Pedro Páramo Christian Review

Pedro Páramo is not your typical ghost story—it’s an experience that feels like walking through a half-remembered nightmare. Rooted in Juan Rulfo’s novel, this adaptation captures something elusive, like whispers from a long-abandoned town that still aches with the memories of its past sins. The film isn’t loud about its themes, nor does it spoon-feed the audience; it invites you to step into a quiet purgatory. Each ghostly presence in this forgotten village represents a wrong, a selfish act, or an unchecked ego—a community of souls marooned in the desert, unable to find rest. They’re doomed to replay their regrets, becoming fragments of a morality tale with consequences that seep out slowly, like poison into the ground.

Here, morality isn’t given to us as bright lines but in shadows that stretch across barren, cracked landscapes and hushed conversations. And though director Rodrigo Prieto’s restrained approach may frustrate viewers expecting more visceral or dynamic storytelling, there’s a certain charm to how he tackles the supernatural. This is a film that trusts the audience to grasp subtlety, to sit with unresolved emotions, and to make sense of moral decay without preaching.

Rodrigo Prieto: A Cinematographer’s Dream Meets a Director’s Reality

You might think that a director making his debut would go all out, especially one known for his impressive eye for visuals. Prieto has crafted iconic, evocative scenes in his cinematography work on films by Alejandro González Iñárritu and Martin Scorsese, and he brings some of that finesse to Pedro Páramo. However, the result here is unexpectedly restrained, as if he’s holding back, walking carefully along a tightrope of aesthetics and restraint.

At moments, Prieto’s visual language feels muted, almost minimalist. Yes, there’s beauty—the cracked earth, weathered faces, desert landscapes—but they’re shot with a steady hand that avoids the surreal abandon one might expect from a ghost story. It’s almost as if the images themselves are stuck in the same purgatory as the characters, unable to fully unleash their potential. Prieto chooses to explore the eeriness of the place in a quiet, controlled manner, leaning on natural lighting and measured frames rather than bold, disorienting visuals. For some, this might feel like a missed opportunity, but for others, it’s a refreshing departure from overworked supernatural tropes.

Sins Etched in the Sand: The Moral Underbelly of the Film

What strikes deeply in Pedro Páramo is how it portrays sin as an infectious thing, spreading through the land and people like a disease. It’s not a singular character flaw or a simple wrongdoer’s journey. Instead, the film shows an entire town living with the fallout of moral decay—a haunting cautionary tale of what happens when people fail to address their sins or seek redemption. Each resident of the town holds onto a regret, and these regrets cling to them like dust in a windless desert.

For Christian viewers, this theme of unresolved guilt and longing for redemption is relatable. The souls we encounter are bound to their wrongdoings and transgressions. They linger, drifting between life and death, seemingly punished for their lack of repentance. It’s a haunting reminder of the spiritual consequences of neglecting moral accountability. While the film isn’t overtly religious, it carries a sense of what could happen if one chooses to reject grace or mercy—a life suspended between earthly concerns and spiritual peace.

Crafting a Ghost Story Without the Usual Tricks

The structure of Pedro Páramo is loose, almost dreamlike. Scenes shift from one to the next without fanfare, giving the feeling of eavesdropping on conversations that began long before we arrived and will continue long after we leave. The pacing is deliberate, which can feel frustrating for viewers accustomed to horror films with big scares or fantasy dramas full of action. Here, the horror is in the way characters linger on their mistakes, unable to escape the pull of their pasts. Prieto lets the weight of those mistakes breathe in the quiet spaces, the silent glances, and the dusty wind.

The film lacks the usual ghost-story glamour—there are no dramatic special effects, no looming shadows creeping up behind characters, no loud jump scares. Instead, Prieto’s direction is restrained to the point of feeling bare, almost unfinished. He’s more concerned with capturing the emptiness and stillness of this haunted land than dazzling us with clever camera tricks. Some might find this approach uninspiring, but it’s a bold choice that keeps the film grounded in a real sense of melancholy and sorrow.

A Dark Night in the Mexican Soul: Exploring the Depths of Cultural Wounds

One of the film’s strengths is how it doesn’t just examine individual morality but explores the collective soul of a community marred by a shared history of wrongdoing. In a way, the town itself feels alive, a barren place scarred by corruption, betrayal, and greed. It’s not just the story of Pedro Páramo, a man of power who abuses that power, but of everyone who let him become what he is. The film pulls you into a Mexico that’s almost mythical, a place where people are weighed down by the sins of their ancestors, trapped in a cycle that’s hard to break.

This focus on cultural and communal guilt feels particularly resonant for those with an interest in the spiritual side of humanity. The film doesn’t force an answer; it leaves the mystery intact, allowing us to sense the gravity of what it means to live with unrepentant souls around us. Pedro Páramo is ultimately a call for introspection, not only on an individual level but within our own communities and cultures. What are the sins we choose to ignore? What legacies of wrongdoing have we inherited, and how do we address them?

A Final Reflection: Beauty in Stillness and Darkness

In many ways, Pedro Páramo asks more from its audience than it gives. It’s a slow journey that requires patience and attention, a willingness to sink into the quiet horror of a life without repentance. While Prieto’s direction can feel restrained to a fault, there’s something captivating in the stillness, in the refusal to dress up a ghost story with frills or spectacle. This is a tale for those who appreciate the subtleties of human nature, the understated visual language of dusty landscapes, and the slow-burning ache of lives that could have been redeemed but weren’t.

The film may not satisfy those looking for a traditional supernatural thriller. But for viewers open to contemplative storytelling that’s more interested in evoking questions than answering them, Pedro Páramo is a rewarding experience. Prieto’s adaptation is about walking through a spiritual desert, seeing the remnants of souls who lost their way, and wondering if redemption was ever within their grasp.

Final Rating: 7/10
Pedro Páramo may not give us an explosion of visual flair or a neatly packaged moral, but it leaves an impression—a call to look inward, a whisper of how lives lost to their sins might still be grasping for peace. It’s a haunting tale in the truest sense, one that will stay with those willing to sit in its shadow.