The Omen

Put that kid on Prozac already.

1976's original The Omen, in which Gregory Peck accidentally adopted the son of Satan, was a mildly creepy, well-made, and well-acted shock fest with a hollow core. This remake, like the Antichrist at its center, is a whole lot like its daddy. The film is simply too big for its britches; if it didn't take itself so seriously, it could've been a great popcorn muncher. The cast (including parents Liev Schreiber and Julia Stiles and wet nurse Mia Farrow) is excellent, but the Hand of God is a lousy excuse for gaping plot holes.

It's hard to believe that when faced with the specter of the Antichrist, the Catholic Church would send, in the world's defense, a single nutso priest (albeit one played with scenery-gnawing bravado by Pete Postlethwaite). If The Da Vinci Code has taught us anything, it's that the Vatican has some muscle at its disposal; call in Opus Dei or something. (Although, in one hilarious scene, a priest gives the Pope a PowerPoint presentation about the apocalypse.)

And what about the spawn of Satan (Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick)? Though protocol may have been different in 1976, these days if your tyke makes only one creepy facial expression, never speaks, and throws a shit-fit every time you take him to church, you put the little bastard on Prozac.

 
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