALERT for Heretic. We’re assuming you’ve seen the film or read the screenplay - if not, catch up quick and come back!

Let’s start with the big reveal: Mr. Reed is a disciple of the Church of Control, viewing religion as a tool for manipulation. With that context, we can better evaluate the plot and characters.

COLD OPEN

We open with two young missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the timid Sister Paxton and more assured Sister Barnes. They sit on a bench covered with a condom advert - a striking juxtaposition that unexpectedly ties into the story later.

Their conversation revolves around marketing, specifically how Magnum condoms are just regular size. Like any good cold open, it subtly plants the seeds for the film’s central theme.

SET UP

As the conversation evolves, we learn that Paxton is perhaps not quite as innocent as we might imagine. She shares a story about feeling divine confirmation while watching pornography, sparking curiosity in Sister Barnes, who’s grappling with her own doubts about faith.

The pair stroll through a suburban neighborhood, attempting to engage locals on their way to an appointment. Paxton is eager to prove herself, especially since Barnes has converted "eight or nine" people while she has none. They cross paths with sorority girls who humiliate Paxton by pulling down her skirt, exposing her regulation ‘magic underwear’.

Whatever your opinion on missionary work, Paxton doesn’t deserve such public ridicule. This moment instantly evokes pity and empathy for her; she’s young, untested, and mocked for her faith. Even if we don’t share her beliefs, we understand her drive to succeed.

Barnes tries to lift Paxton’s spirits as they reach their destination, offering encouragement and compliments. After locking up their bikes, they notice a storm brewing. Barnes gets a text from Sister Hall: their appointment has been canceled, saying he’s ‘no longer interested.’ Undeterred, Paxton doubles down.

They meet Mr. Reed, the homeowner - an unassuming man who confirms he contacted the Church for information. Reed comes across as highly educated and sharply intelligent.

INCITING INCIDENT

The screenplay’s catalyst arrives on page 12, when Mr. Reed, noting the weather, invites the Sisters inside. Barnes explains they can only enter if a woman is present, which Mr. Reed assures them is the case. He tempts them further with the promise of freshly baked pie.

They are effectively exhibiting faith in Mr. Reed’s word without any concrete evidence that his word is gospel. They step into his home, or lair, and henceforth are at his mercy. 

DEBATE

Mr. Reed tells them to make themselves comfortable, but not before dropping a chilling bit of foreshadowing:

Watching the film, you can’t help but frown, raise an eyebrow - what does he mean by that? It’s a vivid first hint that things aren’t as simple as they seem.

Our attention shifts to the strange architecture—small windows, blank walls, bare lightbulbs. A butterfly trying to escape adds to the claustrophobic feeling.

When Mr. Reed returns, promising his wife will be with them shortly, the tension subtly shifts. The sisters grow slightly more cautious, noting his wet hair, the candle he carries, and the glasses of cola he offers. It’s another test - Mr. Reed knows Mormons avoid caffeinated drinks, challenging them to see how they’ll respond.

Thus far, we can ascertain that Paxton is the more malleable of the two. Though she doesn’t accept the cola, she thanks him for the gesture, eager to please and still focused on success through conversion.

Mr. Reed begins discussing the importance of faith, likening religion to tribalism or brand loyalty. He frames it in a way that gets the girls to agree with him - a small victory in his eyes. He then steers the conversation toward his passionate search for the ONE TRUE RELIGION. Anyone who’s been stuck in a room with someone pushing unsolicited religious views will understand how truly unsettling this moment is.

Next comes an awkward moment when Mr. Reed learns about Barnes’ father’s passing. The purpose of this is nebulous - perhaps to show Mr. Reed’s fallibility, despite his apparent control. Maybe the awkwardness is a deliberate crack in his armor, meant to elicit pity from the Sisters.

At this moment, Mr. Reed notices something important;

Though not explicitly stated, the scar on screen is clearly from a contraceptive implant. Why does this matter? We already know Sister Barnes is struggling with doubts about her faith. The scar is unusual for a devout Mormon, a group that preaches abstinence. Instantly, she’s positioned as an outlier, a defiant figure who challenges Mr. Reed’s theory of control. Is it a bit convenient that she’s revealing this scar? Maybe. But it requires a little reading between the lines, which we can appreciate. 

Unprompted, Paxton reveals she hopes to be reincarnated as a butterfly, to watch over her loved ones. Mr. Reed then shifts to tough questions about monogamy and Joseph Smith’s flaws. It’s clear he knows more about the Book of Mormon than the girls, whose defenses of their prophet are half-hearted.

Their host reveals he spent his life searching for answers and finally found them. He blows out the candle, leaving them in an ominous silence. Notice how the writers place the reader in a movie theater, enhancing the cinematic experience - a theater is the ideal setting for horror.

BREAK INTO TWO

The Sisters, now visibly uncomfortable, ask to meet Mrs. Reed as promised. Then they notice;

The blueberry pie was a lure. The dynamic with Mr. Reed shifts instantly - he’s no longer a potential convert, but a threat.

Inserting images into a screenplay is usually discouraged, but here, it hits hard and translates directly to the screen.

We know little about Mr. Reed beyond his intelligence and deception - ideal traits for a villain in a psychological horror. The fear of the unknown taps into our most primal instincts. But as we’ll soon see, the very lack of setup that makes the story compelling here is what ultimately weakens the third act.

FUN AND GAMES

As with most second acts, we get a B-plot with Elder Kennedy, a Mormon leader who notices the Sisters' absence and sets out to find them, creating a collision course for the end of Act Two.

Back at Mr. Reed’s house, Barnes feigns taking a call. When Mr. Reed retires to the bowels of the house, they try to escape but find the door locked. With the windows too small to fit through,  they’re forced to follow him deeper into the house.

The next room is a false church, with an altar, pews, and two exits. There’s no sign of Mrs. Reed. They quickly excuse themselves, claiming a Church emergency. Barnes notices her coat is missing the keys, but Paxton unexpectedly finds them in her pocket.

Mr. Reed explains his door is bolted on a timer, welcoming them to exit through the rear door. This doesn’t add up and pushes them further into unease. When asked which door leads out, he says either, which feels unconvincing.

The power shifts when Mr. Reed reveals he knows their emergency is fake, having warned them about dampening metal in the walls. He puts them on the defensive, feigning insult at their desire to leave.

With their pretense exposed, the girls squirm under Mr. Reed’s scrutiny. He won’t give a straight answer about which door leads outside, asking instead which they would prefer to take. 

Mr. Reed suggests the Sisters’ faith is built on hope despite contradictory evidence. Barnes opens the left door to find a concrete stairwell to the basement. The right door leads to the same, an illusion of choice. The Sisters begin begging, which is exactly what Mr. Reed wants - total control for the puppet master. He becomes their threat AND their only hope of salvation, establishing himself as a god unto them.

He then uses board games to explain iterations, comparing Monopoly’s plagiarism of The Landlord’s Game to the ‘big three’ monotheistic religions.

He finally compares the Book of Mormon to a ‘zany regional spin-off edition.’

He plays The Hollies’ The Air That I Breathe and, when they don’t recognize it, asks if they’ve heard Creep by Radiohead or Lana Del Rey’s Get Free - both iterations of the same melody and rhythm, leading to plagiarism lawsuits. He suggests each iteration dilutes the focus, causing the message to be lost.

Their captor draws on ancient texts, artworks, and references, questioning key religious claims like the Hebrews’ enslavement in Egypt. While Paxton panics, Barnes starts showing signs of challenging Mr. Reed, citing evidence of Jesus’ existence.

With the history of religion laid before them, Mr. Reed prompts the Sisters to choose between the doors, labeling them BELIEF and DISBELIEF.

MIDPOINT

This moment distills the characters’ fundamental desires. Paxton chooses the DISBELIEF door to appease Mr. Reed, thinking compliance ensures survival. It reflects her deep desire to please and be seen as good. Even when it’s clear submission won’t save her, she persists.

Conversely, Barnes does not believe that they will be freed regardless, and decides to stick to her guns, challenging Mr. Reed. She feels like they’re being studied and fears both doors lead to the same destination. This becomes a test of will.

BAD TO WORSE

Barnes convinces Paxton to join her in BELIEF, criticizing Mr. Reed’s shallow interpretation of faith. Even in defying him, Paxton remains unassertive and obedient.

In my opinion, this is where the screenplay begins to falter, both literally and figuratively. As noted, the fear of the unknown is far more inventive, descriptive, and terrifying than anything visual could ever be. The mind is capable of conjuring horrors too personal to be captured on paper or celluloid - horrors that quicken your pulse. For thirty pages, the writers have led us to imagine what lies behind those doors, building our fear of the worst. A bold setup demands a bold payoff, but the reveal - just a basement - fails to deliver, ultimately insulting the audience.

The stairs lead to a moldy basement with no exits. Barnes reassures Paxton, promising they’ll escape. She suggests challenging Mr. Reed intellectually, not physically. In trying to reach a small, caged window, they pry free a plank with three sharp nails.

Instead of ramping up tension, we plateau here. The Sisters are trapped, but no more so than before. They pause to assess the situation and hint at what’s to come, slowing the pacing. Barnes emphasizes Mr. Reed’s ‘genius IQ’, something we've seen illustrated for sixty pages already, and mentions the B-plot about the Elder checking on them - showing a lack of trust in the audience.

Barnes suggests ‘Magic Underwear’ as a trigger for Paxton to stab Mr. Reed with a letter opener she took from the prior room. They then notice an old woman in the room, holding a blueberry pie. She eats the pie and assumes an Orthodox prayer position.

Mr. Reed speaks through a tube in the wall, playing with a scale model of the house in his study. In a scene cut from the film, he rants about sociopaths shaping culture and normalizing ‘posting pictures of your stupid face online.’

This feels like a worthy omission, as it detracts from the Sisters' palpable fear of sharing the basement with the Orthodox woman. Mr. Reed then reveals she’s a Prophet of God. He’s trapped the Sisters to witness and verify a miracle in the flesh.

Mr. Reed reveals the pie contains deadly tetrodotoxins and nightshade, killing the Prophet. They check for a pulse, and he promises to revive her, revealing this is his eighth test and the first with an audience.

As they wait for a miracle, the doorbell rings. Mr. Reed answers, and the Sisters plan to scream for help. They climb the concrete stairs, leaving the Prophet behind.

Mr. Reed easily dispatches Elder Kennedy, who buys the performance. The girls, unheard, spot a packet of matches. They pull the rug closer, inching the box toward the crack under the door.

In the basement, Paxton believes the configuration of the Prophet’s body has changed. She’s correct - she died face down in the pie, which has moved. Barnes is distracted, trying and failing to light the matches and start a fire. Then, they’re jumpscared by the resurrected Prophet.

Mr. Reed joins them in the basement, Elder Kennedy now dispatched. This begs the question - what the heck was the point in that B-plot if it led absolutely nowhere? 

He asks the Sisters to verify the miracle, but they hesitate. He presses for details, then makes them an offer.

As we approach the end of Act 2, the Sisters are faced with another choice: they can accept Mr. Reed's proposition and voluntarily die, testing the limits of their faith, or refuse and possibly die anyway.

Barnes decides for them, rejecting the offer. She sees through Reed's scheme to trick them into taking their own lives. Reflecting on a near-death experience from her childhood, she realizes Reed has been misinterpreting the ramblings of someone close to death to support his own ‘schizophrenic’ theories.

BREAK INTO THREE

As Barnes distracts him, Paxton moves into position, awaiting the key word - but unexpectedly, Mr. Reed slashes Barnes’ throat first.

The break into three is the classic low point for the protagonist. This beat, often referred to as the Midnight of the Dark Soul or the Crisis, places the hero in a situation that seems almost insurmountable.

In Paxton’s case, she’s now alone with a murderer. Barnes, the more capable of the two, is dead, and Paxton doesn’t believe she can be revived. She’s left with two options, clearly outlined for the audience;

Though heavy-handed, the message is clear: Paxton must step into Barnes’ shoes if she hopes to survive.

FINALE

As we move into the finale, I want to revisit some of my earlier points; a third act problem is often rooted in the first act. A third act is built on payoffs - setups introduced earlier in the story should be resolved here.Except in this case - they aren’t. 

For nearly a hundred pages, we are taught that Mr. Reed is a genius, capable of manipulating the girls without raising a finger. He’s an ideas man, not a physical threat. He doesn’t kill the Prophet, he convinces her she can see God, so she does it herself. But now, suddenly, he’s armed with a knife, like any other slasher. He’s lost what made him compelling. The mystery and intelligence are gone, leaving us with a typical slasher villain.

Because Mr. Reed’s character and beliefs were so underdeveloped in Act One, there’s insufficient payoff in Act Three. We had questions about him, but the answers now feel unsatisfying. The resurrection concept, introduced only halfway through the film, doesn’t have time to marinate. 

Then there’s the issue of Elder Kennedy. At first, it seems like this subplot has no purpose. Only after some thought do we realize his role was to distract the Sisters, not Mr. Reed. The timing of his arrival during a snowstorm was crucial for Reed’s plan to work. But this doesn’t hold up to scrutiny. When a villain’s plot unravels upon closer inspection, you have an issue. 

Mr. Reed now pivots to a new theory: he claims Barnes cannot be revived because she was ‘not real’, a program in the simulation of reality. He pulls the birth control implant from Barnes' arm as supposed evidence. Paxton, and by extension the audience, isn’t buying it. There’s been no groundwork to make this theory remotely convincing. 

Paxton, determined to challenge her captor, identifies the implant as a contraceptive. Mr. Reed attempts to poke holes in her argument, gambling on her ignorance. It’s clear from earlier scenes that Paxton is more knowledgeable - about social media, pornography, and likely much more - than Mr. Reed assumes.

Paxton suggests that Mr. Reed is improvising, implying that something went wrong in his plan. Following Barnes' earlier advice to push back, she begins to hypothesize. She speculates that while the Sisters were distracted, someone swapped the body of the dead Orthodox woman with the living ‘Prophet.’ Paxton elaborates, theorizing that the Prophet’s statement was scripted, and the warning, ‘IT IS NOT REAL’, was a clue that everything was a setup.

Though satisfying to see Paxton follow Barnes' lead and unmask Mr. Reed, there hasn't been enough evidence of his tricks on display earlier, nor have we seen any clear signs of Paxton’s astute observational skills.

Paxton uncovers a trapdoor in the ground. She doesn’t heed Mr. Reed’s warning not to go down there, and discovers a dead body in the sub-basement before being locked in. She moves through rooms, eventually finding a door bolted with her bike lock, leading to a room filled with caged women.

Following her in, Mr. Reed prompts Paxton to explain the plan back to him clearly.

Mr. Reed details how men are responsible for the world’s problems, claiming it’s always men at the head of world religions. As he continues...

Prompted into action by the keyword (bearing in mind this is a character who JUST learned to be assertive), she slices his throat and runs - only to find the house looping back on itself like a Mobius strip. Somehow still alive, he stabs her in the stomach. They both collapse in the basement, bleeding out. By severing his vocal cords, Paxton strips him of his most dangerous weapon: his words.

This moment could’ve been impactful if silencing him  forced him to resort to violence. However, he’s already regressed to a typical slasher villain, making this feel like a misplaced opportunity.

As he crawls toward Paxton to finish her off, she shares her thoughts on prayer. Studies show, she says, that prayer has no positive influence on hundreds of hospital patients. 

She prays for him, and just as he’s about to land the killing blow; 

Barnes resuscitates - just long enough to kill Reed with the plank of nails. 

CLOSING IMAGE

We close on Paxton escaping the house and holding out her hand so a butterfly can crawl on it. 

We end on this somewhat non-committal conclusion. And there we have it - a film that begins as a psychological thriller, morphs into a slasher, and ends up being whatever the hell you want it to be. 

CONCLUSION

Despite a strong first half, my faith in the screenplay's direction wanes as it progresses. It feels like a film that yearns for supernatural revelations - something akin to Contact (1997) or Longlegs (2024). When Mr. Reed's fanatical beliefs turn out to be cheap parlour tricks, it's a letdown. Promising eldritch horrors, Matrix-style simulations, or miracles only to deliver a psychopath with a knife to escape from is a disappointing bait-and-switch.

I was surprised neither Sister converted. A third person, perhaps another Mormon or someone they brought for support, could have immediately subscribed to Mr. Reed’s beliefs and succumbed to his false promises. This would expose Reed’s intent earlier and evidence the Sisters' commitment.

If Mr. Reed's goal was to break the Sisters' faith and force them to apostatize, it would have been more effective than his convoluted plan, which hinges on their suicide. Non-physically threatening villains work well when they stay steps ahead, but once Reed's plan falters, he resorts to stalking with a knife. A more focused goal, like forced apostasy, would have led to a tense, compelling finale with personal stakes. The theory of control isn’t without merit, but hidden behind so many layers of deception - it’s hard to really care by the time it shows itself. 

Sister Barnes lacks significant character growth, so her death doesn’t feel like a loss to her arc. It highlights Sister Paxton’s sudden evolution, which feels abrupt—she seems to ‘become’ Barnes after her murder. Barnes fits the final girl archetype, so her death is a genuine shock. With her gone, we experience the rest through Paxton’s less capable, introspective perspective, creating a heightened sense of concern.

This serves as a lesson: while a strong first act is crucial, it should not come at the expense of a satisfying third act. Beck and Woods craft an engaging introduction that hooks the audience, but unfortunately, the third act feels disconnected and underwhelming.

Despite its flaws, this screenplay shines through its strong performances. Hugh Grant excels, alongside Chloe East and Sophie Thatcher, both of whom bring authenticity to their roles as ex-Mormons.

While the film should score higher, we bestow a 3/5 to the screenplay.