A priest, a heavy metal musician and a television host walk into a building – this sounds like the set-up for a classic joke, but in reality is the central premise of The Day of the Beast (Spanish: El día de la bestia), the deliriously funny and hopelessly bleak dark comedy by Álex de la Iglesia, who immediately established himself as one of Spain’s most significant auteur when it comes to the more perverse and deeply unsettling elements of the human condition, finding new ways to shock and entertain viewers. As one of the most wildly entertaining and thought-provoking explorations of the looming apocalypse, the film is a fascinating attempt to deconstruct the processes that go into religious belief, quietly and elegantly tearing apart popular conceptions of reality, and going in search of some deeper, more disquieting social and cultural commentary, which is only possible when someone is fully committed to the art of provocation, which is not applicable to everyone. The films tells the story of a mild-mannered priest who makes the shocking discovery that the Antichrist is about to be born right there in his hometown of Madrid on Christmas Eve, forcing him to find a way to invoke the Devil itself, which he does with the help of a luckless musician and an influential but deranged television personality, two people he views as being authorities on the subject, and who ultimately help him on this abstract and perilous mission, kickstarting one of the most unconventional comedies of the past few decades, a pitch-black satire of not only social conventions, but the entire institution of religion. As far as unhinged depictions of the darkest recesses of the human condition are concerned, nothing is out of bounds for de la Iglesia, who engages in some of the most delightfully sordid storytelling we’ve seen in quite a while, and a film that stands as one of the most gleefully deranged portrayals of faith one could possibly encounter, and a truly shocking voyage into the seedy underworld of modern religion.

There are many concepts that propel this film, but comfort is certainly not one of them. The director is someone who seems to relish in his ability to shock and bewilder audiences, taking us on a thrilling journey to the most bleak and harrowing recesses of humanity, while never losing our attention. There are several moments in The Day of the Beast that cause us to feel a profound level of confusion – we never know whether to be entertained or repulsed by what we are seeing on screen – and the fact that de la Iglesia is a director with a very precise and unforgettable visual style doesn’t help in assuaging the feeling that we are not supposed to find this content enjoyable, since it is touching on some very dark themes, but yet looks so polished and entertaining, a credit to not only his imaginative storytelling skills, but also his impeccable eye for detail and ability to put together a film that is both vibrant and unique in terms of artistic outlook. It also makes a profound difference when we notice that, beneath all the layers of dark, insidious flirtations with the occult, that there is a very intriguing level of social commentary here, a film that doesn’t needlessly throw around concepts relating to Satanic worship and the adoration of malicious symbols, but rather uses them as the foundation for a bitingly funny and deeply provocative exploration of the human desire to feel some sense of existential cohesion. It may not seem like there’s much complexity to this story, especially since de la Iglesia constructs it around a very simple premise, but there is a lot of captivating content embedded deep within this film, requiring us to look just below the surface in order to unearth some of its more unique details that help piece together the forthright brilliance that defines this film.

The Day of the Beast is a masterful example of provocation with an abundance of depth. We see far too many filmmakers aiming to create works that disturb us without actually putting in the effort to shade in the nuances, which make a considerable difference. The most effective works when it comes to shocking cinema are those that actually have some semblance of logic, or at least the intelligence to playfully work around the supposed lack of rational thought in a way that feels genuine and interesting, rather than stringing together a variety of shockingly violent and crass moments, which only work if there is some context surrounding them, even if it is very tenuous. There is never a moment in which we feel like The Day of the Beast is actually a malicious film – even with the nightmarish imagery and very dark narrative, there’s a humour to the film that keeps it from being entirely unsettling, and reminds us that we are watching nothing more than a fabrication of reality. For those of us hesitant towards the virtue of such a film, and are somewhat reluctant to accept it at face value, it should be an assurance that this is very much an example of a story of good triumphing over evil, and where every bit of malice evoked throughout the story is suitably destroyed by these valiant protagonists, who may not appear like the most conventional heroes, but are aligned with the director’s bespoke sensibilities, helping him realize his very ambitious and unquestionably twisted perspective in a way that feels authentic and earnest, as well as wickedly funny, which is one of the key elements that prevent The Day of the Beast from being just another example of a rambunctious young director aiming to disrupt social and cultural decorum for the sake of getting a reaction. He certainly does stir up quite a strong response, but it isn’t unearned, and the merits that come about as a result feel warranted, since this is a satire that at least has something to say, as well as the ability to say it brilliantly.

As ingenious a filmmaker as he may be, de la Iglesia was only able to accomplish a quarter of this film’s successes by himself. The story may have been a product of his own conjecture, but without the help of a wide group of very gifted individuals, we’d not have this subversive masterpiece of deranged storytelling. The Day of the Beast depends almost entirely on the actors to deliver this material in a form that is both compelling and meaningful – and they certainly do everything that is asked of them in the process. Álex Angulo is a formidable lead – known mainly for comedic work in which he was the perpetually congenial and slightly bumbling hero, he takes on a slightly darker role, one in which his diminutive size and ability to be effortlessly likeable are weaponized for the sake of constructing this character as more than just a one-dimensional hero, turning Father Ángel Berriartúa into one of the more fascinating figures in recent horror film history. He is joined by Armando De Razza and Santiago Segura, both very gifted actors in their own right, taking on these complex roles that feel like they were shaded in beyond expectation by the actors, who worked laboriously to create these characters. The film required the perfect balance between humour and pathos, as well as the ability to deliver on both the verbal and physical level – these three characters depended almost entirely on one another to be successful, and with even the slightly faltering of a single moment, the entire narrative would have likely spiralled out of control. Mercifully, this never happens, and the central trio manage to effectively find new ways to portray these characters without distracting from the bold concepts that envelop the film and make it such a singular work, of which they are merely pawns designed to bring it to life. It’s the product of a terrific collaboration between a gifted director and his talented cast, since this kind of complexity can never be mimicked, being restricted almost exclusively to the realm of pure authenticity, which is what every actor ultimately brings to this film.

The Day of the Beast is a film that was never designed to be universally accessible or embraced, since this is ultimately focused on some of the most taboo and malignant concepts known to humanity. There’s a very narrow boundary between being provocative and outright sinister, and it is always a dangerous game to try and navigate the border between the two, since it is extremely easy for one to encroach on the other. This film is ultimately a feat of seeing how far the director can go before crossing that threshold that divides provocative but decent films from offensive sacrilege – and we can even question whether or not de la Iglesia was actively trying to push the boundaries without actually committing to the kind of malice that he was so invested in having loom over every scene. It’s a difficult film to talk about, since there are so many surprising elements that don’t lend themselves to coherent description, but rather form the unconventionally entertaining tapestry from which this film is constructed. It is blisteringly funny, but also extremely bleak, and a lot of the film seems to be built on a certain incredulity towards religious structures – de la Iglesia never outright condemns the church or its actions, but in choosing to have the team of saviours consist of a crooked priest, corrupt television host and dim-witted heavy metal musician, clearly goes against the image of the heroic figures that will rescue the world from the brink of armageddon. However, what is satire if not something that finds new ways to shock and bewilder, without actually committing to the kinds of malevolence it evokes? The Day of the Beast is a challenging film, but one that has deservedly perched itself as one of the finest examples of a true cult film, and while it may be appalling to those who are hesitant to perceive such subjects as being appropriate for entertainment, anyone with a sense of humour and some kind of open-minded curiosity will undoubtedly find this a very worthwhile endeavour, especially in how it provokes both thought and visceral emotional reactions, a triumph of evocative filmmaking all on its own.