Few films dare to tread the razor’s edge between theology and mythology with the audacity that Hellboy: Holy War does. Directed with apocalyptic grandeur and carried by David Harbour’s gruff yet wounded performance, this latest chapter in the Hellboy saga thrusts us into a cosmic battlefield where angels bleed, demons pray, and humanity hangs suspended in the balance. It is both operatic in scale and deeply personal in focus, a rare union of spectacle and soul.
The film opens in eerie silence: a desecrated cathedral, its stained glass shattered, its crucifix splintered under unseen weight. From this haunting image, the story unravels like scripture rewritten in blood. Hellboy, long weary of destiny and disillusioned by prophecy, seeks anonymity among mortals. But anonymity is a fragile refuge when relics of holy power are stolen and angels fall like burning stars from the heavens. The storm he tried to outrun has finally found him.
David Harbour embodies Hellboy with a weariness that feels almost biblical. His performance moves beyond brute force; he captures the loneliness of a creature torn between the expectations of gods and the love of mortals. There’s a poignant vulnerability beneath his gruff humor, and it makes every swing of his stone fist, every flicker of defiance, feel achingly human.
The supporting cast only amplifies this gravitas. Milla Jovovich’s return as Nimue is a masterstroke—her fractured resurrection gives us a character who is neither wholly villain nor reluctant ally, but something unsettlingly in-between. She stalks the screen with the elegance of tragedy, a witch-goddess whose very existence is an open wound in the cosmos. Opposing her stands Richard Armitage as Archangel Sariel, a warrior of blinding light and merciless judgment. Armitage brings chilling conviction to the role, embodying faith untempered by compassion, righteousness sharpened into cruelty.
What makes Holy War unforgettable is its atmosphere. The film bathes its apocalyptic battles in painterly strokes of fire, shadow, and sacred ruin. Cathedrals crumble under the weight of celestial steel, while skies tear apart in storms of ash and lightning. Each clash of flaming sword and infernal chain reverberates like a psalm of destruction. Fuqua-esque in its muscular direction yet Wagnerian in scope, this is cinema as divine opera.
The score by Tom Holkenborg is as much a character as Hellboy himself. Choral chants thunder alongside industrial beats, evoking the tension between heaven’s order and hell’s chaos. In quieter moments, haunting strings remind us of the cost of war—not just in lives, but in faith, love, and belonging.
Yet amid all the fire and fury, the narrative never loses sight of Hellboy’s inner struggle. This is not the story of a demon saving humanity out of duty; it’s the story of a man desperately trying to find a place in a world that insists he belongs to neither side. His defiance becomes his salvation: he will not kneel to heaven, nor burn with hell. He will stand, scarred and stub𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧, for humanity itself.
The moral complexity of Holy War elevates it above the typical fantasy-action spectacle. Allies splinter, loyalties fracture, and even the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense questions whether Hellboy is the savior or the spark of apocalypse. The line between righteousness and zealotry blurs, leaving us to question not just who should win, but whether anyone deserves to.
One of the film’s most devastating sequences arrives in its third act: Hellboy and Sariel clashing at heaven’s gates, while Nimue weaves through the ruins as both specter and survivor. The battle is not just of blades and fire, but of ideals—free will versus divine decree, compassion versus conquest. The imagery burns itself into memory: trumpets blaring, skies aflame, Hellboy roaring not in victory but in defiance of eternity itself.
By the time the dust settles, we are left not with closure, but with awe. Hellboy: Holy War understands that myths are not meant to comfort—they are meant to challenge, to unsettle, to force us to confront the frailty of our own existence. In reshaping his destiny, Hellboy reshapes ours too, reminding us that humanity’s worth lies not in divine sanction but in our refusal to surrender.
With its searing imagery, towering performances, and a narrative steeped in tragedy and resilience, Hellboy: Holy War earns its 9.0/10 rating with ease. It is not just a continuation of the franchise—it is its transcendence, a dark hymn of defiance against eternity itself.
