The Devil-s Advocate -

Let us address the cross in the room. Keanu Reeves is miscast. Not because he is bad—he is actually quite effective as the naif slowly growing horns—but because the film asks him to do something his instrument cannot: explode. When Kevin finally confronts his own monstrousness, we need a volcanic rage, a soul torn between salvation and power. What we get is Keanu furrowing his brow and raising his voice to a polite 7. He is the straight man in a two-ring circus, and the circus eats him alive.

Then comes the ending. If you have not seen it, spoilers follow—but honestly, the film spoils itself. After a climax involving demonic rape, a rooftop confession (“I’m the lawyer who fucking invented guilty!”), and a CGI transformation that has aged like cheap milk, Kevin shoots himself in the head. He wakes up. It was all a vision. He is back in Florida, at the original trial. He refuses the bribe this time. He wins the moral victory. The Devil-s Advocate

The Devil’s Advocate is not a great film. It is too long, too self-indulgent, and too reliant on Pacino’s volcanic tics (his Satan is basically a gay S&M club owner who quotes Milton—the poet, not the character). But it is an unforgettable one. It works best as a fable for the legal profession and the 1990s culture of unchecked ambition. Watch it for Theron’s agony. Watch it for Pacino’s monologue about “the pressure of the human ego.” Watch it for the sheer audacity of a studio film that tries to wrestle with God, the devil, and billable hours in a single runtime. Let us address the cross in the room