Review: ‘The Reckoning,’ a fine showcase for Charlotte Kirk

The Descent is a magnificently rendered exercise in grief, desperation, and survivalism. Neil Marshall’s direction of that mid-aughts screamer expertly crafts the fine lines of slow burn and modern shockfest, without every feeling overwrought or relinquishing terror for its rich character; it’s an awe-inspiring balancing act that still works as effectively 16 years later. Color me dismayed after watching Marshall’s new film, The Reckoning, co-written with the film’s key star Charlotte Kirk. Set in 1665 in London, during the Great Plague, it seeks to tear down and torch institutionalized misogyny and gross torture of women, presenting the storied history of the patriarchy, yet it’s such a laborious watch.

When Grace Haverstock’s (Kirk) husband Joseph (Joe Anderson) comes down with the sickness, after mistakenly sipping a cider from another inflicted townsperson, he hangs himself — leaving Grace the excruciating task of burying him on their property. Squire Pendleton (Steven Waddington) soon comes a knockin’ to collect on her family’s debts, offering little compassion for her loss or the fact she is now a single mother to a newborn infant. He later assaults Grace, nearly raping her, and she manages to grab her sawn-off shotgun and chase him off. He doesn’t take to kindly to having his masculinity questioned (you know the type) and later accuses her of witchcraft. Grace is arrested and taken to Judge John Moorcroft (Sean Pertwee), who once had Grace’s own mother burned alive at the stake.

The film begins with such a compelling premise, but everything about the set design seems slightly askew. Even the language doesn’t necessarily feel authentically 1600s, at least not in the way Robert Eggers’ The Witch drenches you not only in style but in the vernacular. The Reckoning feels limp, as if we’re headed to some Renaissance fair in the middle of Nebraska. As Grace is put through the wringer through torture, sleep deprivation, and starvation, she hallucinates a gnarly demonic figure. A cool character aesthetic doesn’t quite make up for the swamp that is the rest of the story. In borrowing elements of French extremism (think Martyrs but not nearly as effective — in fact, it feels unnecessarily mean), there’s a squeamishness that doesn’t feel earned or warranted. Kirk does, however, act her face off, fluttering between agonies with an emotionally-exhausting performance.

When the literal reckoning eventually happens, the film tries to prove it’s deserving of such a fiery, doom-laden ending. With a 110-minute runtime, something gets lost in translation — watching a woman fight tooth and nail against the patriarchy shouldn’t be this boring.

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